“… while certain rules will always apply more or less to the details of construction, yet there are few rules which can ever be applied to the manipulation of trimmings.”
—Practical Millinery
Miss, I’ll give you two dollars for your blue-ribbon hat.”
Reba didn’t have a chance to respond before a second man said, “I’ll pay three!”
“Three and a quarter,” offered another man in a three-piece suit that looked to be tailored specifically for him, as did the fancy silk dress worn by the redhead holding on to his arm. The pair looked out of place—more suited for an urban environment like Chicago or New York.
Reba glanced back and forth between the three men. The bidding continued, and a crowd grew around display table number eight in the Women’s Work building.
“I saw a hat similar to it in Macy’s,” the stately redhead said to the woman next to her. “It was imported from Paris and was priced at thirty dollars.”
Several people gasped.
The bidding ended at half the Macy’s price tag … only to start up again on the very hat Reba wore. Within minutes, she had a handful of bills and a list of names and addresses of people interested in buying her hats. She’d never sold one for more than a dollar before, but today she’d sold two for over twenty times that. She gave her blue-ribbon hat to the redhead and accepted payment from the husband.
She then placed the money and the list on the empty display table and removed her favorite black hat with white silk flowers and ostrich feathers. She handed it to the other winning bidder. “Thank you, sir. I’ll send word when my shop opens.” As Reba continued to utter her thanks, the crowd wandered off.
The man nodded. “If you’re interested, there’s street-front space in the Edmison-Jamison building in Sioux Falls. It’s the best place to attract traffic from the Bee Hive next door. My wife will be thrilled for Sioux Falls to finally have a milliner of your caliber.” He withdrew a business card from inside his suit coat. “I am a loan officer at the Metropolitan Bank. Come see me next week.”
“Thank you,” she said, not taking the card, “but I don’t need a loan.” She tucked a loosened blond strand behind her ear. “I sold the land I inherited from my …” Her words trailed off when the banker’s gaze shifted to something—someone—behind her. It couldn’t be her father because he was at the cattle arena with her nephews, Hans and Peter.
“I’ll inform my wife about your boutique.” He pressed his business card in her hand then tipped his hat. “Good day.”
Reba turned around and winced. There stood Levi with a most unflattering scowl on his bearded face, which was enough of a confirmation that he’d overheard the discussion. This wasn’t how she’d planned on sharing the news. However, in light of recent events, as Father had warned her earlier this morning, this discussion was one she and Levi needed to have.
She laid her hat pin on the table.
“I won five blue ribbons,” she said to break the silence, “and sold two hats for twenty-four dollars. It’s unbelievable! People want my hats. If I’d have brought more, I could have sold them.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care about the hats,” he said, walking to her. “You sold our land.”
Reba choked on her breath. “Our land? No, I sold my land inherited from my grandmother.”
He slammed the two jars of peaches he’d been carrying onto the display table. “You had no right to sell it without talking to me first.”
She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his response. She’d never seen Levi angry. Or possessive. Or rude. If he truly cared nothing for her hats, then he’d been lying to her when he’d expressed interest. If he had been lying, what else had he been dishonest about?
“I’m twenty-two years old,” she said in a quieter voice than his had been. No need to draw attention to their discussion. “Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do with what is legally mine and mine alone?”
“I’m your fiancé.” He crossed his arms and glowered down at her. While he was the shortest Webber, he towered over her by a good eight inches. “We’re getting married next month.”
“What? Who told you that?” She felt her mouth gape as she stared at him, waiting for some sign that he was jesting
He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile.
He continued to glare.
“Do you think we’re engaged?” she asked, because—well, she was too shocked to think of something to say otherwise.
“Yes.” His tone couldn’t have been more confident. “Ask anyone.”
Reba nearly stamped her foot. “I don’t care what anyone else says. You never proposed to me. Never, Levi. Not once in any of the letters you sent during the six years you were at college did you mention marriage … or courtship, for that matter. Not once this past summer did you speak of getting engaged. Not once have you said, ‘I love you, Reba. Will you marry me?’”
Then there was the fact he’d never kissed her. Or held her hand. Not that she was about to say that aloud. He might think she wanted him to kiss her, and she didn’t.
“We aren’t engaged,” she said firmly.
He yanked his cap off his head. “What did you think”—he flapped his hat in the space between them—“this was?”
“Friendship.”
“Fr–friendship?”
At the befuddled look on his face, she started to feel sorry for him, but then he said, “Everyone knows we are a couple.”
“I didn’t know,” she argued, “and you are presuming that other people think it.”
He raked his hand through his dark hair. “You’ve heard our mothers talking marriage.”
Reba rolled her eyes. “They’ve been talking marriage since we were children. Two Webber-Diehl marriages aren’t enough for them. As the youngest in each of our families, and the only two not married, and with farms next to the other, we seem like a logical match.” She knelt and lifted the black table covering to expose the basket she’d stored under the table. Standing, she rested the basket on the table. “I value our friendship. You are more a brother to me than any of mine have ever been.”
