A Tailor-Made Bride (22 page)
Hannah flushed under the scalding look and was grateful when Cordelia linked their arms and led her toward the store entrance.
“Have a nice afternoon, Warren.” Cordelia’s bright inflection sounded a trifle counterfeit, but Hannah wasn’t about to complain. “And thanks again for the information about the baking tins.”
“Sure.” His scowl melted into a wan smile as he shifted his attention back to Cordelia. “I’ll ask Father to let you see them before he sets them on the shelves.”
Cordelia waved but didn’t speak again until she and Hannah were safely inside the mercantile.
“I’m sorry about Warren,” she whispered. “His disposition has always been a little on the sour side.”
“That’s all right. He seemed more protective than sour. I think he’s sweet on you.” Hannah winked, feeling more herself now that she was out from under Warren’s censure.
“He’s only a friend.” Cordelia sputtered as if the idea had lodged in her throat like a piece of beef that didn’t want to go down.
“It doesn’t matter.” Hannah batted away her friend’s protest with a flick of her wrist. “What he said is true. You
were
just as lovely before we cut your hair as after.” Hannah slipped her arm free from Cordelia’s, thankful her friend hadn’t been disheartened by the events outside. Of course, the young man hadn’t aimed any animosity at her. He’d saved that for Hannah.
Cordelia smiled and led Hannah past a pair of gray-haired women debating the merits of leather handbags over the tapestry variety. “You’re sweet to say so, but I consider the change an improvement, regardless of what Warren said. I’m glad we did it.”
Hannah breathed easier, the knot of uncertainty loosening within her. “Me too.”
They browsed through the soaps and feminine toilette items near the rear of the store. The rose and lilac scents of the French milled bars tickled Hannah’s nose and soothed her spirit. Cordelia passed them by in favor of a ribbon display.
“Maybe I should change the trim on my bonnet before I visit Ike tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea,” Hannah said, matching Cordelia’s hushed volume. “Make it as easy as possible on the poor man. If he still doesn’t notice, maybe you can send him a telegram.”
Giggles burst from Cordelia, and she quickly covered her mouth in an effort to stifle the sound.
“Oh, let the little bells free, Miss Tucker. Laughter makes the world a better place.”
Cordelia jumped, her eyebrows disappearing into her newly cut bangs. “Mr. Paxton! You startled me.”
The middle-aged man swept off his hat and bowed over her hand. “Forgive me, my dear. I thought only to rescue the delightful chimes I overheard clamoring for escape. You really shouldn’t imprison such a joyful melody. Music is meant to be shared.”
Hannah recognized the banker from her transactions in his establishment. The man was a consummate charmer, yet it seemed he was also a devoted husband who doted on his wife and daughters. The first time she had met with him to set up her account, she’d thought him quite the rogue until she noted the way his eyes caressed the framed photograph of his family that sat on his desk. And since the men of the town treated him with cordiality and respect, she’d concluded that his silver-tongued ways must pose no real threat to the women of Coventry.
As Cordelia blushed and struggled to meet the banker’s eye, Hannah glanced between the two, her mind spinning. This could be the perfect opportunity for Cordelia to practice her confidence. Unlike Warren, Mr. Paxton would never say a word to injure a lady’s feelings, and though his compliments were smooth, they were never false.
“Miss Tucker is contemplating a new ribbon for her bonnet. Which color would you recommend, sir?” Hannah smiled at the man, hoping he would pick up on her hint.
“Why, Miss Richards,” he said. “What an honor to be asked for my opinion, especially by a woman as knowledgeable on the topic of fashion as yourself.” His brows lifted ever so slightly, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod in return. “My wife rarely seeks my advice before making a purchase, but I would be happy to offer my meager services if you believe they would be helpful.”
“We would be grateful for your assistance.”
Cordelia looked as if she wanted to muzzle her with the bonnet in question. Hannah just smiled.
“Let me see . . .” Mr. Paxton leaned back to survey Cordelia. “A brown ribbon would match your dress, but if you are anything like my wife, you’d find that dreadfully dull. Hmm . . . Maybe something bright and cheerful to match that lovely laugh of y—” He stopped midthought and tapped the side of his jaw.
