Not yet willing to concede that point, he merely grunted. In response, she reached across the tabletop and snagged his fork. Before he could stop her, she slid the fruity tidbit off the tines and into her mouth.
“Hey!” He made a grab for her arm but missed as she flopped back into her seat.
She smiled in triumph, her lips as wide as they could be while still concealing their prize.
“Imp. Get your own dumpling.” He sawed off a second section and crammed it into his mouth before she could steal it.
“I only wanted a bite,” she said as she dabbed her lips with her napkin. “I’m taking the others to Mr. Franklin at the telegraph office.”
“You didn’t make yourself one?” That wasn’t like her. Delia loved sweets.
“Not today.” She got up to refill his coffee cup, and J.T. considered her more closely. Her brown dress was hanging a bit looser around her middle. She was losing weight.
“You sure you’re not sick?”
Delia set the coffeepot back on the stove and began packing a man-sized portion of food into her delivery basket to take to Ike. “I’m fine, J.T. Really. Stop your fussing.”
He lifted his coffee to his lips and sipped the hot brew. “Maybe you should cut back on all that walking and calisthenic nonsense. You’re getting thin.”
“Do you think so?” She looked downright pleased by the idea.
J.T. frowned. “If you’re feeling poorly, you should rest, not wear yourself out with crackbrained exercises.”
“Actually, feeling poorly is exactly why Hannah got involved with Dr. Lewis’s gymnastic system in the first place.” Delia collected his empty plate and set it in the dishpan.
He told himself not to ask, but an irresistible curiosity drove him to it anyway. “She was ill?”
“As a child, yes. From what Hannah told me, she nearly drowned the summer she was ten, swimming in a pond near her home. She developed pneumonia, and her lungs weakened to the point that the doctors believed she’d be an invalid the rest of her life.”
J.T. drew a toothpick from his pocket to clean his teeth and tried to picture a young Hannah lying in bed with nothing to occupy her beyond a needle and thread. The image didn’t fit the woman he knew. It was much easier to envision her as a rambunctious girl bounding over hills and dales in pursuit of rainbows, butterflies, and armloads of wildflowers.
“She’s certainly no invalid now.”
Delia chuckled as she covered the food basket with a clean napkin. “No, she’s certainly not. Apparently her mother ran across a book by Dr. Lewis that emphasized the stimulating effects of sunshine and exercise on curing weak lungs and recommended the use of apparatus such as Indian clubs and lightweight dumbbells. She started Hannah on a simple regimen and built on it little by little until her health was fully restored. Hannah never gave up the habit.”
“Gotta go,” J.T. mumbled. He pushed away from the table and got up, eager to escape the conversation about Miss Richards. The last thing he needed was another reason to admire the woman. Lots of children faced and overcame adversity. It didn’t make her special.
“I’m going to stop by the dress shop on my way home.” Delia’s giddy grin captured his attention. She gripped the sides of her basket as if trying to keep her hands from clapping together in glee. “We’re going to do some preliminary measurements and select fabric.”
J.T. scowled at his sister. “I’d hoped you’d abandoned that notion.”
She released the basket and blew out a breath. “Land sakes, J.T. It’s just one dress. I’m not going to turn into some vainglorious peacock who constantly obsesses about her wardrobe. You raised me better than that. I simply want to wear something nice to the Founders’ Day picnic this year. That’s all.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and broadened his stance. “I’m starting to think that maybe you’re spending too much time with Miss Richards. She’s a bad influence on you.”
Delia gasped. “How can you say that? She’s my dearest friend, and she’s done nothing wrong—to you or anyone else in this town.”
“She operates a shop filled with temptation,” J.T. declared, thrusting his finger in the direction of the offensive place. “Her designs aren’t simple dresses created to keep a person protected from the elements. No, every last one of them has been specifically crafted to draw attention to the figure of the woman who buys it, stroking the customer’s vanity, and giving her reason to snub those less wealthy or attractive than she. And what of those who can’t afford the luxury of such clothing? They are left to lust over ruffles and lace, coveting what is out of their reach when they should be content with what they have.”
“Which am I?”