His mouth opened then closed. Redness crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Levi, I truly am,” she said. “I did not mean to embarrass you. Had I known you viewed our relationship more intimately—” Her own cheeks warmed as she said the last word.
With those green eyes, his strong jaw, and a well-fitted white shirt, Levi Webber attracted female attention. She’d seen ladies back home and here at the fair admire him. Circumstances would be easier if she had developed wifely feelings for him. No—actually that would have made things worse. Levi Webber grew up a dairyman, went to college to be a better dairyman, and would die a dairyman. Farm life was what he lived and breathed. If she had fallen in love with him, leaving him and the life he’d planned for them would be exponentially more difficult.
She’d hope they could part ways as friends. But now that she knew he saw them as a couple—well, how could this end amicably? Someone was going to be hurt.
He was going to be hurt.
But it was his own fault. Not only had he presumed they were courting, he’d also presumed she would say yes to his marriage proposal without him actually having to propose.
She withdrew a blue handkerchief from inside the basket. “I sold my land because I’m opening a millinery in Sioux Falls.” She folded the fabric into a triangle then tied it over her hair, the flap covering the loosely braided bun. “My father knows and is supportive. He helped negotiate a premium price for the land. A sweet Hutterite couple bought it.”
He tapped his hat against his thigh. “What will your monthly expenses be? How many hats will you have to sell to stay in business? How will you have time to make hats, sell product, and advertise? Do you know simple baseline accounting? What is your timeline for turning a profit?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t think you realize that there’s more to running a millinery than making hats,” he said, his irritation clear.
“I know there’s more,” she bit off.
He snorted and jerked his head. “Your problem is you have always been a success. Every time you’ve entered the fair, in every category, you’ve won a ribbon. Winning ribbons doesn’t mean you have the skill to run a business. You have greatly overestimated the number of South Dakotans who want to wear silly feathers and flowers on their heads.”
Reba snatched up the money and the notepad. She held out the money. “This is proof that people will pay for silly feathers and flowers.” She held up the notepad. “This is a list of people who want to buy silly feathers and flowers to wear on their heads.”
“Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don’t.” He sighed wearily, his brow furrowing. “Too often they don’t. Do you have a plan for what happens when your shop fails?”
“Ha! There’s your problem, Levi. You always assume the worst will happen.” Reba tossed the money and notepad inside the basket, adding also the hat pin. “Life hasn’t been easy for me. My mother—” Her voice cracked. “You of all people know what I’ve endured at home. I haven’t succeeded at everything I’ve tried. The difference between us”—her eyes burned with tears, and she sniffed—“the difference is that when I try something, I believe I’m going to succeed. It may not happen the first time, but given enough tries, it will happen. Hope never disappoints.”
People, though, did.
People also liked to remind her what a disappointment she was.
She rested her hand on his forearm. “I’ve been praying that God would reveal His will for my life. He’s closed doors while also giving me signs that this is the path I am to follow.”
“That’s not always the best way to go,” he grumbled. “When you use circumstances—good and bad—as a determination of God’s will for your life, you start thinking that because the Bible says God is good, God must always be behind the good things. Then when bad things happen, you question your faith in God and in His goodness.”
She patted his arm. “‘O ye of little faith.’”
“It’s not faith I need more of.” He claimed the jars of peaches from the table and placed them in her basket. “Take these.”
“You should keep them.”
“No, I bought them for you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. Nothing in his expression indicated his actions were because he was deeply and passionately in love with her. If he loved her, he would have been there for the award ceremony. If he loved her, he would support her decision to open a millinery.
That he didn’t love her was good. She wasn’t in love with him, and unreciprocated love was terrible.
She knew that from experience, from the worst sixteen months of her life five years ago. If Levi hadn’t taken her to Mrs. Shaw’s estate sale and bought her the vintage millinery set, she may have wasted more months fruitlessly loving Gustov Browning. For as long as she could remember, Levi had been her closest friend. Some days it felt like he was her only friend.
Reba gave Levi a tender smile to cover the strange ache in her chest.
She looped the basket’s handle around her arm. She had taken four steps away when she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Did you say something?”
He shook his head.
How odd. She could have sworn he said, “Because you’re my girl.”
He slapped his cap back on his head. “I’ll see you at the wagons.” And then he turned around and headed to the exit.
Reba sighed. This wasn’t how she wanted their friendship to end. She’d always enjoyed talking to Levi and enjoyed not feeling obligated to fill the silence when he had nothing to say. She liked his ability to make people feel at ease. He was a good listener. She just wished he would be a little more hopeful, a little more optimistic that everything would work out how God willed it.
And it would work out, because God had made a way.