“Thank you for letting me stay here last night,” Hannah said as she reached for the platter Cordelia held out to her.
Cordelia laid a damp hand on her arm, and the warm moisture soaked through Hannah’s sleeve. “You can stay here as long as you like.”
Hannah shrugged. “Jericho said that Warren would be out of town until Tuesday, so there’s no reason to impose on you any longer.”
“You’re not an imposition. How could you be? You’re practically family.”
A little thrill shot through Hannah at Cordelia’s words, but she couldn’t let them sway her. She needed to move forward.
Founders’ Day had been a rousing success in showcasing Cordelia’s new style and Hannah’s design skills. In fact, several women had spoken to her about dressmaking projects that morning after services. Retreat now would destroy the momentum she had gained yesterday. And worse, it would mean giving Warren or whomever was responsible for vandalizing her shop exactly what he wanted.
Hannah inhaled a fortifying breath and rubbed the dishtowel along the decorated edge of the oval dish. She stared at the tiny blue flowers instead of the sympathetic eyes of her friend, afraid that the warm acceptance in their depths would erode her determination. “I appreciate all you and Jericho have done for me. Truly. But I can’t hide here. The longer I stay away, the harder it will be to return.” Hannah set the platter on the table and reached for the dripping pan.
Cordelia released the pan, her mouth flattening into a tight line as she shoved a greasy pot into the dishwater. Her elbows wagged as she scoured it with enough vigor to rub a hole through the bottom. “I wish this whole mess with Warren had never started. You’ve done nothing to deserve such vile treatment.”
Guilt lingered behind her friend’s frustration, and Hannah rushed to dispel it. “Don’t worry about me,” she said with a grin and a playful bump to Cordelia’s flapping elbow. “I’ll be too busy catering to all my new customers to think about anything else. Besides, maybe the vandalism will draw extra attention to the shop, and God will turn something Warren meant for harm into a blessing. All I need is an afternoon to tidy things up a bit, and I’ll be back in business. Better than before. You’ll see.”
An answering smile eased across Cordelia’s lips. She lifted the scrubbed pot out of the water and started to extend it to Hannah, but stopped and slipped it back into the dishpan. “Why don’t you take J.T. his lunch since he rushed off in such a hurry today? Then, as soon as I finish cleaning the roasting pan and set my bread dough to rise for Monday’s loaves, I’ll come lend a hand.”
“Perfect.” Hannah draped the dishtowel over Cordelia’s shoulder and untied the borrowed apron from around her waist. Having help would greatly lighten the work, but more than that, it would give her company. Despite her brave talk, she really didn’t want to be alone in the shop. Not if she didn’t have to be. She trusted the Lord to answer her prayers for courage, but in the meantime, a friend to share the load would be a blessing indeed.
Hannah collected the basket Cordelia had set aside for her brother and headed for the livery. She’d thought Jericho had been acting strange when he rushed off after seeing them home, but Cordelia had assured her that he often had to tend to his animals and rigs after services since several townspeople rented them for the drive to church.
Still, a little niggle of disquiet picked at her. He’d been so hard to read last night, coming in from his undisclosed outing with no more to say than that he’d talked to Mr. Hawkins and Warren would be out of town until Tuesday. Then he’d urged her to get some sleep, which had been nearly impossible, what with his pacing in the kitchen like a soldier on patrol. By the time his boots finally fell silent, Hannah had been ready to tie him up herself.
He’d been solicitous that morning, though, watching for Ezra at her request and notifying the older man that she would attend services with the Tuckers. Jericho’s solid presence beside her held her fears at bay and allowed her to focus more clearly on worship. But then he’d ushered them back to the house only to leave them the minute their feet hit the porch. The abruptness of it all had left her feeling shuffled and dumped and more than a little confused.
Did Jericho regret becoming involved with her? Hannah’s stride faltered at the thought. Perhaps all the trouble with the shop reinforced his previous view that her profession was a stumbling block—not only to women, but now to him. After all, he was being dragged into something that undoubtedly put him at odds with men he considered friends and business associates.
What could she do to make it up to him? Close the shop? A swift, stabbing pain speared her side and brought her to a halt at the edge of the livery stable. Could she do that? Sacrifice her dream in order to share a life with the man she loved?
