As the buggy came closer, it lost some of its luster. The decrepit thing wasn’t exactly the stylish gig one usually employed to impress a gal. Oh, the fellow had given it a spit shine, but thick dust remained in the crevices of the folded-down top, and the faded blue stripe on the side combined with the missing spokes in the wheels gave the thing an air of disrepair. It had probably been around since the War Between the States.
“Whoa there, Jackson.”
The mule pulling the rig came to a stop, and J.T. grabbed hold of his harness. Something about the beast jiggled a memory, but he was more concerned with taking the man’s measure than that of his animal.
“Beautiful day, ain’t it?” The old geezer made no effort to tame his irritating grin as he hopped to the ground. “A good day for turning over a new leaf. Yep, Miz Hannah and me is bound to cause something of a stir this morning.”
Hannah? Her given name flew off the fellow’s lips like it was accustomed to nesting there. And what kind of stir was he talking about? J.T. ground his teeth. If he hurt or embarrassed her in any way . . .
“Best not stay out here too long. You’ll miss the fun.”
The man winked at him. Winked!
But then something about his voice registered. J.T. pushed his hat back to examine the man more closely. His white hair had been hacked in a ragged line above his shoulders and was held in place by a faded black bowler hat. A tightly trimmed beard clung to his face, matching the well-groomed mustache higher up. The white shirt he wore looked new under a jacket that might have fit him a decade earlier, and his pants had so many crease lines, J.T. imagined him pulling them out of the bottom of a forgotten trunk moments before leaving the house. He smelled like soap and liniment with a touch of mule. ’Course it might just be the mule that smelled like mule. Either way, the fellow had no business courting a woman like Miss Richards. He was old enough to be her grandfather.
That grandfather whacked him on the back and chuckled. “Come on, Tucker. I ’spected Miz Hannah not to recognize me since she didn’t know me when Alice was alive, but not you.”
All at once the wool fell away from J.T.’s eyes, and shock supplanted the agitation that had blinded him. “Ezra?” he croaked.
“Yep.”
How could he have been so stupid? Of course it was Ezra. Just because he hadn’t seen the man look this good in a month of Sundays didn’t mean he shouldn’t have recognized him.
“It’s . . . ah . . . good to see you. We’ve missed you at services.”
The man’s grin sobered. “Alice always put great store in church-goin’ and I know she’d be disappointed in me lettin’ it slip, but I just couldn’t stomach sitting in there without her by my side. So’s when Miz Hannah done made me this purty new shirt and asked me to escort her this morning, I figured it was God’s way of telling me it was time to come back.”
Ezra stuck out his chest and ran his beefy hands over the fancy stitching that formed a V around the buttoned area of his shirt, then leaned forward toward J.T.’s ear.
“You know, that gal fully expected me to show up looking as I have the last several months and was ready to sit beside me anyhow. She’s something else, all right. Why, if Alice didn’t still hold sway over my heart, I’d seriously think on giving you young fellers a run for your money in courtin’ the lady.”
J.T. shook his head. He had no intention of competing with the old man or anyone else for the fair Miss Hannah. God would lead him to the right woman one day. He just had to be patient and not get distracted by a complicated piece of muslin who frustrated and confused him at every turn.
Hannah slid onto a bench at the back of the church just as the singing began. She still couldn’t get over the change in Ezra. He must have soaked and scrubbed for hours to make such a transformation. If Jackson hadn’t been hitched to the buggy in front of her shop, she’d never have believed that the tidy gentleman who came to her door was Ezra Culpepper. His change probably had more to do with entering God’s house than with her request to wash his hands, but she didn’t care what motivated it. Ezra had made an effort to rejoin the living, and she planned to delight in watching the living accept him back.
Adding her soprano to the congregation as they moved into the second verse of “How Sweet, How Heavenly,” Hannah found herself praying that the idea of love and unity the hymn expressed would penetrate the hearts of the people gathered so that they would look past their prejudices and welcome Ezra back into the fold with warmth and joy.
