A Tailor-Made Bride (12 page)
After a final deliberation, Tessa settled on a saffron yellow calico spotted with tiny green sprigs. She handed her selection to Hannah.
“Thank you for making dolls for us, Miss Richards.”
“You are most welcome.”
They said their good-byes and Hannah returned to her scrap box. With new energy vibrating through her, she dug through the trunk, pulling out solid-colored broadcloth in earthy hues like tan, rust, and orange. Perfect for the harvest season. Then she found a host of cotton plaids in shades of blue, green, and yellow. Cheerful and fun. Finally she selected half a dozen floral print calicoes for clients who preferred a more feminine design for their baskets.
She spread the pile of fabric across her worktable and cut a folded piece of brown broadcloth into two large, wavy squares. She would sew up one, and if it turned out well, she’d use the second for a pattern. Twenty minutes and one scalloped hem later, she had a fine-looking bread cloth.
Taking up her shears, Hannah began cutting the rest of the fabric into similar patterns. She could keep extra bread cloths on hand in the shop and give them to any new customer who came through her door. That way no one would feel left out. The women from the outlying farms and ranches deserved the same treatment as the ones in town.
Halfway through cut number sixteen, the shop door opened. A customer?
“Good afternoon,” she said as she raised her head. “How can I help you?”
Cordelia Tucker crossed into the room. “Oh, Hannah. It’s all so lovely.”
“Cordelia!” Hannah scurried around the half wall that separated her work area from the rest of the shop. “I’m so glad you came by. Things have been dreadfully quiet.”
“I’m sure you’ll have more traffic in the coming days. How could you not with such beautiful merchandise?” She fingered a green silk gown that hung on the coatrack, undeniable longing in her eyes.
“Louisa James and her girls are the only ones who’ve stopped by today. I was growing quite discouraged until she helped me come up with an idea to entice people into the shop.” Hannah explained about the bread cloths, relieved when Cordelia showed enthusiasm for the plan.
“And since you are the first one to visit my shop, you get first choice.” Hannah steered her friend toward the worktable. “Pick a fabric and I will sew it up while you look around. I have several pattern books you can browse.”
Cordelia hesitated. “Oh, but I’m not here to buy anything. I just stopped in to see how you were getting along.”
Hannah wrapped her arms around Cordelia’s shoulders and gently urged her closer to the table. “You don’t have to order anything. Everyone who comes in gets a bread cloth, regardless of whether or not they make a purchase.”
The dark blue wool dress Cordelia wore complemented her complexion and figure only slightly better than the dull brown one she’d worn yesterday. Hannah itched to get her into some colors that would bring life to her face.
Cordelia chose green plaid for her gift. She seemed to have a preference for that color. Hannah mentally cataloged the material she had in stock. A sage or hunter shade would be lovely on the young woman.
“You don’t have to buy anything,” Hannah reiterated. “Just have fun looking. We can talk while I sew.”
“J.T. would say it’s dangerous to look at things one can’t afford.” Cordelia made this comment as she tentatively thumbed through the Butterick fall catalog. “It opens the door for temptation.”
Hannah gritted her teeth as she sat down at her machine. “I suppose that could be true. But there’s no harm in appreciating beauty and letting your imagination run down a brighter path for a little while. It’s like playing pretend. Girls have fun dreaming that their mud pies are chocolate cakes, but they have sense enough not to eat them. The joy is in the pretending.”
Cordelia looked up from the fashion book and grinned, her eyes twinkling. “I loved playing with mud pies.” She glanced over her shoulder as if worried someone would hear what she had to say, then turned back. “I respect my brother a great deal, but J.T.
can
be a bit too straitlaced at times.”
“That’s stating it mildly,” Hannah mumbled.
Cordelia quirked her brow in question. The mannerism must be a family trait. However, it was far less hostile and annoying when Cordelia did it.
“Your brother has been exceptionally helpful to me since I arrived, Cordelia, but he drives me to distraction at the same time with his overbearing attitudes. Is he disagreeable with everyone, or is it just me?”
Hannah pumped her treadle hard and fast, alleviating her frustration while she sewed.
Cordelia giggled, and only then did Hannah realize how her words could have offended. “He can seem a little harsh to those who don’t know him well. J.T.’s not exactly what I would call affable, but he has a good heart.”