“Mr. Paxton?” Cordelia shot Hannah a nervous glance.
“There’s something different about you, but I can’t put my finger on it.” He stepped to the left and then to the right, studying her. Poor Cordelia looked as if she wanted to make a run for the door.
“I’ve got it. You changed your hair. Is that it?”
Cordelia patted the tresses that stretched over her temple. “Yes. I thought to try something new.”
“Well, the style is most attractive on you, my dear.” Finished with his scrutiny, his jovial manner returned. “Most attractive. I think I might recommend a similar fashion to my daughter Eleanor.
“Truly?” A radiant smile broke free across Cordelia’s face, and she made no effort to hide it behind her hand.
“Truly. Now, I’m off in search of some tooth powder. Have fun with your ribbons, my dear.”
“I will. Thank you.” Happy roses blooming in her cheeks, Cordelia wiggled her fingers in a tiny wave as the banker meandered over to the next aisle.
It was amazing how the right words spoken by a man could soothe insecurities. And if things continued progressing as they were, Hannah had no doubt that Cordelia would soon be hearing those words from the
right
man. Unfortunately, the right man for Hannah didn’t know the first thing about finding the right words. Although, seeing as how she was so wrong for him, he probably hadn’t put much effort into the search.
Oh well.
Words weren’t everything. Jericho’s actions spoke with plenty of eloquence and had the added benefit of being subject to interpretation. If her misguided heart chose to read more into them than he intended and to harbor unwarranted hope, that was her business. She’d face the consequences when she must.
Later.
Over the next week, Hannah and Cordelia stepped up their calisthenic program. Cordelia’s improved stamina allowed them to lengthen their morning walks past the schoolhouse to include climbing a second hill instead of stopping at the river. She also graduated to more difficult club and dumbbell routines. Then, since Saturday marked the midpoint of their journey to a slimmer, more confident Cordelia, the girls celebrated by taking in the seams on two of Cordelia’s best dresses—a chore they tackled with enthusiasm.
Business at the dress shop had improved, as well. Hannah contracted two alteration projects the previous week, in addition to the steady trickle of mending the town’s single men brought to her door. And on Tuesday, miracle of miracles, she sold a ready-made traveling suit to one of the guests staying at the hotel.
Some might have scoffed at the notion that such a sale was a sign from God, but it resonated in her soul nonetheless, fortifying her faith. She had asked the Lord to allow her business to fail if it wasn’t in his will, and though she struggled to find significant profits when she tallied her books, she chose to view the sale of one of her original designs as confirmation that she was where the Lord wanted her to be. And as long as the voice within her didn’t rise up to contradict her assumption, she would forge ahead.
Or sit and wait, as the case may be.
On the bench outside her shop, Hannah curled her fingers around a cooling cup of cocoa and peered toward the edge of town. She hadn’t seen Ezra since church on Sunday. At first, she assumed the rain that had dampened Coventry for the first three days of the week had kept him away, but now she wasn’t so sure. The sun had emerged bright and warm yesterday afternoon and returned again today, drying puddles and firming up the roads. She and Cordelia even managed to resume their walking this morning after being confined to Cordelia’s parlor half the week doing only calisthenics. There should be no reason Ezra couldn’t make it to town, unless something other than the weather was responsible for his absence.
Hannah gulped down her lukewarm cocoa and collected Ezra’s unclaimed cup. She climbed the stairs to her room, worry dogging her steps. Was he ill? Had Jackson gone lame? Or worse—could something have happened during one of the storms, leaving Ezra injured with no way to get help? Living alone and as far from town as he did, if an accident befell him, he could go for days or weeks before someone chanced by.
Visions of the dear man being pinned to the ground by a fallen lightning-struck tree or huddled in his sickbed so weak with fever that he couldn’t get up to feed himself lent a frantic edge to her movements as she washed and dried the cups along with her dishes from breakfast.
By the time she hung up her apron, she knew what she had to do. She would drive out to Ezra’s homestead and see for herself that he was all right. Immediately. Leaving the shop closed for the morning was a small price to pay.