“ ‘When each can feel his brother’s sigh, and with him bear a part,’ ” she sang, her voice growing stronger as the lyrics resonated in her soul. “ ‘When sorrow flows from eye to eye, and joy from heart to heart.’ ”
A gravelly voice joined hers as Ezra sat on her left, away from the aisle. His fingers gave away his nervousness as they worried the brim of the hat now in his lap. “ ‘When, free from envy, scorn and pride, our wishes all above,’ ” he intoned slightly off-key. “ ‘Each can his brother’s failings hide, and show a brother’s love.’ ”
Boot heels thudded softly against the floor, and suddenly Hannah’s wishes were no longer all above. Jericho Tucker strode past her to sit with his sister—across the aisle, two rows up. Memorized words from the hymn continued to flow from Hannah’s mouth, but her mind wandered elsewhere—two rows forward, to be precise.
He folded his lean frame into a space that seemed much too small for him. The backless benches that served for pews were better suited for the children who used the building as a schoolroom than for a man of his height. In order to avoid the ample hips of the woman seated in front of him, he had to jut his left leg out into the aisle. Apparently accustomed to such an awkward position, he hung his hat on his bent knee as if it were a fence post and then glanced over his shoulder.
Hannah’s heart swelled painfully in her chest. He’d likely intended to look at Ezra, since her seatmate was the one who had drastically altered his appearance, but Jericho’s gaze collided with hers instead and lingered. Her singing trailed off midstanza as she tried to interpret his look. He didn’t smile. Yet neither did he frown. He just stared at her as if the answer to some incredibly vital question lay in the lines of her face.
If he found any answers there, they must not have pleased him much, for his mouth thinned and he turned away.
Dragging her focus away from the back of his head, she looked down to her lap, at the Bible lying there—reminding her where she was. She lifted her chin and faced forward, determined to return her concentration to the God they were praising instead of the man across the aisle. She inhaled a deep breath and launched into the final verse of the opening hymn.
“ ‘Love is the golden chain that binds the happy souls above.’ ”
She tried to imagine those happy souls linked in heaven. She really did. But another image popped into her mind that was frightfully hard to dislodge. The image of a golden chain of love binding her to Jericho Tucker.
Mercy. She couldn’t possibly fall in love with Jericho Tucker. The man never smiled. And judging by the number of scowls he sent her way, he probably didn’t even like her much. And nearly every time he opened his mouth, he riled her temper. Yet his acts of kindness, despite their disagreements, melted her ire and proved him a man of character.
Those strong shoulders and muscled arms didn’t hurt, either.
Ugh. The back and forth was making her head spin.
Hannah straightened and ordered herself to stop analyzing Mr. Tucker. Romance at this juncture would only complicate things. She had a business to run and a reputation to build. She couldn’t afford distractions. God would let her know when the time was right to start thinking about a man, and it certainly wouldn’t be in the middle of worship.
Jericho Tucker could just keep those consuming glances to himself. She didn’t need him complicating things. What she needed was . . . was . . .
“Let us pray.” The preacher’s voice resonated from the front of the room, and her heart echoed
the sentiment.
Yes, Lord. Thank you for the reminder. That is exactly what I need to do.
Hannah bowed her head, but the minute she closed her eyes, all she could see was the man across the aisle.
CHAPTER 13
Around noon the following day, Hannah sat at her sewing machine stitching persimmon fabric into a swag. Since she’d finished the dolls for the James girls and had no orders to work on, she’d decided to do something to disguise the unattractive curtains hanging around her sleeping area. She smoothed out the wrinkles from where the material had bunched up in her lap and grimaced slightly at the way the color turned her skin sallow. Did it have to be orange?
