Whirlwind (25 page)

Did it matter?

She hadn’t married because she and Daniel were madly in love. They had married because he was honorable and generous, considering the needs of Christian sisters and his son instead of what he planned for himself. A woman couldn’t—shouldn’t—ask for more than that.

I made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.

I’ve got to be able to put this bed together,
Millicent told herself the next morning.
At this rate, Arthur will be grown and married before I get this cot assembled.
The screwdriver slid from her control and jabbed her hand. “Ouch!”

“Millicent?” Daniel called from down in the store.

She pressed the heel of her left hand to her mouth—both to stop the sting and to remain quiet. She’d sneaked in and didn’t have much more time before she had to get back to Arthur. Mrs. Orion had offered to watch him for an hour or two.

This escapade made her rethink fashionable clothing. Only three minutes into being there, Millicent had come to the dismaying realization that she wasn’t dressed for the job at hand. Velma was right about the stingy hoops. Millicent’s metal wire rings were far too narrow and impossibly uncomfortable to leave on as she knelt on the floor. Practicality being what it was, she’d undone the latch and let them fall into a stack of twenty-five rings only eighteen inches in diameter.

“Are you up there?” Daniel persisted.

Don’t come up here, don’t come up here, don’t come up here
, she inwardly begged.

“Dear?” Daniel appeared in the doorway.

Oh dear.

Shaking his head, he picked his way across the floor, pulled her hand away from her mouth, and frowned at the reddened wheal forming on her palm. “Are you kissing it better?”

She scanned the pasteboard, thin wooden braces, and clumps of packing straw that littered the floor all about the room. Relief flooded her. One of the lengths of pasteboard covered her hoops. “All is well.”

His fingers slid beside the mark on her hand. “No it’s not. You hurt yourself. Why didn’t you wait and let me do this?”

Her palm tingled. Millicent snatched her hand away. “I’m doing just fine. Mrs. Orion’s minding Arthur whilst he naps.” Injecting confidence into her voice, she said, “I’ll be done with this and back before he awakens.”

Brows scrunched, Daniel moved his attention to her workmanship. Getting down on his knees, he looked at her over the rail. “I’ll fix it.”

Millicent stared through the white-painted iron slats. “I’ll figure it out. You have work to do.”
My bustle hides that my hoops are missing. I have to get him out of here before he realizes—

“I’m right where I belong.”

She clutched the screwdriver. “Piff le. You have customers.”

He swiped the screwdriver, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush. “I’m hiding out up here. Isabelle is showing unmentionables to Mrs. Richardson and her daughters.”

“I was hiding, too.”
Far more than you’d guess.
“I wanted to surprise you by having this done.”

“There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t be surprised to find his wife in the center of an upside-down baby cot.” Applying the screwdriver, he twirled a few screws free.

“You can do so many things—plaster, paint, hammer, drill—I thought businessmen used their minds instead of their hands.”

“Jesus worked with His hands before He assumed the ministry God had for Him. I aspire to be like Him in all ways.” He undid one more screw, then tugged gently. The side of the cot let loose. “Come on over here beside me.”

Gathering up her petticoats, skirt, and apron while walking on her knees left little opportunity for grace. Millicent moistened her lips. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

He knows. He hasn’t said anything, but he knows.
She huffed.

Daniel wrapped his hands about her waist. “The world won’t stop turning if I see the hem of a petticoat.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. “Then why aren’t you downstairs helping the Richardsons?”

“Their petticoats haven’t been hemmed yet.” His fingers tightened, and he lifted her in an arc. Her skirts swirled about them both as he set her down close to his side. He didn’t let go. “And you’re my wife.”

Her breath caught.
I’m not that kind of wife.
Flustered, she blurted out, “I’m Arthur’s mother, too—and not a very good one. I can’t even make his bed.”

“You weren’t supposed to. It wasn’t on your list.”

“You’ll grow accustomed to my doing more than is on my list.” She smiled. “Now, how do we fix this so it’s usable? Or will we need to return it? I could repack it, if necessary.”

Daniel looked around and cocked a brow. “Re-forming the box and trying to shove the pieces back inside would be akin to putting an octopus into a teacup.”

“I might manage it if it were a teapot.”

