Whirlwind (19 page)

Millicent felt a rush of pleasure. She’d managed to concoct a solution whereby her husband still kept his pride and stood his ground, yet she’d be able to show him she wasn’t a helpless, shrinking violet. Today she would prove her worth and let Daniel know that though they’d lost Frank, she could and would fill in and be able to fulfill many of the responsibilities Daniel had initially designated as his.

“Oh good,” one of the women said as she spied Millicent’s list on the counter. “Here’s a list of things to be done.” She started reading off the tasks and soon everyone plunged into action.

Daniel paced through the store, ripped down every sign and banner, moved heavy articles out of the way, and looked craggy enough to masquerade as a cliff. Millicent handed him his coffee. Jutting his chin toward the southwestern corner, he declared, “That’s where we’ll set up Isabelle.”

“She can use the parlor upstairs to sew,” Millicent whispered. “Things have changed. Without Frank, a dress shop isn’t reasonable.”

Daniel pivoted. “Ladies.” The women fell silent at once. “My sister-in-law, Isabelle, is over at the boardinghouse today. She’s an accomplished seamstress, and we’ll be setting up a small dress shop for her over in that corner.”

Millicent’s nose tingled with suppressed tears—grief for Isabelle, and gratitude for Daniel’s incredible generosity. “My sister’s husband met with a terrible death a few days ago.”

The women all murmured condolences.

“My wife suggested Isabelle might simply stay upstairs and sew in the parlor. My plan is far bolder: to bring Isabelle through this tragedy by helping her realize the dream she and Frank had of having a shop.”

Hope Stauffer rubbed her hands together. “Never made sense to me, the notion of a woman havin’ to hide away for a whole year when her man died. Goin’ to Sunday meetin’ once a week and being stuck in the house the rest of the time only makes her more lonelier. Nothin’ better for an aching heart than to be surrounded by folks what care. Talk comes cheap. Deeds last. You folks tell us what you want where.”

A chorus of agreement echoed in the air.

A deep groan followed it. A large man stood in the open doorway, dismay twisting his features. “Don’t tell me I forgot to tell my wife about a missionary aid meeting or sewing bee or something.”

While the ladies laughed, the pastor’s wife said, “You needn’t worry, Big Tim. Nothing was planned. We’ve gathered to lend a hand. The new owners have arrived.”

Daniel walked over and extended his hand. “Daniel Clark.”

“Tim Creighton.” The man shook hands, then scanned the store. He didn’t bother to hide his grimace. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. I can spare a couple of hours if you need a strong back.”

Over the next few hours, more women arrived. Some came expecting to help; others arrived from the outlying area to do their Thursday marketing. Every last one of them pitched in—whether it was for half an hour or the morning.

Millicent lost track of the things Daniel and Big Tim hauled out of the upstairs. By the time they were done up there, the women had emptied the store shelves. All four of the brooms in stock were put to use. She had no idea exactly how many dustpans full of grit disappeared out the front and back doors.

As the day progressed, she tacked up sheets of paper and a pencil to a long string. It wasn’t possible to keep track of everything, but when it became clear they were overstocked with an item, she’d write it on one sheet. Neighbors started listing things they’d like to have the store carry on another. Small piles of goods people wanted to purchase formed out on the boardwalk.

“Excuse me. Might I please speak to you, Daniel?”

Daniel stepped to the side.

Going up on her tiptoes, Millicent whispered, “These people have been kind to work on our behalf. I think a discount would be nice. What would you say about fifteen percent?”

His dark eyes held hers.

Doubts assailed her. “If you don’t wish to . . .”

“As hard as they’ve all worked, more was well earned.” He turned and raised his voice. “If I could have a moment, please.”

The chatter and work ceased almost at once. Feet shuffled as women moved from behind displays so they could see him.

It’s his voice. Strong and deep and sure. It commands attention.
“When Mrs. Stauffer told us we’d meet the nicest women in the world here, ones with open hearts and willing hands, it wasn’t an empty boast.” His large hand settled on Millicent’s shoulder. No man had ever been so familiar with her. Was the warmth she felt just the physical imprint of her husband’s contact? Unaware of the tide of confusion he caused, he continued to address the women. “My wife and I are thankful to each and every one of you for all of your assistance. We’ve determined to deduct thirty-three percent off anything you choose to purchase today as a token of our gratitude.”

