A Bride in Store (24 page)

Eliza tipped over her mop bucket, watching the murky water spill into the alley. She’d stood on the steps for ten minutes trying
to look busy, hoping Will would visit, but he’d just flown by on a buggy at such a ridiculous speed it sent a stray dog scurrying.

Where was Will going in such a hurry? She trailed her fingers along her cheek and down her jaw, the same path his thumb had followed the day he’d destroyed a pillow.

Certainly he felt something, with the way he’d looked at her since the wedding . . . and even before. What kept him from saying something?

Too bad she hadn’t more chores at the butcher’s in case Will planned to return. How silly was that? Wishing for more dead animal parts to clean up!

Last week when he’d dropped by, he’d babbled about the weather, but at least he’d come by. Besides Irena, he was the only person she wanted to talk to about the agreement she was about to finalize with Mr. Raymond. But could Will be objective, since her business could easily hurt his?—not that his store wasn’t already in trouble.

Maybe she shouldn’t discuss the business deal with Will. She didn’t need his business advice, but what about hinting at wanting to see him more often? However, wouldn’t that essentially be asking him to court her?

Did she want to give him that impression?

She wrung the mop head until no more water dripped from its nasty cotton fibers. Why were relationships with men so complicated?

After weeks of negotiation between the lawyers and delays of one kind or another, Mr. Raymond said he would make a few final changes. Assuming she was satisfied, she planned to sign his revised contract tomorrow morning. With a store of her own, she wouldn’t need a man to feel secure. She would be free to court whomever, free to break off a relationship if things felt wrong.

But if she and Will became more attached, what would she do when he left for school? Maybe she should wait to drop courting hints until he returned. But how long would that be?

No matter what Will did, she had to decide what was best for her today, and her heart skipped beats every time she contemplated this final meeting with Mr. Raymond. She’d imagined signing her name; she’d imagined walking away. Both scenarios made her palms sweaty. Months ago, she’d have jumped at this chance without a second thought, but supposedly perfect opportunities often came bundled with problems, as she’d learned since arriving in Salt Flatts.

God, did you
give me this opportunity or are you testing me somehow?

As much as she wished the audible voice of God would echo down the alleyway, no answer came. She’d been praying every night since the opportunity had presented itself but still wasn’t completely assured that He’d approve one way or the other. She dragged the mop bucket inside and untied her apron. Mr. Otting came out from the back carrying some paper-wrapped meat. A redheaded woman attired in a brilliant blue day dress held the hand of a willowy young girl as they waited at the counter.

Mr. Otting glanced toward Eliza and frowned. “You haven’t left already?”

She grinned. “Did you think I’d leave without pay?”

He snorted, then handed the meat to his customer. “Seventy-five cents please.”

The woman handed over her coins and smiled at Eliza. “I’m afraid we haven’t met.”

Eliza tried to hide her soiled hands amidst the folds of her skirt. She normally paled in comparison to the women around her, but right now, she might as well be a pig farmer standing next to a lady at court. The woman’s smile seemed genuine though.

“I’m Eliza Cantrell.”

“I’m Nancy Wells.” She smiled and clasped the shoulder of the young lady beside her. “This is my daughter, Millicent.”

Might this be Will’s Nancy? Was she back in town for good or only for a visit? Eliza worked to keep a pleasant expression, but
when the little girl peeped up at her with bashful misty-gray eyes, an easy smile relaxed her face.

“How long have you lived here? I’m afraid the town’s grown so large in just a year I hardly recognize more than a handful of people.”

Eliza swallowed hard and rubbed her scar. If this attractive woman was Will’s ex-fiancée, no wonder he’d been devastated. “About two months.”

“I’ve started a ladies’ Bible study group on Tuesday mornings at the little white church past the sawmill.” A beautiful smile flashed across Nancy’s flawless face. The woman’s hair might be a bit too frizzy, but who would notice with her porcelain skin? “I’d love to have you come.”