“You have more important things to do. You cannot veer off schedule, Millicent. I rely on your accomplishing what I place on your list.” He realigned the wide ladder-like crib side to the piece.

Millicent supported the piece, and Daniel shot her a funny look.
If he thinks I’m going to leave this task half done and run off to do something else, he can guess again. It’s nice to know he relies on me; but we’re in a mercantile, not the merchant marine!
“I may as well hold this so you can do whatever else you must.” She leaned closer to watch. “So I had the screw in the wrong location. Pray tell, then what are those other holes for? And why don’t they match up with the ends?”

“The base of the cot rests on braces attached to these holes.” He attached them with ease. “You connected the rail segment too low. Made the cot tipsy.” A few rotations of his wrist, and the last brace was screwed in securely.

“Don’t tell Widow O’Toole. If she catches the slightest hint of something being tipsy, she’s liable to pitch a fit. From all accounts, she’s quite a woman.”

“No, Millicent. She’s a character; you’re quite a woman.” He stood and extended his hand to help her rise.

She accepted his assistance. “Thank you.” Fluffing out her skirts, she said, “Mr. Smith will come by tonight or tomorrow. Evan is supposed to let you know when.”

“Who is Evan, and why is Smith coming by?”

“Evan is Mr. Smith’s . . . well, he’s not his son. Mr. Smith was married before. Grandma is his former mother-in-law. Evan is her grandson, so I suppose that makes him Evan’s uncle. Only he calls all of the children his. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yes, that’s most kind of him.”

Millicent gave him a startled look. “I wasn’t thinking it was nice of Mr. Smith. I was thinking how blessed he is to have more children to love and call his. Remember the verse in the Bible about ‘happy is the man that hath his quiver full’? Well, Mr. Smith is that man.”

Daniel nodded his understanding. “So why is this happy man coming by?”

“He’s taking the Turkish carpet.”

“The carpet?” Her husband’s jaw dropped.

“Oh! I didn’t give it to them. I traded.”

“Millicent.” His tone held censure.

“I can explain!”

Eighteen

T
hey won’t keep the carpeting, Daniel. Let me explain. It seems Texans like to barter. Have you noticed that? Well, they do.”

Daniel’s strong fingers clenched around the iron slats. “So you’re letting them borrow the carpet.”

“No. Mr. Smith and Daisy wouldn’t accept the work shirts, even though I pointed out that the stitching will fall apart. Daisy said she can clip them apart and resew them, so we worked out a deal: Mr. Smith will come get the rug and put it over their clothesline. It’ll keep their children busy, beating the dirt from it. When he brings back the rug, he’ll take the shirts.”

“Did it occur to you to include me in this discussion?”

“I did. At the grand opening, when I asked you about the shirts, you told me to do as the Lord led me,” Millicent reminded him. Being a wife was hard work. Every time she said or did something, she had to worry about whether her husband would approve. “It’s a fair trade, don’t you think? If anything, the carpet is a very expensive item. I think it’s a lopsided deal in our favor, but I wasn’t sure how to even it out.”

“You like the carpet?” Her husband’s shoulders rippled as he turned the crib upright.

“It’s one of the loveliest things I’ve seen in a long while. It’s hard to believe Orville could choose something that tasteful, and then get some of this other junk.”

“Like that idiotic birdcage.” Daniel nodded toward the corner.

“What is wrong with the birdcage? It would be quite fetching with a little canary in it.”

“Do you want me to answer your question, Millie?”

Something in his eyes made her hesitate. Curiosity got the better of her. “Of course I want to know.”

“Nothing should be crammed into a wire cage. Not a little bird, and certainly not a beautiful woman.” He lifted a large metal frame that bore a wafflelike wire grid.
Clunk.
It slid inside the crib with a satisfying sound. “There. Nice and sturdy.”

Her voice croaked as she stared at the cot. “That’s a wire cage.”

“In a manner of speaking, but it’s temporary, and for safety.” He bent and started to gather up the packing.

“I’ll do that!” Desperation shot through her. She grabbed the other side of a piece of the pasteboard covering her hoops. For just a moment, they engaged in a silent tug-of-war.

“I’ll carry it out and burn it.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t!”

“Millicent, I won’t have you carrying this trash down the stairs.”