Hannah sighed and her foot slowed. The whir of the machine quieted to a dim hum. “I know he does, and I shouldn’t have spoken ill of him. His actions toward me have been nothing but kind. It’s his words and demeanor that fire my temper. Perhaps if I could find a way to get the upper hand during one of our verbal skirmishes, I wouldn’t feel at such a disadvantage.”
With a final turn of the fabric, Hannah finished the hem of Cordelia’s bread cloth. She pulled the material free and clipped the loose threads.
“All done.” Hannah stood and handed Cordelia her gift. “Here you go. One new bread cloth for the woman who bakes the finest bread in Coventry.”
“Thank you.” Cordelia smiled and looked over the workmanship. “You did that so quickly. It would have easily taken me an hour to complete this, and it would not have turned out half as nice.”
“Swift, quality service. That’s my specialty.”
A thoughtful look crossed Cordelia’s features as she fingered the cloth. Then a downright mischievous sparkle lit her eyes. “You’ve given me a gift today, Hannah—more than the bread cloth. You reminded me that it is permissible to dream and pretend and think on ‘whatsoever things are lovely,’ as Scripture says. I want to give you something in return.”
She stepped closer and dropped her voice. “J.T. has been extra surly since you came to town. I can only conclude that you are getting under his skin as much as he is getting under yours. And as a female who knows what it’s like to live with him when he gets ornery, I would be happy to tip the scales a bit in your favor the next time the two of you spar.”
Hannah held her breath.
“Everyone in Coventry knows not to call J.T. by his given name. He absolutely abhors it. From the time he entered school, he refused to answer to anything except J.T. or Tucker, even with Mother and Father. So the next time you feel the need for an advantage, try calling him
Jericho.
I don’t know if it will help or simply escalate matters, but it is sure to get his goat one way or the other.”
Cordelia’s grin was the essence of sisterly devilment. “I only hope I’m there to see his reaction.” “Jericho, hmm?” Hannah felt an answering grin curve her lips. “I suddenly feel a great fondness for that name.”
The two women giggled like young girls scheming behind the schoolhouse. Jericho Tucker had no idea what was coming his way.
Cordelia introduced Hannah around town on Thursday, and together they handed out close to two dozen of the colorful bread cloths. Word spread, and a steady trickle of visitors came through the shop. Unfortunately, that’s all they were—visitors, not customers.
At closing time on Saturday, Hannah flipped her sign so the word
Closed
faced the window, then leaned her shoulder against the door. Not one order. Her mind told her to be patient, that the women who wandered through the shop would return and make purchases in the future. But logic couldn’t keep her heart from sinking. Words like
failure
and
mistake
and
disaster
circled through her mind, making faces and taunting her as they spun. Hannah sagged further into the door until she began to slip. She snapped up. In a bid for control, she shook out her skirts and imagined herself brushing off the negativity that clung to her.
“Land sakes, Hannah,” she lectured herself, “it’s only been four days. Have a little faith.”
She marched across the floor and collected the brown-paper- wrapped parcel that waited on the corner of her worktable. Ezra’s shirt. He would soon be stopping by to pick it up on his way home from the depot. Hannah fiddled with the string bow that held the package closed, making sure both loops were even and the knot tight. Her first and only customer. Yet he’d paid handsomely. The bench outside her shop gleamed, and more than one visitor had commented on it.
Ezra still insisted on sitting on the edge of the boardwalk while they had their morning cocoa, but she was thankful to have a more comfortable option. The bench was smooth and sturdy and wide enough for three adults. She’d often seen the James children steal a seat there for a minute or two when they were able to get away from the laundry—and whether they were quietly sharing a snack or pestering each other with pokes and pushes, she always enjoyed their antics.
Now the bench sat empty. The weather was pleasant, though, so she decided to make use of it herself while she waited for Ezra. She locked the shop and slid onto the bench, leaning into the crosspieces at her back. Exhaling a long breath, she closed her eyes for a moment and simply breathed. When she opened them again, their focus relaxed. No longer consumed with fabrics and threads, needles and patterns, Hannah let her gaze drift over her surroundings, seeking bits of unexpected beauty. She fancied the search as something of an expedition to uncover God’s hidden messages of love. Whenever she found one, she received it as a gift and savored the serenity it brought.