Hannah sighed but set her foot back in motion on the treadle. Mrs. Granbury used to remind her girls that an ordinary seamstress could make a beautiful woman look exceptional, but only an exceptional seamstress could make an ordinary woman look beautiful. If the same held true for fabric, this exercise would be a true test of her skills. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be wearing the creation, so she didn’t need to worry about its effect on her complexion. Hannah finished the seam and tied off her threads. Trying to set her prejudice aside, she moved away from the sewing cabinet and held the cloth up at arm’s length, letting it drape over her arms as she eyed it with as much objectivity as possible.
Many people found orange to be warm and cheerful. Of course, most of them didn’t look bilious under its influence, but that was neither here nor there. God had painted many things in his creation this color— butterflies, sunsets, and the tiny wildflowers that grew along the path to the river. If the Lord saw beauty in such a color, she could, too. It certainly fit with the time of year, bringing to mind autumn leaves, pumpkins, and the creamy mashed winter squash her mother used to make on cold evenings. The cozy memory made her smile and opened a crack in her heart. Perhaps orange wasn’t so bad after all.
Her arms began to tire, so she dropped the swag onto the worktable and folded it into a tidy rectangle. She supposed in the right light it could be considered cheerful. And she needed all the cheer she could get to help her deal with the fact that she had no customers.
Yet.
Hannah pressed her fingers into the sore muscles of her lower back.
No customers, yet. That would change in time. It had to. She had spent most of her savings purchasing fabric and supplies. If she didn’t start generating some income, she’d be penniless by Christmas.
She had hoped that Ezra’s new shirt would pique a bit of interest, but people were more impressed by his physical transformation than the craftsmanship of his garment. Which was only right. Ezra deserved to bask in the welcome of his community after being on the outside for so long. She was happy for him. Truly.
If only she could contract that first custom order. She just needed one woman brave enough to sample her skills. After others saw the flattering effects her fine tailoring had on one of their own, surely they would flock to her door.
Needing to do something other than sit at her empty machine, Hannah grabbed a feather duster and ambled around the shop, swishing the feathers over windowsills, cloth bolts, and anything too slow to get out of her way. As she brushed invisible lint from the shoulders of her display dummies, she caught sight of Cordelia standing across the street, her face etched with yearning as she stared at the olive gown in the window. She fingered the fabric of her plain navy gored skirt and drooped like a flower starved for rain. Then she snapped her wilted posture to attention and marched toward the shop.
Hannah’s heart jumped, and she scurried across the room to stash the duster behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, she flattened the pleats of her shirtwaist with a trembling hand and quickly patted her hair before turning to greet her friend and possible first female customer.
Cordelia walked into the shop and closed the door behind her. She scanned the room with a sweeping glance, then turned to Hannah. “I need you to make me beautiful.”
The tears that glistened in Cordelia’s eyes banished the smile from Hannah’s face. Responding to her friend’s obvious pain, Hannah rushed forward and wrapped an arm around the other woman’s shoulders.
“What happened?”
“He doesn’t see me.” She hiccuped as a sob tried to break free.
“Who?” Hannah asked. “Who doesn’t see you?”
Cordelia buried her face in her hands. The empty basket slung over her arm creaked as her movement squashed it into her side. She might have said a name, but it was too muffled to make out. Hannah extracted a handkerchief from her sleeve and dangled it against the back of Cordelia’s hands until she took it.
“Let me close up the shop. Then you can tell me all about it.”
When Hannah twisted the key in the lock, the click reverberated in her ear. What if another customer came by? Closing the shop could cost her a sale. Dread churned in her stomach and acid burned the back of her throat. She couldn’t afford to lock out a customer. But then one of the verses from Proverbs that she’d been meditating on during her morning devotions floated across her mind.
“Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues without right.”
Hannah swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and flipped over the Closed sign without further regret.
By the time Hannah finished with the door, Cordelia had composed herself somewhat. The dear girl was obviously still in a fragile state, however, so Hannah ushered her behind the counter and into her work area. She pulled the chair away from the sewing cabinet and up to the table and gently pushed Cordelia into it.