Hannah swallowed hard. She visualized herself in a flourishing dress shop, a full-grown Tessa working by her side. Happy clients. A sizable bank account. Yet she’d go upstairs to an empty room every night. No strong arms to embrace her and soothe away her hurts, no tender kisses to make her heart sing, no one to tease and to be teased by in return. Without Jericho, success would be hollow. Could she give it up? Yes . . . if she knew he loved her in return, she could. But did he?
A moan vibrated in her throat. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
A verse floated through her mind about not taking thought for tomorrow since today carried sufficient trouble unto itself. Her lips twisted into a wry grin. The Lord could not have sent her a more apt reminder. Hannah straightened her spine. She’d deal with today’s problems and leave tomorrow in God’s hands. That’s where it belonged anyway.
Stepping into the dim interior of the stable, Hannah paused as her eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight. The pungent smells of manure and old hay wrinkled her nose, but she made no effort to block the odor with her handkerchief. She needed to get used to it if she hoped to be a livery owner’s wife.
A movement near one of the middle stalls caught her eye. “Jericho?” She started forward.
“Nope. Just me.” Tom turned, a grin stretching wide over his teeth. “Oh, and Mr. Culpepper.”
“Ezra?”
The older man emerged from inside the stall.
“What are you doing here?”
“That you, Miz Hannah?” He shuffled closer and heaved a sigh. “Old Jackson threw a shoe. With the smithy closed on Sundays, I convinced young Tom to let me stable him here until tomorrow. I’ll rent a horse to take me and the buggy home, then return it when I come to the depot in the morning. Don’t want Jackson going lame trudging up to my place without a shoe.”
“Of course not.”
“I am glad I ran into you, though.” Ezra winked at her as he moved past, heading for his buggy. “I brung you something.”
Hannah followed him, her curiosity piqued. “You did?” A tiny thrill of excitement coursed through her at the prospect until a more logical explanation came to mind. “Do you have more mending that needs to be done?”
Ezra’s laugh boomed through the stable, eliciting an answering bray from old Jackson. “Now, why would I bring you mending on the Lord’s Day, Miz Hannah?” He shook his head as he reached to retrieve a small paper-wrapped parcel from the seat cushion. “Nah. I brung you a gift.” He presented it to her with a gleam in his eye.
“I meant to give it to you when I picked you up for services this mornin’, but you’d already made plans to trade in my company for that Tucker fellow.”
The parcel sat heavy in her hand, but she ignored it, worried that she had truly hurt the man’s feelings. “Oh, Ezra. It wasn’t like that at all. I just—”
His chuckle cut short her apology. “No. No. I’m just giving you a hard time. A gal as purty as you deserves to be courted by a young buck. Besides, I seen the way he looks at you. Reminds me of when I was courtin’ my Alice.”
Warmth crept into Hannah’s cheeks, and not knowing what to say, she dipped her head to examine the gift her friend had given her. The brown paper crinkled as she unfolded it. She lifted one side, and a small silver cylinder rolled into her hand. The needle case was delicately tooled with a leaf pattern that flowed up the side and over the pull-off lid.
“This is beautiful.” Her hushed voice echoed a reverent tone as she drank in the loveliness of the silver case. “But it’s too much. I can’t accept it.” She tried to hand it back, but Ezra took her hand and folded her fingers back over her palm, trapping the gift inside.
“Alice would want you to have it.”
Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes. He was giving her something of Alice’s?
A wistful look passed over Ezra’s face. “I decided to finally go through her things. The day after you paid me a call, as a matter of fact. I figure on giving most of her clothes to the poor box at church . . . since I ain’t never gonna wear ’em.” He winked at Hannah and she smiled, thanking God for how far this grieving man had come. “And I’ll prob’ly send a box of stuff back to her sister in St. Louis. But when I saw this here case, I knew you were the one who had to have it.
“Alice would have liked you, Miz Hannah. And she would’ve appreciated what you done for me. Maybe having something of hers will help you feel like you know her even though you two never met.”
Hannah bent forward and touched a kiss to Ezra’s cheek, right above his whiskers. “I feel as if I already know her—through you.” She stepped back and held the needle case to her heart. “Thank you, Ezra. I will treasure this.”
Tom brought out a horse and started hitching it to the buggy. As he adjusted the collar, he shot a questioning glance at Hannah. “You lookin’ for J.T.?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping back to give him room to work. “I brought him some lunch. Is he here?”