“Then do it later!”

“Why?”

“Because . . . it’s bad manners to carry trash out of the store when you have customers. Yes. That’s why.” She nodded to emphasize her point.

He turned loose of the pasteboard.
Ching!
The wire hoops it landed upon sang.

Millicent promptly let go of her end and stepped on the board to silence the sound.

Daniel stared pointedly at her hem. “I’ll have my son in a cot. I’ll even consider a bird in that cage. That’s two out of three wire cages. Two out of three is the best deal you’ll get out of me.”

“Then take out the birdcage!”

“No.”

“You’re not making a fair deal.”
I only have that one gored skirt of Isabelle’s. Everything else is cut for tight hoops and a bustle. I don’t have time to make other clothes!

He shrugged. “I’ll sweeten it a little so you feel the deal is fair. On Sundays and special occasions, if you want to be caged, I won’t complain.” Daniel didn’t wait for a response. He headed down the stairs.

Millicent thought for a moment, then a slow smile formed. Her husband didn’t know it yet, but she was going to make every day a special occasion.

Daniel headed downstairs and to the sanity and order of his list. On a separate sheet, he also kept a schedule listing when the train was due to arrive, what time patrons said they’d return to pick up orders, when he’d send telegrams, etc.

“Dear,” he said when Millicent came down the stairs, “I’ve added another thing on the calendar. Come take a look.”

She came over, her petticoats rustling and the faintest hint of a floral perfume swirling about her. Longing rose up within him to slip his arm about her and shelter her beside himself. Two becoming one wasn’t only an act of passion in bed—it was also a closeness of spirit and a sense of completion when being together. Daniel struggled with how he’d draw the line at what was acceptable in God’s eyes. Since he’d not felt he’d been given a release from the Lord yet, he’d denied himself anything at all.

Eyes alight with curiosity, Millicent asked, “Yes?”

“I’ve drawn in a timeline of how long it would take for your letter to reach England, then arrive at the girls’ school, and for a reply to cross the Atlantic and come clear over to Texas.”

Millicent followed the expanse of time and moistened her lips. She looked up at him and gave him a wobbly smile. “I’ve had a horrid feeling for so long—this terrible foreboding. I can’t explain it. I’m probably being silly. It’s just that I’ve never been separated from the girls. Seeing the way you have this all marked out so logically makes me feel I oughtn’t let my fears take hold. I should be trusting the Lord to keep His ever-loving hand over Audrey and Fee. Thank you, Daniel.”

As she walked away, shame scalded him.
I’m no better than that butler who’s sending platitudes and giving no information. Lord, I promised Frank I wouldn’t unnecessarily burden Millie or Isabelle about the girls. Please keep them safe, and let me get the assurances soon.

As the day progressed, he checked chores off his list, but none of those accomplishments meant anything.

Isabelle continued to spend time with Mrs. Richardson and her daughters, their quiet murmurs and muffled titters making it clear she continued to show them small clothes. Mrs. Orion had told Millicent that Mrs. Richardson would be buying her daughters’ trousseaus, so Millicent had ordered a plethora of sheer, lacy goods. Daniel had opened that box and itched to select some for his wife. Slamming it shut, he hated how temptation lurked in the most unexpected places.
Thank God Isabelle is here today to sell those goods to the women!

“Here we are!” Placing half a dozen discreetly wrapped small packages on the counter, each with three or four prices penciled on it along with either Kathryn or Marcella’s name, Mrs. Richardson simpered, “Everything is going perfectly.”

“Is it?”
If only it were. Not in my walk with God, not in my marriage, not with those little girls . . .

“We found every last thing on our list.”

Daniel forced a smile. “We strive to carry everything you need.”

Isabelle came up to the counter with eight pair of stockings and two pairs of slippers. “Your organization helped tremendously.” She set all of those goods on the counter, too. “You’ll notice Daniel has a list right there. He’s quite the proponent of lists and schedules.”

One of the daughters smiled. “I never thought they were important until now. With our trying to plan a double wedding, it’s the only way to keep track of everything, isn’t it, Marcella?”

“Yes. Oh, Mama! Wouldn’t it be the talk of Texas if Daddy bought that Gramophone and we played music from it for the wedding and reception?”