“Now,” she said, dragging her fabric trunk away from the wall and seating herself upon it. “Who is this man with the atrocious eyesight that has you so upset?”
“Only the most wonderful man in all of Coventry.”
Hannah could hear the heartbreak in the girl’s voice, and her own heart ached in sympathy. “If he’s so wonderful, why are you crying?”
“Because he doesn’t see me! Not as a woman, anyway. To him I’m just J.T.’s little sister.” She wrung the handkerchief between her fists. “I’ve loved him for ages, and the dim-witted man has no idea.”
Hannah smiled. “Dim-witted, huh?”
Cordelia looked up sharply. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. Not really. He’s actually very intelligent. He operates the telegraph and post office down by the bank. You might have met him at church yesterday. Ike Franklin?”
Hannah tried to fish out a visage matching that name from the sea of faces that swam through her memory. Finally one clicked—a thin man in a well-cut gray wool sack suit. Dark mustache. Kind eyes. “Was he the one who led the hymns?”
“Yes.” A dreamy look came over Cordelia’s face. “Doesn’t he have the most luscious voice? It’s like chocolate icing, smooth and rich. I could listen to him all day.”
“You’re making me hungry.”
Cordelia giggled. “Sorry.”
Hannah reached out and covered Cordelia’s hand with one of her own. She didn’t want to add to the girl’s pain, but she didn’t want it prolonged, either. It would be better to face the truth now than to wallow in the misery of unrequited love. Hannah gave Cordelia’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I don’t want to dash your hopes, Cordelia, but what if he simply thinks the two of you don’t suit and is trying to spare your feelings by pretending not to notice your femininity? It might be better to set your sights on someone else.”
“There is no one else! Not for me.” She yanked her hand away from Hannah and balled the hankie into her fist. Her knuckles began to whiten, but then she exhaled a long breath and relaxed her grip. “I know you’re trying to help, and believe it or not, I’ve asked myself that same question. But I don’t think it’s true. The two of us get along famously. We share many of the same interests—books, music, food . . .” She blushed. “He loves my cooking.”
What man wouldn’t? The woman could bake like an angel.
“About six months ago he hired me to bring him lunch every d
ay, since he’s not allowed to leave his post, even for meals. He has to man the wire at all times during his shift.” She paused, then her lips curved into a shy smile. “He claims I’m the best cook in the county.”
“Well, that proves he’s not completely dim-witted, then. He may not be a lost cause after all.”
“Oh, Hannah. Do you think so? Do you think I might still have a chance?” Cordelia bounced to the edge of her chair and leaned so far forward that if the table hadn’t been supporting her, she would have toppled to the floor. “This isn’t just a schoolgirl infatuation. I honestly believe Ike and I would suit. I’ve come to treasure the friendship that has sprung up between us over the last few months. If the line is quiet when I arrive with his lunch, he sometimes invites me to sit and visit with him while he eats. We talk about books we’ve read, or he’ll tell me funny stories about the scrapes he got into as a boy. He’s even taught me how to tap my name in Morse code.”
Hannah nodded thoughtfully. Lasting relationships had been built on less.
“If you could fashion me a dress that would somehow make me at least passably pretty, he might finally notice me as a woman and decide to come courting. And if he doesn’t . . . Well, at least I would know where I stood and could pack my hopes away quietly.”
Hannah could hear the pain and insecurity embedded in Cordelia’s words, and they tugged at her heart. There was no question about whether she would help. She’d known she would the minute she flipped the Closed sign in the window. The question that plagued her was how. They had only one chance to make a new first impression—an impression so striking that Cordelia’s gentleman friend, myopic though he might be, couldn’t help but see the beautiful woman in front of him.
The seed of an idea burrowed into her brain and began to take root. This called for more than just a new dress. This called for an Ezra-esque transformation.