Calico Brides (19 page)

If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature;
old things are passed away;
behold, all things are become new
.
2 C
ORINTHIANS
5:17

B
irdie Landry smoothed her gloved hand over the sign one of her sewing circle friends had made for her: F
RESH
E
GGS
C
HEAPER BY THE
D
OZEN
. She could picture it now, sitting inside the window of Finnegan’s Mercantile, drawing customers in to buy her eggs from Ned.

I’m doing Ned Finnegan a favor
. Gerard’s, the other general store in town, didn’t offer eggs. Birdie could have danced for joy when Miss Kate agreed that she could raise chickens on the property. She figured she would have enough eggs to pay for her room at the boardinghouse Miss Kate ran in addition to the diner, and then sell the extras for cash at the mercantile.

Those two and a half dozen hens represented the first step in bringing Birdie’s dreams for her mission project to life. She hoped and prayed that Ned wouldn’t hold her past against her.

No
, Birdie told herself. Her friends—imagine, calling the daughter of a pastor a friend—kept reminding her that she was a child of the King. As in the fairy tales she had loved when she was a girl, that made her a princess. Unlike the stories, she didn’t expect Prince Charming to ride up and save her.

Mr. Finnegan treated her with respect, like any other woman who frequented his store. Mr. Gerard had frequented the Betwixt ’n’ Between on more than one occasion, although he had never requested Birdie’s services.

Every day Birdie was reminded of her former occupation as she walked the streets of Calico. No matter what route she traveled from the boardinghouse, she passed one of her former clients’ homes. Mrs. Fairfield, the pastor’s wife, encouraged her to pray for the men and the families involved. She called it heaping coals of fire on their heads.

Like the pretty white house standing to her right. The bank president lived in that place. Birdie kept her eyes open as she prayed, hoping to imprint the image of new summer grass and children at play on the lawn over the sight of the man in his long underwear.

The door to the house opened, and Birdie crossed the street. She tugged her sunbonnet forward and kept her gaze focused on her feet. No one else appeared in her line of vision as she turned onto Main Street. Because of the early hour, earlier than most people came to the store, she hoped to catch Mr. Finnegan before he had any customers.

Spotting the deputy sheriff heading down the street, Birdie ducked into the doorway of the mercantile. Mr. Finnegan smiled at her as he unlocked the door. His slight build and kind face matched his occupation.

He opened the door wide and stood back so she could enter. “Good morning, Miss Landry! You’re up and about early today.”

He said that every time she came, although he must guess her reasons for the hour. She shifted the bag holding the sign from one arm to the other and prayed for courage.

“I see you have something in your bag already. Are you wanting to trade?” He walked to his register and leaned forward on his elbows.

With that unexpected opening, Birdie stammered a bit in her response. “No. I mean, yes, I hope to, in the future.” She drew a breath.

“Sit a spell and tell me what you have in mind.” He led her to a table at the back of the store underneath a sign that promised a fresh cup of coffee. Without asking, he poured some into a dainty china cup and then refilled his usual mug. “Did you bring some of Miss Kate’s doughnuts, by any chance?”

Birdie spread out the extra pastries Miss Kate had sent with her. Mr. Finnegan took one, broke it in half, and dunked it in his coffee. “Delicious.”

He turned the bag in Birdie’s direction. “Go ahead and take one.”

Birdie shook her head. “Thank you, but I already had some for breakfast.”

Ned arranged the rest on a tray, fingers tapping on a sheet of paper as he counted up the total. “Tell her I’ll add the credit to her account. People do love her doughnuts and cookies. But you didn’t come here just to bring Miss Kate’s doughnuts.” He invited her proposition with a smile. “I always welcome a chance to examine new merchandise.”

New merchandise
. Birdie’s mind fled to the day Nigel Owen had used those words to introduce her to a man he promised would be gentle with her. She shoved that thought out of her mind, reminding herself that to her knowledge, Ned Finnegan had never set foot in a saloon.

Ned waited for Birdie—he thought of her as Birdie, as pretty as a cardinal, with hair to match—but she seemed in no hurry to speak her mind. He sent up a quick prayer for wisdom.

Pulling something out of her bag, she laid it on her lap. He resisted the temptation to take a peek. She looked at him briefly before returning her attention to her coffee cup. “You already carry my ready-made dresses, so I have no right to ask anything more from you.”

Ned’s heart twisted. She acted like she didn’t quite trust him, and why should she, after all she had endured at the hands of evil men?
“Give her time,”
God’s still, small voice urged him. So he kept his voice to a strict, businesslike enthusiasm. “You have done me a service. I sold the first dress you brought in here in two days’ time, and I’ve had several requests for more.” He folded his hands on the table. “I would be happy to take anything you create with your needle.”

Once again the sunbonnet lifted, and he caught sight of those vivid blue eyes, as wide and as innocent as the midday sky, in spite of everything she had gone through. “Thank you for that, and I plan on bringing you more soon. But I have another proposition for you. You see, I have the opportunity to buy some laying hens… .” She stalled.

“You’re wondering if I would be interested in buying eggs.” Ned’s mind raced around possibilities. Gerard didn’t carry eggs. He calculated he could charge three cents for two eggs. “What price did you have in mind?”

She looked at him again. “I was wondering if you would pay a dime for a half dozen?” She looked away, as if unwilling for him to examine her face.

He would need to adjust his prices, but he didn’t hesitate. “Twenty cents a dozen, a penny apiece if you have more or less on a given day.” He offered his hand, and she shyly shook it.

“Now can I see what you have in that bag?” He kept his voice light, but she had aroused his curiosity.

“I’m afraid I presumed upon your kindness.” She placed the object in her lap on the table between them.

Reading the sign, Ned laughed. “I am honored that you would offer me this business opportunity. I’ll put it in the window right away. When do you expect the hens to start laying?”