Flinging her black wool cape over the shoulders of her primrose polonaise and fastening the hook and eye under her chin, she dashed for the door. The northern breeze blew cool, and without the exertion of walking, she’d need the hip-length cape to stay warm. She stopped briefly at the laundry to tell Tessa they would have to postpone their lessons until tomorrow, then darted out to the street, only to careen to a halt to avoid a farm wagon lumbering across her path. Too impatient to wait for it to pass, Hannah angled around behind it, skirting the worst of the dust as she crossed the street to the livery.
As she entered the dim stable, Hannah wrinkled her nose at the smell of wet straw and manure. She remembered Jericho’s office from the time she’d brought him biscuits, but she was strangely reluctant to knock on his door. He’d kept his distance since their escapade with the exercise rings.
She’d found him looking at her on several occasions, though. At church, on the street—always with the same unreadable expression. And at times she was sure she sensed him staring at her through the dress shop’s walls from the confines of his office. It was pure fancy on her part, of course, but it still left her a bit unnerved.
“Hello, in the stable,” she called, anxious to put the awkwardness behind her and get on with her business. “Is anyone there?”
“Be right with you.” The masculine voice cracked on the first word. Tom.
Relief and disappointment swept through Hannah in equal measure.
The lanky young man emerged from the shadows and grinned when he caught sight of her. “Good to see ya, Miss Richards. You looking for J.T.?”
“Not necessarily. I’m sure you can help me just as well.” Hannah hid her grin as Tom’s chest expanded. “I need to rent a horse and buggy.”
“Where you going?”
“Out to Ezra Culpepper’s place. I should have the rig back by early afternoon.”
Tom sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. “I could let you take Doc, I guess. Mrs. Walsh done had her baby a few days back, so the real Doc shouldn’t need it. It’s smaller and easier for a lady to handle.
Plus it’s got a cover if the rain should start up again.”
Hannah nodded to him. “It sounds like just the thing.”
“You can sit over there while I fetch it for you.” He pointed to a cluster of barrels standing near the wall. “It’ll take a couple minutes to getcha all hitched up.”
“All right.”
Tom left, and Hannah surveyed her seat options. Selecting the cleanest-looking cylinder, she laid her handkerchief over the top and gingerly sat down, trying to ignore the way the raised rim dug into the back of her thighs.
“Miss Richards?”
Hannah jumped back to her feet, her stomach seesawing at the familiar voice—a deep, resonant one, devoid of boyish squeaks.
“What brings you to my side of the street?” Jericho approached not from the office, but from the rear of the stable. His shirt gaped open at the neck and his rolled sleeves revealed powerful forearms that had probably been manipulating a pitchfork moments ago. Smells of horse and hay clung to him in an inherently masculine mix.
Dragging her gaze up to his face, she forced a smile. “I’m renting a buggy. Tom’s getting Doc for me.”
“What for?”
Hannah frowned and blew out a breath. When Tom had asked, she assumed he was simply making conversation without realizing it was impolite to pry. But now she wondered if he wasn’t imitating his employer, a man who should know better. “Do you make a habit of badgering all your customers, Jericho?”
“Nope. Just you.” His mouth held its serious line, yet his eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. She could almost imagine deep chuckles vibrating in his chest.
“Well, since you’re paying me such a special courtesy, I suppose I can share my plans with you.” She smiled playfully at him, but her frivolity dimmed as the seriousness of her purpose rose to the surface. Twirling the fringe of her cape around her finger, she looked at the ground.
“I’m worried about Ezra.” She glanced up and caught him staring at her. His eyes locked with hers and didn’t look away.
“He’s a grown man.”
Hannah finally broke away from his gaze and caught sight of Tom maneuvering the buggy out of the wagon shed. Deciding that was a safer place to direct her attention, she continued watching Tom even though the rest of her senses stayed shamelessly attuned to the man beside her.
“I know he is,” she said. “However, he’s never missed a morning visit at my shop until this week. I thought perhaps the rain had kept him home, but he didn’t come today, either, and the weather is fine.”
“There could be a hundred reasons why he didn’t make it to town. Maybe he’s busy carving up more of those sticks to sell at the depot.”
“Maybe. But what if he’s hurt or sick?” Needing him to understand, she turned and searched his face. “He lives out there all alone, Jericho. He’d have no way to summon help if something went wrong. I need to go out there. If for no other reason than to reassure myself that he’s all right.”