Eliza glanced at her feet. As much as she should start reading her Bible more, and a Bible study would definitely encourage her to do so, could she sit across from this woman weekly, comparing herself to Will’s former fiancée?

If she took Mr. Raymond’s offer, she definitely couldn’t attend—she wouldn’t have time.

She glanced at Mr. Otting. Since she hadn’t yet seen Mr. Raymond’s last offer, she didn’t want the butcher thinking she was quitting, in case she decided not to sign the contract. If things fell through, she needed the money from this job. “I might be working Tuesday mornings soon, but if not, I’ll consider coming.”

“If it’s possible, please do—I’d love more ladies my age joining us.” Nancy smiled and took the girl’s hand again. “But I won’t keep you any longer. Good-bye.”

Mr. Otting wiped his hands on his bloody apron until the door closed behind Nancy. “She’s such a sweet young lady. Sad that she’s a widow already, but her mother thinks she and William Stanton will get back together. I’d hoped she’d consider one of my boys, but her late husband’s little girl needs lots of medical attention, so it’s probably best Mr. Stanton marries her anyway.”

Widowed? Available to court? Will must’ve known she was back in Salt Flatts, since he mentioned visiting Mrs. Graves last week.

Was he forgiving enough to take Nancy back?

Of course Will was; he’d forgive his own murderer.

Eliza stared at what looked like the evidence of a massacre smeared across Mr. Otting’s chest. Had she been wrong about Will’s feelings toward her?

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d misjudged a man’s affections.

What man would choose her over a beautiful woman like Nancy? He had to still feel something for her, though the woman had jilted him. One didn’t just turn off emotions like one blew out a lamp. And with a sickly little girl in need of medical care . . . how could Will not be drawn to her?

Eliza closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Tomorrow she’d sign the papers Mr. Raymond had drawn up, even if there were some less than ideal terms—anything else in her future would have to be worked around her store, otherwise she’d regret not signing for the rest of her life.

“Miss Cantrell?” Mr. Otting scratched the hair behind his ear, his frown hanging heavy on his face as he peered at his cashbox.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I send you home today with ribs or maybe a roast instead of cash? I don’t exactly have enough this week, not with the bills I had to pay.”

She fought against a frown. “That’s all right, Mr. Otting. Mrs. Lightfoot and I would enjoy a roast.”

He brightened. “Great.” Then he disappeared into the back.

She quickly swept the floor a second time to make up for wasting time earlier.

“Here you are. And since you do such a fine job, here’s some fresh side pork as well.”

A fine job? He definitely hadn’t seen her dallying in the alley, then. “Thank you.”

Outside, she strolled down the street and stopped in front of the store she would start filling with merchandise within the month. Her heart lifted at the sight of the magnificent stone building, the spiraling rockwork at the top piercing the heavens.

Lord, if this isn’t the best
thing for me, let me know. But it feels right.

The cold meat under her arm propelled her to leave the heartwarming sight behind and return to Irena, who’d taken to her bed yesterday and hadn’t come downstairs for breakfast.

At the boardinghouse, Eliza put the meat in the little wooden icebox, then tiptoed upstairs. She cracked open her friend’s door and peered inside the dim room.

The bed creaked. “Come in.”

Eliza crossed to the bedstead and frowned at the uneaten food on the dresser. “Still not hungry?”

“I ate a little.”

An inchworm would have eaten more. She bent over to feel her forehead.

“Can’t an old woman lie in peace?” Irena moved away from Eliza’s hand, struggling to sit up. “You’d think you wanted to doctor instead of run a store with all your fussing.” A cough racked her body.

“Would you like Will to look in on you?”

Irena waved her hand for a split second before returning it to her mouth to cover another cough.

“Maybe I shouldn’t bother with your permission. You should be looked at.” If only she knew where Will had gone.