J.T. chomped down on his toothpick, tension spearing through his jaw. Delia stood before him with her hands on her hips, daring him to place her in one of those objectionable categories.
“I have the means for the dress, saved from my own earnings,” she said, “so that must mean that I’m a status-seeking snob. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course not. You’re different.”
“I’m different? Really? Because a moment ago it all sounded very black and white coming from you.”
“Delia . . .” She was twisting things around.
“So you’re willing to concede that it’s possible for a woman, like me, to purchase one of Hannah’s creations without plunging into moral decay.”
“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth, “but she should be more responsible toward those who are weaker. A true Christian wouldn’t lay out a stumbling block for others to trip over.”
“Jericho Riley Tucker. When did you get so sanctimonious?” Her lips pursed in distaste. “A true Christian, indeed. I guess a true Christian couldn’t own a gun shop, then. Too much temptation for those with murderous impulses. Or a bank. Greed leads to all kinds of dissipation, you know. Better not open a restaurant, either. Why, the poor soul who is prone to gluttony would be tempted to order mounds of food each time he entered the establishment.”
“Enough! You’ve made your point.” J.T. grabbed his forehead and massaged his temples.
Delia’s arms fell to her sides and she sighed. “If Hannah filled her shop with scanty gowns that incited men to lust and promoted an immoral agenda, I would be the first to help you close her down. But she’s an honorable woman who makes her living sewing high-quality, modest dresses that glow with the colors and beauty God inspires within her. There is nothing shameful in that.
“You are letting what our mother did cloud your judgment, J.T. She was a selfish woman who craved beautiful things, but that doesn’t mean that people who make beautiful things are wrong to do so.”
Arguments swirled in J.T.’s mind, setting him adrift. What Delia said made sense, but he feared her logic was another test of his conviction. He
wanted
to believe that Hannah was innocent of any wrong. If she were, there would be no reason to continue fighting his attraction for her. Waves of doubt tossed him to and fro until the verse from First Peter about beauty coming from within and not from outward adornment sprang to the surface like a life preserver. He latched on to it.
“She might not be promoting immodesty, but she is promoting false ideas about beauty that could lead others astray.”
“Is that all you can see? Can you not see all the good that she’s done in the short time she’s been here?” Delia came up to him and touched his arm. He flinched and stepped away from her.
“Do you not see her ministering to Tessa James, teaching the girl to sew and using that opportunity to meet the child’s need for new clothes at the same time? Do you not see the happiness her friendship has brought me?” She inched close to him again. J.T. fought the urge to retreat.
“You know I’ve always struggled to fit in. Between the scandal with Mother and my own shyness, friends have been a rare commodity for me. Yet the first day I brought Hannah a jar of milk, genuine affection sprung up between us.”
J.T. frowned. He’d been so busy as a young man trying to keep a roof over his sister’s head, he hadn’t paid much attention to how she fared with other kids. Had she been lonely all this time?
“And what of Mr. Culpepper?” Delia continued. “How many months did the people of Coventry, you and me included, let that man wander around in the stench of his grief doing nothing about it? Hannah took him under her wing and in less than a week managed not only to get him to bathe but, more importantly, to return to church.
“If anyone can be an influence for good in a shop filled with fancy dresses, Hannah Richards can. She already has.”
The life preserver was slipping from his hands, and he didn’t know how to reestablish his grip. The truth embedded in his sister’s words swirled around him in a current that pulled him in a direction he didn’t want to go. Why couldn’t he just cling to his simple understanding of what God wanted from his people? It had served him well in the past. But Hannah had muddied the waters with her contradictions. She didn’t fit into his clean, simple way of thinking.
J.T. ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the roots. He hissed under his breath at the self-inflicted pain. Then Delia reached out and gently tugged his arm free. Surrounding his large hand with her two smaller ones, she peered up at him.
“You’re afraid, J.T. Afraid to believe that someone who values beauty and is so beautiful herself can also be good.” She squeezed his fingers, and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I saw how you looked at Hannah this morning. You’re developing feelings for her, aren’t you? Despite your rigid rules. Don’t let Mother’s choices poison yours. Just because
she
broke your heart doesn’t mean that Hannah will, too. Beauty in and of itself is not wrong.”