A monarch butterfly fluttered past and landed on the hitching post. Hannah leaned forward for a better view. The orange wings rimmed and veined in black—like stained glass in a church window—winked at her. It lingered only an instant before taking flight once again. Hannah followed its erratic movements until she spotted an interesting knothole in one of the boards near her feet. Golden streaks spiraled inward against a dark brown backdrop, revealing the place a branch once grew. This made her think of trees and how the leaves would soon be changing, covering the area hills in a patchwork of green, gold, and red. Lifting her eyes to examine the outlying hills beyond the town, a particularly fluffy cloud captured her attention. She was in the midst of deciding whether it looked more like an armadillo or a handlebar mustache when a loud bang followed by high-pitched voices jolted her out of her reverie.
“Did not!”
“Did so.”
“I’m telling Ma.”
“Go ahead. It’s your fault we lost it.”
Hannah craned her neck in time to see Mollie James stomp back inside the laundry house, apparently intent on carrying out her threat to tattle. Tessa uttered a closed-mouth cry that surely would have been a full scream had her lips parted. Then she spun toward Hannah in a fit of obvious pique and ran blindly for the bench. She pulled up short when she realized the seat was already occupied. Tears pooled in her eyes but didn’t fall as she looked at Hannah. Before the child could run away, Hannah patted a spot on the bench beside her.
“I’ll share.”
Tessa hesitated. Then, with a shrug, she sat down and scooted back until her feet swung freely above the ground. She crossed her arms over her chest and settled into an impressive pout.
Hannah sighed in dramatic fashion and crossed her own arms. “Little sisters can be such a trial. I have one, too, you know.”
Tessa’s arms loosened a little. “You do?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“She ever get you in trouble for something that wasn’t your fault?”
“Oh yes, on several occasions.” Hannah kept her expression sober even though she wanted to laugh. “I remember the first time Mother let me attend one of her quilting bees. Usually Emily and I had to stay in our room on quilting nights so that we didn’t bother the ladies, but this time Mother had deemed my stitching good enough to join the adults. I was so excited and proud. Emily, however, felt left out. She begged Mother to let her help, too, and finally Mother agreed to let her snip threads with a small pair of embroidery scissors.
“The problem, though, was that Mother sewed with a long thread that didn’t need to be snipped often. So Emily took it upon herself to snip my threads, too. Only I didn’t want her to. I asked politely for her to let me use the scissors, but she insisted it was her job to snip the thread ends. I insisted that I would snip my own threads. Thankfully, the rest of the women’s chatter kept them from noticing our argument. Had Emily just given me the scissors, all would have been well, but she refused.” Hannah wagged her head at the injustice of sibling interference. “I tried to grab them from her, and we tugged back and forth until I finally won. But that win quickly turned into a defeat.”
Tessa wiggled closer to Hannah, her pout replaced by a look of avid curiosity. “What happened?”
“I yanked on the scissors so hard that when they popped free of Emily’s hand, I couldn’t hang on to them. They sailed through the air and clanked against Myrtle Butler’s teacup. She squealed and dropped the cup and saucer, spilling tea all over her dress, and worse, the quilt.”
Tessa gasped.
Hannah nodded, a residual shame creeping over her at the memory. “I’d never seen Mother so angry. She yelled at me in front of the Ladies Auxiliary and sent both Emily and me to our room. I wasn’t allowed to join the quilting group again for two years, until Emily was old enough to join, as well.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I didn’t think so, either, at the time.” Hannah patted Tessa’s knee. “But now I understand it better. Emily might have been guilty of instigating the trouble, but my reaction to her is what caused the situation to escalate out of control. If I had simply let her snip the thread, everything would have worked out fine.”
Tessa’s face scrunched in thought.
“Is that similar to what happened with you and Mollie?” Hannah asked.
“Sort of. Except me losing the button was all Mollie’s fault. She bumped into me when I was just sitting there. The button dropped out of my hand and fell through a crack in the floor. Now Mr. Smythe will prob’ly refuse to pay again. He don’t pay if anything’s wrong with his clothes. And he looks real hard to find something wrong every time. Ma’s gonna tan my hide good for this.”