“Oh my,” someone gasped.

The pastor’s wife cleared her throat. “That’s very generous.”

“It’s fair.” Daniel paused, so Millicent nodded to add her agreement. He smiled his approval at her. “As your new neighbors, we deeply appreciate this warmhearted welcome. Then, too, any ethical business would assess items that had been weather-damaged and sell them for at least a twenty percent reduction. Your considerable help makes the figure we’ve chosen quite reasonable. As long as the door is open to the mercantile, I want you to feel certain you’ll always receive fair trade.”

“Then I’m going to go ahead and buy that ready-mixed paint for our barn,” Lena Patterson declared.

“Was that any
one
thing, or off everything?” someone else asked.

“One-third off everything you buy and carry out of the store today.” Daniel slid his arm around Millicent’s shoulders. “One other thing: As a token of budding friendship, my wife wants each of you to choose a packet of Mr. Burpee’s flower seeds. Isn’t that right, Millicent?”

“Indeed, it is.” She slipped away and hurried off. She didn’t have time to stand around. Daniel might be cutting deals, but she wanted their marriage to be the very best one he’d ever made.

Late afternoon sun slanted into the store, golden now instead of chokingly gray with dust. Millicent scanned the emporium with satisfaction.

Daniel stood a few feet away. “It doesn’t look anything like it did this morning.”

“Thank God!” Millicent slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that to sound blasphemous. Truly, the Lord sent us help. We needed it.”

“We’ve cleared out quite a bit.”

“With that generous discount, everyone was more than eager to take advantage of the sale. The shelves are as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboards.” She tried to use a perky voice and paste on a smile, but the truth left her livid. That afternoon, she’d dropped the store ledger. Though she hadn’t meant to pry, the page it opened to bore the last entries—and they were six weeks old. The ugly truth was, Orville hadn’t merely been busy with trying to run both businesses; he’d taken the money Daniel had paid in good faith for a well-run and decently supplied enterprise and continued to take money for the stock he sold—without replacing the stock or honorably leaving that money in the till.

Daniel bent over backward to be good to my sister; the least I can do is ignore the nasty truth about his cousin. Daniel hasn’t said anything, and I’m not going to, either. I’ll pretend I don’t know he’s been cheated. I wouldn’t be surprised if Orville intentionally left the store open so the damage would hide his perfidy.

Surveying the stacks of crates and piles of merchandise pressed against one wall, Millicent pushed back a strand of hair. Her back ached. Even with the worst of the filth cleaned away, reopening the store would require long hours and hard work.
There’s no time like the present. . . . “
Daniel, am I correct in presuming you’ll want to place the shelves for the bolt goods over by Isabelle’s corner? I’ll—”

“Wash up.”

“Yes, of course. We couldn’t possibly put anything on those shelves until they’re scrubbed.” She leaned over and picked up a pail of sudsy water.

“No, Millicent. You wash up.” He robbed her of the pail and pressed a cake of Ivory soap into her hands. “It’s teatime. Go be with Arthur and Isabelle.”

Certainly, Isabelle needed her.
But a woman’s place is with her husband. I vowed to be his helpmeet. It doesn’t matter that the marriage is one of convenience; if anything, that makes it even more imperative that I put him before all others. He’s done so much for us and asked nothing in return. The least I can do is be true to the promise I made him.

Slipping the soap into her apron pocket, Millicent tried to give him a smile. “In America, they don’t have tea and a late supper; they just have an early supper. I’ll go get Isabelle. While you play with Arthur, she and I can measure the windows for curtains. You wrote curtains on your list.”

“That will wait.” He sounded peeved.

“I set aside a couple of bolts of fabric that took the brunt of the dust storm. We’ll not be able to sell the yardage, but it’s suitable for curtains, counterpanes, and such. I’ll fetch them so you can decide which you like best.”

“Choose what you like—later.” Daniel gave her a piercing look.

Millicent fought to stay composed as he studied her. Normally, she’d not feel in the least bit self-conscious if a gentleman paid her passing attention . . . but this was different. He was her husband. And she couldn’t begin to guess what he thought.