Without conscious thought, a verse he’d quoted often while Delia was growing up tumbled from his lips. “ ‘Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’ Proverbs 31:30.”
His sister shook her head, her smile fading. “No one’s arguing that a woman should pursue beauty above a relationship with her Lord. Maybe it’s time you went back and reread that chapter in Proverbs. Look again at the woman who is praised as a godly example of virtuous femininity. The wife whose value is above rubies. I dare you, J.T. Look for yourself. What type of clothing does
she
wear? How does she earn
her
living? Then maybe we can have this discussion again.”
J.T. trudged back to the livery, a Bible tucked under his arm. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but he’d been extremely tempted to toss his conversation with Delia to the wind and ignore her challenge. What if he dug deeper into the Word as she suggested and discovered he needed to adjust his beliefs? Could he do that? They’d been his rock for so long. Guiding him. Shaping him. If they turned out to be shifting sand . . .
Tom waved at him as he approached the office. “Doc came by to rent the buggy. Said Mrs. Walsh was due to have her next young’un any day, and he wanted to pay a call on her. I hitched up the roan. Hope that’s all right.” He crammed his hands into his pockets and rocked up and back on the balls of his feet.
J.T. slapped him on the arm. “You did fine. I’ll add it to his account.”
A grin exploded across Tom’s face.
The Bible under his arm poked J.T.’s ribs as he moved past the young man and reached for the knob on the office door. A similar jab from within made him hesitate. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Uh, Tom?”
The boy spun around and trotted back to J.T.’s side like an eager puppy. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind sticking around for an extra hour or so? I’ve got some things to work on, and I’d rather not be disturbed.”
“Sure.” Tom eyed the black leather protruding from beneath J.T.’s bicep. “If them things need a Bible to figure out, I reckon they must be mighty important. No one’ll bother you unless there’s an emergency. I’ll see to it.”
“Thanks.” J.T. pulled the book from under his arm and lifted it to the brim of his hat in salute. Then he entered his office and closed the door.
A tangle of harness leather cluttered the top of his desk. With one hand, he scooped it up and tossed it onto a barrel in the corner as he circled the table and lowered himself into his cane-backed chair. He set the Bible on the desktop in front of him, then pushed it over to a corner. The scrape of leather on wood echoed loudly in the small room, but J.T. ignored it. He swiveled away to collect a different book.
He extracted the account ledger from the drawer to his left and flipped to the page that held the current entries. With a nub of pencil, he added a dollar to the doctor’s balance and totaled the sum since the man’s last payment.
Black leather tugged at his peripheral vision. He scratched an itchy spot on his jaw and turned back to the ledger. Might as well total up all the accounts. It’d make the end-of-month tally much easier. J.T. welcomed the mathematical diversion, his focus only occasionally drifting over to the Bible that sat patiently on the corner. Until the numbers ran out. With no sums to keep his conscience at bay, the black book loomed large, creeping into his line of sight.
He scanned the room for something else to do. The harness still needed work. And he’d been meaning to fix that rickety shelf since last month. The pipe on his potbellied stove was dented. The windowsill needed dusting.
Dusting?
J.T. braced his arms on the desk and pressed his forehead into the heels of his hands. As he exhaled, a self-castigating chuckle vibrated against the wall of his chest. He
was
a coward if he’d rather dust a windowsill than read a passage of Scripture. This was a livery office, for pity’s sake, not a fancy parlor. Dust was part of the decor.
With a small groan, he pushed the ledger aside and drew the Bible toward him.
Lord, I don’t know what you’re aiming to teach me, but I pray for enough wisdom to recognize it when I see it.
Standing the book on its spine, J.T. thumbed the pages back until he found Proverbs. He turned to the last chapter and began to read. Nothing momentous caught his attention in the beginning, except the warning to Lemuel against giving his strength to women. J.T. had been a believer in that philosophy for ages. However, his assurance started dissolving around verse nineteen with the mention of the noble wife’s spindle. And at verse twenty-one, it deteriorated completely.