18

Rachel stretched on her tiptoes to brush the tips of her fingers along the bottom edge of the sign hanging on a post outside her shop. Yellow letters on a pale blue background spelled out Rachel’s Hope, with white flowers and greenery twirled around the edges—tangible evidence of her vision becoming a reality.

She stood in the doorway of the store and smiled. Perfect. The long side faced the street with white-curtained windows bracketing the door. Dressmaker’s dummies displayed some of her creations. A curtain at the corner of the back wall marked the entrance to her work area. The rest of the wall held shelving with bolts of cloth behind a long counter with catalogs on it. The side walls exhibited hats and handbags as well as sewing supplies. The central space in front of the counter held small tables and chairs. A simple tea service sat next to the potbellied stove.

“Auntie Rachel.” Daniel ran down the boardwalk and past her into the store. Martha followed a few steps behind, calling for him to slow down. He stopped in the middle and did a slow turn. “It’s pretty.”

He dashed to the counter, where a display of ribbons stood. “I like red.” He grabbed the end of the ribbon and, with a sweep of his little arm, pulled several yards off the spool. The ribbon floated in gentle arcs to the floor.

“Daniel.” Martha’s voice was sharp, almost shrill. “No!” She yanked the ribbon from his hand and gave his rear several resounding slaps. “Bad boy.”

Daniel didn’t cry. Rachel covered her mouth to hide her smile at the boy’s pouting lip and defiant eyes.

As Rachel finished rewinding the spool, the bell over the door jingled. In waddled Florence Meriweather, the mayor’s wife. Behind her came Esther Phelps from church.

“I know you’re going to like Miss Stone’s work,” Esther was saying as they entered.

“I don’t know. How good is she?”

“Good morning, ladies.” Rachel put on her best cultivated city voice. “May I help you?”

“My husband says I need a new dress for our anniversary celebration—we’re making it quite the event. I want something in sky blue with lots of flowers.”

Rachel directed her to a display of fabrics and stood back to let her browse. Martha turned her back to the customers and whispered in Rachel’s ear, “Maybe there’s a circus nearby that will sell you their big tent. Even then, you’ll probably have to let the seams—”

“Shh!” Rachel peered past her friend to smile at her customer. “That’s not kind.”

Martha’s face fell immediately. “You’re right,” she said. “Will I ever learn to stop saying things like that?”

“I like this one.” Mrs. Meriweather held up the end of a bolt.

Rachel felt the color drain from her cheeks as she eyed the gaudy, daisy-printed fabric. If you want to look like a balloon, that’s the perfect choice. God, help me.

“Have you seen this lovely russet wool?” Rachel directed the woman to several other options. With Esther Phelps’s help, she succeeded in helping the woman pick something more suitable.

As she took Mrs. Meriweather’s measurements, the woman asked, “How much experience have you had making dresses? I mean . . . in your former life, when did you get the opportunity?”

Rachel felt crimson creep up her neck. She bit back the retort that formed in her mouth.

Esther Phelps spoke. “Actually, Florence, Miss Stone made the dresses for a lot of the girls. She knows just how to make the fabric most flattering.”

Mrs. Meriweather huffed. “Well, I’ll give you one chance, girl, because Sam Carstairs invested money in you. He must see some potential.” She shook her sausagelike finger in Rachel’s face. “Just don’t make me look like some cheap harlot.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”

“I’d better be.” She turned and left.

Esther Phelps rolled her eyes behind her spectacles and followed the woman out of the store.

“Make her look like a cheap harlot?” Martha said. “That’s a miracle I’d like to see for maybe five minutes.” She placed her hand over her mouth. “There I go again. Please forgive me.”

“I’m sure she didn’t hear you. And I don’t think Daniel was paying attention.” She gestured toward where Daniel was pulling green ribbon from its roll.

An hour later, the store was empty. Rachel retreated to the back room to work on her first official Rachel’s Hope dress. But the bell jingled, indicating another customer. She wiped her hands on her dress, tucked a stray strand of hair in place, and walked into the main room.

Michael Archer stood just inside the door, looking confused and uncomfortable—completely out of place. He turned his black hat around in his hands like a windmill in a strong breeze. Relief washed over his face when he saw her.

“Good morning.” She smiled.

“Hope it’s all right for me to stop by. I thought I’d come see what a real dressmaker’s shop is like.” His gaze swept the room.

She hoped he liked what he saw. But why should that matter to me? What does a man know about a dressmaking store?

Because this store, more than anything else, reflected who she was now. The “soiled dove,” as the newspapers liked to call those in her prior life, no longer existed. She was a dressmaker, a businesswoman, and this store represented her new life.

She watched him, hands clasped at her waist, as he observed the room she had designed and outfitted.

“You seem to be all set.”

“I could use some help in the back room. My worktable has a bit of a wobble, and some shelving needs to be secured.”

He spread his arms and bowed at the waist. “I’m at your service, ma’am. Let me take a look and see what I can do.”

She led him into her work area, tucking the curtain over a hook to keep it open.

Michael tested the table with his hand and felt the wobble. He bent down to look at the legs as he tested it again. “Looks like one leg is just a tad shorter than the others. I can make a quick shim so you can work on it today, and then tonight I can fix it more permanent.”

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

He walked to the wood box, where she had put some leftover pieces of shelving to use as kindling. He found a small piece, measured it with his eye, then placed it under the recalcitrant leg. He tested the table again, and the wobble was gone.

He was picking up the shelving unit as the bell announced someone else entering the store. “Go take care of your customer while I see if I can put this shelving up without breaking anything.”

After finishing with her customer, Rachel walked into the back room, surprised to find it empty and the shelves exactly where she wanted them. She found a note weighted down by her scissors.

Rachel,

I didn’t want to embarrass you by having you explain what a man was doing in your back room. Would you do me the honor of meeting me for lunch at the hotel? I’ll be waiting in the lobby.

Michael

She looked at the clock hanging over the entrance to her back room. Two more hours until she saw Michael Archer again.

But is that a good thing? Lord, help me be wise.