“Millicent, we need to have a private discussion.”

Fifteen

P
rivate.” Millicent wasn’t sure that strangled sound had come out of her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and suddenly she hoped dust completely covered her face.

Daniel nodded. “Privacy isn’t something we’ve yet enjoyed.”

Oh, dear merciful heavens.
She swallowed hard.

He tugged her hand, and she followed woodenly. “Please have a seat.” He led her to an oak press-backed chair he’d dusted off only moments before.

“Thank you.” She melted onto the seat, her hands knotted in her lap.
I’m not a coward. I refuse to be.
She lifted her chin and looked at him.

“There are a few topics we need to cover. The first is rather delicate.”

Delicate.
Her lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

Daniel noticed her acknowledgment and continued on. “Sensibilities being what they are, some rules are best left intact for all involved. Other customs are not necessarily for the greater good.” His deep brown eyes regarded her steadily.

“Don’t you agree?”

“I’m not sure.” She fortified herself with a deep breath. Until she knew for certain precisely what he wanted, she didn’t have the ability to answer him. “Could you be more specific?”

Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked away from her, then turned slowly. “Isabelle and Frank were very devoted to one another.”

Sorrow slashed through her.

“Their affection for one another was unmistakable.”

Not trusting her tongue, Millicent nodded.

Daniel approached her. He took her hands in his. “Sometimes, we make sacrifices out of love. I know what I’m about to ask of you is, as I said, delicate. Nonetheless, it is the best course of action. I noticed you set aside crepe for mourning. Veils made of it are unhealthful for the eyes and the lungs. Isabelle oughtn’t wear them.”

Relief bubbled through her. He was worried about Isabelle’s health. “I’ll speak with her. I’m sure she’ll still want a veil, though. At least when she goes out to church. The list of fabrics and sewing notions we provided for you has black netting on it. That would work.”

“Fine. Fine.” He walked away yet again.

Oh no. There’s something more? Well, the other request was quite minor.

“Often, sisters are the same size. If I’m not mistaken, you and Isabelle are similar.”

“We are.”

“Though Frank was your brother-in-law, I know you’ll agree that Isabelle’s loss is the greater. That being the case, she should be the one to wear mourning clothes.”

“We both shall.”

Daniel shook his head and came back toward her again. This time, he dragged over a box and sat on it. They were knee-to-knee. Millicent subtly shifted to break the contact—though completely innocent, it was by far the most familiar and intimate contact she’d ever had with a man.

“I propose you trade clothes with her: She takes all of your black bodices and skirts. In return, she’ll let you wear her white and colored garments.”

Eyes wide with shock, Millicent stared at him. “You cannot expect me to lark about in merry attire!”

Daniel leaned forward and clasped her hands. “We can and will acknowledge her loss. But I don’t want to cling to the visual reminders of her loss. You and Arthur will be the instruments God uses within our home to help Isabelle recover.”

She paused to think about what he’d said. Looking down, she saw how his hands curled about hers, lending them shelter and warmth. “I don’t mean to offend you. But Isabelle’s feelings need to be our foremost concern. For her to think I don’t mourn Frank—that would crush us both.”

“I concede that point. Ask her. Will you give me your word that you’ll do so?”

Millicent stammered, “Since you’ve asked, I will. There’s still another consideration. I represent this family and both businesses. We cannot afford for me to offend the community by ignoring or slighting customs.”

“Tim Creighton remarked that he was glad you weren’t shrouded in black. According to protocol, his wife ought to be in second mourning for her father. He won’t let her wear dreary colors . . . and she’s the former Lady Sydney Hathwell.”

Millicent’s lips parted in surprise.

“Hope Stauffer told me her sister-in-law is a recent widow. When Hope saw you set aside the crepe, she yanked me into the storeroom and told me her husband flatly refused to allow his sister to wear anything black other than her shoes.”

“I promise to speak with Isabelle.” Millicent let out a sigh of relief. “It seems our talk went well, Daniel. I wasn’t at all sure what to expect. Frank and Isabelle were always of one accord, yet their neighbors indulged in appalling shout fests. Knowing that you and I can talk and compromise is quite reassuring.”