“Nope. Ain’t seen him since church.”
“That’s odd. He said he had business to take care of.” Something twinged in her stomach. Had he manufactured an excuse to get away from her? Surely not. Jericho was an honorable man. But why . . . ?
For heaven’s sake.
All this negative thinking was getting her nowhere. She’d just received a lovely gift from a dear friend. She had no cause to feel morose. Careful not to drop the precious needle case, Hannah slipped it into her skirt pocket and patted it against her side. Such a thoughtful gift, equally as thoughtful as . . . her chairs.
“Ezra?”
The man had moved away from her to help Tom buckle all the necessary straps. Upon hearing his name, though, he turned.
Hannah smiled to cover her discomfiture over the question she was about to ask. “Did you by chance leave another gift for me on my landing? I only ask because I found a pair of oak dining chairs there with no note or other clue as to who they were from. With all your woodworking, I thought maybe they were from you.”
Ezra scratched his beard. “No. Can’t say they were. They just showed up?”
“Yes. I’d like to thank whomever is responsible. If I can determine who that person is.”
Tom worked his way down the horse’s back, checking the harness. “Mighta been J.T.”
Hannah’s heart gave a little leap. “You think Jericho left me the chairs?”
Tom shrugged. “Don’t know fer sure. He bought a couple from the junkman a couple weeks back, though, and I saw him working on ’em in the corner over there a few times.” He pointed to a recess hidden by buggies and buckboards. “They aren’t there now.”
“I knew that boy was smitten,” Ezra murmured just loud enough for Hannah to hear.
She stared at the empty corner, a grin breaking free across her face. Cordelia had warned her that Jericho didn’t handle gratitude well. That’s probably why he hadn’t said anything. But he best prepare himself. The next time she saw him, she was going to bombard him with thanks. In fact, she thought as she glanced down at the lunch basket still slung over her arm, maybe she could finagle a meeting in the next hour or so.
“I need to be going, gentlemen.” She eased her way toward the livery door. “Tom, if you happen to see Mr. Tucker, tell him I have his lunch. He can stop by the dress shop whenever he wishes to claim it.”
Tom yelled an “okay” to her back as she bustled across the street. She smiled, both at Tom’s limitless exuberance and at the warmth that radiated through her at the thought of Jericho’s painstaking attentions on her behalf.
As she neared her shop, though, her step faltered. Beyond the display window, a dark figure was roaming about inside. Had they been wrong to assume Warren’s guilt?
Whoever he was, the person inside had no right to be in her shop. Indignation swept over her like a prairie fire. Hannah jutted out her chin and stalked forward. The vandal had escaped detection last time, but not today. Nothing was going to stop her from uncovering his identity.
Caution kept her boldness in check as she concealed her body behind the wall that stretched between the two shop windows. It wouldn’t do to have the villain catch sight of her and flee before she figured out who he was. Balancing one hand on the back of Ezra’s bench, she pressed the other to the glass. She squinted against the reflective glare and leaned in until her forehead rested against the curve of her fingers. The shadowy figure finally took shape. Her heart pounded in anticipated victory. Then he turned, and Hannah gasped.
Tears burned the back of Hannah’s eyes. Jericho stood in the middle of her shop, flower-sprigged fabric tangled around his torso. Having pivoted too quickly, he teetered while trying to avoid stepping on a coil of lace that lay directly under his raised boot. He managed to regain his footing, but almost took a tumble in the process. A muted laugh puffed out of her at the same time a tear fell from her lashes. Her rugged liveryman was draped in pink calico.
Jericho Tucker, a self-proclaimed despiser of fashion, flounces, and frills, was chin deep in feminine trappings. All for her.
Hannah sank onto the bench, her legs suddenly too weak to support her weight. Jericho’s actions had always spoken more eloquently than his words, and at this moment, the message could not be clearer. He loved her.
J.T. lopped off the soiled section of fabric with a pair of Hannah’s shears and finally freed himself from the ridiculous pink cocoon that nearly felled him. He folded the cloth over his arm, its raggedly cut end leaving pink strings stuck to his sleeve. He brushed at them, but they held firm. Rolling his eyes, he let them be and continued working. Once he had the material folded into a shape that loosely resembled a square, he slapped it on top of the four others already piled on the counter.