“Your hands on your hips don’t threaten me, missy.” Irena closed her eyes and leaned against the headboard. “When you get old, it’s hard to get over illnesses. My joints already ached before this fever.”

She reached out a hand again. Irena sighed but endured the probing.

“I’ve got the pain powders William gives me for my joints and
plenty of his crushed yarrow for the tea he makes me, so don’t bother him.” She pulled her blanket to her chest. “Though I feel as if the fever’s returning. Perhaps you should make some of that tea.”

“You’re a little warm, but nothing like last night.” She dropped her hand. “What about for dinner?” She frowned at the uneaten cheese and crackers on the bedside table. “I want to bring you something you’ll eat.”

“Broth sounds good.”

“Do you mind if I ask a question before I leave?” The haze marring Mrs. Lightfoot’s normally twinkly blue eyes gave Eliza pause, but would she have time to talk to her in the morning?

She gave her a wavering smile. “All I’m good for is listening right now.”

“Do you think I can do this store thing alone?”

Irena rolled her eyes and shifted to open the end table’s drawer. She pulled out a thick book and tossed it toward Eliza. “You’re not alone. Mr. Raymond is supporting you—and I believe in you too.”

Turning over the book, Eliza grinned at the merchandise catalog. “You must have ordered this the first day I returned from the bank.”

“You’re meant to run a store. You’ll do just fine. Maybe things won’t work out as you’ve planned, but you’ll readjust and improve.” Irena’s eyelids fluttered.

Eliza rose from the bed. She’d have to eat dinner by herself again tonight. If Irena didn’t recover soon, Eliza would have no one to celebrate with over the papers she’d sign tomorrow. Will or Kathleen wouldn’t appreciate a dinner invitation to celebrate their newest business competition.

“I’ll bring your meal up in an hour or so.”

Irena muttered her thanks. She’d most likely be asleep within minutes.

Eliza paused on the stair to look through the narrow window
on the landing. Would Will be upset she’d chosen her own store instead of helping him as he’d asked?

She had to make good business decisions, not emotional ones.

He’d be fine; she shouldn’t worry.

Will slumped against the hard bedroom chair, trying to get comfortable for the long night ahead of him at Mrs. Raymond’s side. He didn’t know what else to do besides pray her through.

The door behind him cracked open, letting a sliver of light brighten the dark room.

Mrs. Raymond lay writhing on the bed, her painful groaning uninterrupted by her husband’s entrance.

“Can I convince you to retire to the guest room?” Hugh, dressed in striped pajamas fancier than Will’s Sunday suit, shuffled in, wringing his hands.

Will pulled the other chair closer and gestured for the man to sit. “You’re the one who needs rest. I’ll have few customers disappointed to see my Closed sign tomorrow, whereas you said you have several meetings.”

Hugh hovered on the edge of the seat, as if uncertain sitting was a good idea. He stared at his wife rather than turning to Will. “Maybe I should cancel.” He scooted back against his chair but a second later perched on the front edge and turned, his eyes as wide as they were hours ago. “Are you sure?”

Will couldn’t help but smile. How long until the shock wore off? “Yes, I’m positive.”

“But she’s forty-two, and I’m fifty.”

“
Your
age has nothing to do with it.”

“But she said . . .” He pulled on the lapel of his pajamas as if the cloth were a tight cravat instead of a loosely tailored collar. “She said that her courses were over.”

“Evidently not long enough.” Will folded his hands between his
knees. “She’s not dying of a tumor as she feared—there’s a baby, sure enough—the fever, well, that’s something else. They need to be nursed through this.”

“They? The fever could affect the baby?”

Will nodded, his smile drooping. “It might’ve already.”

“She’s wanted another child for so long. Can’t you do something?”

“I’m not certain what’s causing her fever. I can fetch Dr. Forsythe in the morning, if you’d like. A second opinion won’t make me feel as if you’re slighting me.” In fact, with another baby at risk to his medical inexperience, maybe that would be best.