A Bride in Store (22 page)

“As I said”—he held up his hand—“you have no capital to share in the risk, but let me look into something. Come back tomorrow after noon.”

She stood and smoothed her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirt. “I suppose you’re turning me down for the cleaning job?”

“Right, no job.” He stood and smiled wide. “But I find your persistence commendable.”

Whatever that meant. But she would listen to any offer; flexibility often brought reward. “What do I need to bring with me tomorrow?”

“Whatever you need to face disappointment.”

That wasn’t exactly promising, but she refused to drop her smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

And she’d do her utmost not to expect anything to come of the meeting—but that didn’t stop the hope.

Chapter 15

Mr. Raymond was pacing the sidewalk in front of the bank as if bars surrounded him rather than the dust swirling around him as wagons drove by. A block away, Eliza glanced at the seamstress shop behind her and then the clock above the bank: 12:15.

Had Mr. Raymond meant she should meet him
precisely
after noon? Was he waiting for her?

The thought of Mr. Raymond impatiently waiting would distract her from the conversation she hoped to have with the seamstress. She couldn’t afford to make a poor impression—she needed every job she could get. She’d only managed to snag a two-dollar weekly cleaning position at the butcher’s. She tried not to think about what such a cleaning job would entail, but for the first time, going home and asking her brother for a job and becoming the crazy old aunt who lives in the attic sounded like a viable option.

No, she preferred Irena’s company to her brother’s, so she’d deal with the butcher shop’s floor.

She squared her shoulders. Visiting the seamstress could wait until after her meeting with Mr. Raymond. After a buggy passed, Eliza quick-stepped across the pitted dirt street.

On one of Mr. Raymond’s quick about-faces, he caught a
glimpse of her, and his countenance brightened. With his hands still behind his back, he met her at the edge of the road. “Good afternoon, Miss Cantrell. I’m glad you’re early.”

Good thing she’d seen him pacing. “Well, I hate being tardy.”

“Follow me.” Without waiting, the man barreled down the sidewalk toward the center of town. His unusual manner put a twinge in her abdomen, and she tried not to fret over their destination.

Mr. Raymond stopped in front of an empty two-story storefront in a brick building between the bakery and the confectioner’s. She’d tried to get a cleaning job at both places yesterday. Considering the amount of flour and sugar dusting innumerable surfaces, her offer should have enticed them, but she’d been denied.

The building’s beautiful stonework had drawn her attention the day she’d arrived. Sweet and yeasty smells escaped every time customers opened the doors, adding to the allure. Pigeons cooed in the intricate stone-columned balcony that spanned the entirety of the upper stories. The owners should have at least paid her to clean the birds’ mess.

The jangle of keys returned her gaze to ground level.

“Let’s go inside and have a look.” He shoved his keys into the fancy escutcheon and turned the patterned brass doorknob.

Should she follow him in? This building wasn’t for her. He was just . . . What
were
they doing?

“Beautiful building, isn’t it?” He ran his hand over the granite rock work surrounding the front door. Two tall glass displays formed a hallway that angled in toward the front door, creating an almost triangular entryway.

She followed him inside. The interior was empty except for dust and some massive furnishings. The carved floor-to-ceiling cabinetry led up to embossed tin ceiling tiles, and counters on top of the glass display cases lined the left side of the store. At the back, a magnificent staircase worthy of a fairytale’s castle swooped up
from a wide base and narrowed onto an open balcony, creating a second floor over the back quarter of the room.

His heels tapped on the varnished wood floor, his footprints disturbing the dust. “What do you think?”

What was there to think? The glass displays would keep china out of reach of little hands. The open cabinetry with its scrollwork would make a shelf of five-cent oil lamps look worth a dollar. The staircase alone would cause a customer to believe whatever lay above was worth more than a week’s salary. “I never saw a lovelier store in Pennsylvania. What was it used for?”

“A jeweler. A very good jeweler whose wife was also quite the seamstress.” He ran his fingers through the powder blanketing the counter. “Their only child moved here a decade ago, and his mother couldn’t bear to be parted from him, so they set up shop like the one they’d owned in New York without thinking things through. When the wife died and the son moved farther west, the man left this place empty.” He clucked his tongue, stared at the high ceiling, and smiled. “I’ve wanted it ever since.”

Counters filled with diamonds and sapphires. Fitting. “So what keeps you from owning it?”

He scrunched his face. “A mere five minutes. The bill of sale was signed by the time I approached him. It was the closest I’ve ever come to weeping in public.”

“What good is a fancy store to you? Surely no merchandise could garner the profit needed to succeed in this place.”

“Ah, but the rent I could charge. We’re fast becoming one of the largest towns in south-central Kansas, thanks to the railroad. The jeweler would have likely succeeded if he’d started now and expanded his wares a bit more.”

High rent and a five-and-dime store were not a match made in heaven. She clasped her hands. Time to get back to business. “So I guess you’ve finally bought the place and need me to clean it?
That won’t be too difficult considering it’s mostly street dust on an empty floor. How about fifteen dollars?”

He snorted. “Again, you start too high.”

“You would start too low.”

He shrugged, the smile staying on his lips. “I won’t pay you to clean it, but you’ll want to clean the place nonetheless.”

She was done with the banker’s riddles. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up over something that would never be. The longer she stood there, the harder it would be not to imagine tables filled with toys, knickknacks, and everything else she’d seen at the Scranton Woolworth’s store. “Speak plainly, Mr. Raymond, if you would. I have other businesses to visit before the day is done.”

“No you don’t. Your search stops here.”