Birdie kept her eyes on Ned while she explained her timetable for setting up the henhouse, filling it with birds, and letting them settle into their new environment. “I’ll check back with you in a week.”

“Good. Until then…do you need any fabric? Thread? Feed?”

Birdie opened her mouth, closed it, then glanced away as she said, “I don’t have the funds for more than the feed.”

Tempted to respond with a “put it on account,” Ned considered how to help her without offending her pride. Somehow God had smoothed Birdie’s ruffled feathers enough to accept Aunt Kate’s offer of a roof over her head and daily food. Kate’s relationship to Gladys Polson, one of Birdie’s friends, helped. Ned had experienced Birdie’s prickly pride firsthand. But God’s love compelled him to try again.

Something Ned had heard tickled his memory. He pulled out his account books and scanned the lines. When he couldn’t make out the ragged words, he pulled his glasses from the top of his head to his eyes. He didn’t like the way he looked wearing them, but no one as lovely as Birdie Landry would ever look twice at someone as homely as he was, whether he wore glasses or not.

He found the entry and turned the ledger so Birdie could see. “Several of my customers are eagerly awaiting your next ready-to-wear dresses. Mrs. Olson is so eager, in fact, that she paid in advance so we would hold the next dress for her. I can use your share of the money for the supplies you need.” He held his breath, hoping she would agree.

“Mrs. Olson?” Birdie’s eyebrows furrowed. “My regular dress pattern might not fit. I want to be sure she is pleased with the product. Besides—” Sighing, she rested her fingers on the counter where the sewing notions were kept. “It’s not good business to accept pay before the work is done. That’s what happens when farmers borrow money against their crops. They end up losing the land.” Such a sad look came over her face that Ned wondered if she had experienced that herself. Maybe that had forced her away from home and into a place like the Betwixt ’n’ Between. “I don’t like to accept money before I’ve done the work.”

Ned had an answer for that. “That’s the way I usually do my business. Get horseshoes on my Ellie, I pay the blacksmith before he starts. When I added a backroom to the store, I paid for expenses right up front.”

“Get a meal at Miss Kate’s, and you pay after you eat the meal,” Birdie shot back. “I know the Bible says if a man doesn’t work, he doesn’t eat.” Her back straightened. She had drawn her line in the sand, and she wouldn’t cross over it.

Ned could quote half a dozen verses that talked about taking care of widows, orphans, and the poor, but Birdie would argue she didn’t fit into any of those categories. Taking his glasses off the bridge of his nose, he scratched his head with an earpiece. “Tell you what. Do you have enough material and whatnots to make something for a baby? A quilt, a christening gown? My sister…” Heat crept into his face. He was uneasy discussing such an intimate matter. But he kept his voice steady. “She’s in a delicate condition, and I’ve been thinking about what to give her. Anything you make would be a marvelous gift. You could probably fix that up quick, and then you’d have money for additional supplies.” He kept his eyes locked on hers, willing her to agree.

Birdie returned his stare, her features not betraying her thoughts. She had a good face for poker. At last a rare smile burst out, bathing Ned with the first rays of sunrise. “I have some scraps that would be perfect for a baby quilt. When would you like it?”

Ned’s niece or nephew wasn’t due for six months, but Birdie didn’t need to know that. “As soon as you can finish.”

Birdie curled her fingers against her hands one by one, as if she was calculating the hours. “I should be able to finish it by a week from this Saturday.” Her smile faded like the last hint of color on the horizon at the end of the day. “Thank you for your business, Mr. Finnegan.” With a final nod of her head, she left his store.

Most men would do almost anything to put another one of those smiles on Birdie’s face.

With God’s help, Ned hoped to be the one who did.

T
hese are all the scraps I have.” Gladys handed a bag of fabric to Birdie. “I had set these aside to show to all of you before you told me about the baby quilt. If you find anything you can use, please take it off my hands. And here are the threads I pulled out from the seams, in case you can use them as well.” She dropped a spool half full of thread into the bag of scraps without waiting for Birdie’s answer.

Since Birdie and the others shared alike when they had extra bits of sewing materials, she didn’t refuse the offer. The materials in the bag personified the adage her ma had branded on her mind: “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” But no matter how Ma scrimped, they never had enough. Pa drank money as soon as he got ahold of it.

Birdie reached for the spool and dropped it into her basket. Sorting through the scraps she had gathered, she decided on a pinwheel pattern in yellows, greens, and lavender. She had enough white fabric to mix with the others without purchasing anything else. “I’ve dealt with some stubborn men in my time, but I’ve never met anyone as bad as Mr. Finnegan. He wasn’t going to let me go until he found a way to give me money.”

The other women exchanged glances, and Annie laughed out loud. She examined a square Birdie had already finished. “He’s not
giving
you anything. You’ve put a lot of hours into this quilt already. I couldn’t make anything so fine in a month of Saturdays.” She turned it over and examined the tiny knots on the back. “And to think you did this with leftover thread. You are a gifted seamstress.”

Birdie’s spirits lifted at the kind words. She had used those skills to repair dresses for the other girls at the Betwixt ’n’ Between. Then there came a time when she didn’t ever want to pick up a needle again. That changed after Mrs. Fairfield talked her into joining the Ladies Sewing Circle and she’d made friends with the women in this room. Ruth described the surprising turn of events as God turning something bad into something good.

“You’re smiling.” Gladys spoke like someone taking notes for class or a report to her newspaper editor fiancé, Haydn Keller.

“So spill the news.” As usual, Annie was more straightforward. “You’re smiling like Christmas Day.”

Birdie cut one of Annie’s scraps of fabric into two squares while she considered her answer. “It’s something Ruth said about God making something good out of something bad.”