She shook her head. “You and I both know I cannot afford the huge rental fee. And there is no way I can afford the amount of inventory I’d have to order, and—”

“It’s offered rent free. I’ll finance the inventory, which you will need to pay back, and my investment will be the other start-up costs.”

They stood in silence until Eliza couldn’t help but blink. “I don’t follow. You told me you don’t make foolish business decisions.”

“I don’t. Without capital you’ll need a business partner, silent though I may be. Sixty percent for me and forty for you seems fair.”

So he thought her ideas strong enough for him to back her? Eliza pulled at her collar. “It’s quite unfair of you to bring me in here, to let me see it—set my heart upon it—just for you to get me to sign something I’d never in my right mind agree to if I hadn’t fallen in love with the place.” And boy had she. “I’ll not be taken.”

“I may be hard-nosed and penny-pinching, but that doesn’t mean I’m a cheat.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate such, but men often believe they can give a woman worse terms, assured she’ll accept any offer, ecstatic that someone chose to do business with her.”

“Be assured I have no intention of getting more than my fair share.”

“And if I buy you out within the year?”

He frowned. “That may have worked for the blokes you talked about in Pennsylvania, but I’m not sure that will be possible in Kansas. So I guess I’ll have to include one stipulation: you’ll have to stay in this location for at least five years.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not the property’s owner—otherwise you’d indeed be paying me rent.” He held out his arms. “I’ve set up a deal with the owner that, if I loan you the money for inventory and pay all the other start-up costs,
I
get the option to buy the building . . . after five years. The owner’s been a fool to let this place sit and collect dust.” He smiled. “But just because someone else makes foolish business decisions doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of them.”

“And if I wish to be sole owner after five years?”

“I don’t care once my name is on the deed. The inventory loan should be paid by then, but you’d have to buy out the partnership. I’ll own the building and start collecting rent either way.”

Her heart raced. This plan might get her a store within a month instead of a decade. She worked to keep her voice businesslike. “How involved do you plan to be?”

“I don’t have time to play retailer. I’ll leave that to you, though I’ll peruse the books regularly—and you should also pass large decisions by me first.”

With free rent, she’d quickly stack up profits. To keep from squirming, she clasped her hands tightly behind her back. She needed to think this through. “I’m afraid I can’t decide today. I’ll need to talk to a lawyer first.” Perhaps he’d know who owned this store. What could this mysterious benefactor possibly gain from the rent-free offer?

“Of course. There are two in town, both on Eighth Street.”

“Which is your lawyer?”

“Mr. Gerard.”

“And the other?”

“Mr. Scottsmore.”

“Then I’ll be talking with Scottsmore.”

He smiled. “We’ll work beautifully together, Miss Cantrell. Why don’t we meet in four days’ time? I’ll have a contract drawn up for consideration, and I’ll want to see a business plan. We can decide then.”

Good, she needed time. “We’re in agreement so far. But make sure your contract lays out clear purchase options for when I want to buy the rest of the business from you. And I want fifty percent equity, and you take fifty—equal partners. I will, after all, be doing the most work.” She held out her hand, giving him a firm grip when he reached out. “Perhaps we’ll be working together sooner rather than later.”

He nodded—“I hope so, Miss Cantrell”—and placed the keys into her palm. “Look around and return the keys before the bank closes. This is the best possible arrangement for you in your particular predicament. You’re smart enough to be working with me soon.” He tipped his hat. “Good day.”

She stood perfectly still as he walked toward the exit. Once he shut the door, she moved slowly to the staircase and ran her hand along the smooth banister, climbing halfway to the top before turning and sitting on the dusty wooden stairs.

“Perfect.” She pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. Beyond perfect.

But she’d thought Axel was a perfect solution as well. She’d have to ask Irena for her opinion—maybe she’d know who owned the place and whether Mr. Raymond could be trusted. Eliza would give serious consideration to any reservations Irena voiced.

And prayer.

She stared at the keys to the spacious store she could have only dreamed of obtaining.

Lord,
in the past I’ve been too quick to follow
the first promising door that opened. I need your guidance.
As much as this sounds like a present from heaven
plopped in my lap, I don’t want to barrel
forward because of the pretty architecture, the good terms, and
the fact that I wouldn’t have to wait years
to prove myself.

Had God given her the desire of her heart despite her shortcomings?

Will peeped outside to make sure no one was heading toward the store. Of course, no one even looked his way. What did it matter if he snagged one more customer today? A third patron wouldn’t buy enough to make keeping the store open worthwhile anyway.

He turned the key and checked that the door was securely bolted.

Surely he was overreacting. No one would have stolen from him; he’d simply misplaced his savings, but he didn’t want to take a chance.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shuffled down the sidewalk toward Mr. Arnett’s livery. Yesterday Will had treated the man’s infected rope burn but couldn’t for the life of him remember if his leather coin purse had sat in its usual spot next to the ointment and bandages.

Before opening the store this morning, he’d visited Nancy’s mother to check on her condition, but he couldn’t recall if he’d had his money then either.

He prayed Mr. Arnett had seen his change purse. Will couldn’t endure another visit with Mrs. Graves pointedly looking at him and then at Nancy. He wasn’t ready to think in that direction. Now that Eliza had been freed from Axel, would she consider him? Not if she wanted a fancy store . . . which she would gain in time, and he’d never be able to provide.

Maybe he’d check Christenson’s little shack on the edge of town before visiting the Graves family—but if he’d lost his savings there,
Mr. Christenson likely wouldn’t admit to finding it. Even though his seven children hadn’t enough to eat, the drunk would have taken the money to the closest still.