Courting Trouble Read Online Free Page B

smile.
    She rubbed her thumb against his stiffly ironed sleeve. ‘‘Thank you. I’ll always remember your kindness.’’
    He jerked his arm away. She scooped up the sacks and called for Jeremy, asking him to bring her the liver oil. While she poured some into a small vial, she explained that he was fortunate to have brought those skins in when he did, for after today they wouldn’t be taking any more hides for trade. Seemed Mr. Crook would no longer be stocking them.
    ————
    Essie ruined three hats that first week at the Slap Out. This morning a wall-mounted bracket lamp snagged the chiffon ribbon on her latest hat, bringing her up short like a dog on a leash.
    ‘‘My stars and garters,’’ she murmured, unhooking herself from the bronze sconce, then stuffing the trim back up into her Evangeline hat. ‘‘Here they are, Mrs. Quigley.’’
    Essie laid ribbed hose, wool hose, leather stockings, and plain stockings on the counter. ‘‘This is our selection of boys’ hosiery, the leather being the best, of course, giving fifty percent more wear than any of the others.’’
    Mrs. Quigley picked up the plain cotton stockings.
    ‘‘Those are some of the most satisfactory, ma’am. See the wide elastic hem at the top? That will help keep them from sliding down.’’
    Mrs. Quigley squinted for a closer examination.
    ‘‘They have double-spliced heels and toes, as well,’’ Essie continued, ‘‘and are thirty-five cents each.’’
    The Quigleys lived on the south side of town in a neatly kept house with a wide front porch. Mr. Quigley worked in the gristmill and had fathered a whole passel of youngsters. Three of them stood solemnly beside their mother, but Essie knew full well their behavior at school was less than pristine.
    ‘‘And who is to be the recipient of these fine stockings?’’ Essie asked the boys.
    ‘‘Grundy,’’ the older one said. ‘‘He’s always runnin’ around without his boots on, tearing up his hose.’’
    ‘‘Am not.’’
    ‘‘Are too.’’
    Mrs. Quigley silenced the boys with a look.
    Essie smiled. ‘‘Well, I suppose we’ve all made a muck of our hosiery a time or two.’’ She turned her attention to Mrs. Quigley. ‘‘Have you seen our new magic darner?’’
    She retrieved the little loom-like machine that would mend hosiery, silk, wool, or cotton. ‘‘It’s small enough to fit inside your sewing basket and so easy to use, even the children could operate it.’’
    By the time Essie was done, she had sold them three pairs of stockings, the magic darner, a pattern for a five-gored skirt, and several remnants of cloth.
    After the Quigleys left, Hamilton joined her behind the counter and held up a satin rosette. ‘‘Did you lose this, by any chance?’’
    Her hand flew to the right side of her hat and discovered a gap. ‘‘Oh my. I seem to catch my trim on something every time I turn around.’’ She took the rosette and tried to return it to its proper place but could not make it stay.
    He chuckled. ‘‘Here. Let me.’’
    She held herself perfectly still while he secured the flower back onto her hat. Her nose was mere inches from the buttons on his double-breasted fancy wash vest and the knot on his silk necktie. She breathed in the scent of his shaving soap, along with a hint of mustiness.
    Her gaze veered to his raised arm and the damp stain on his shirt. The intimacy of seeing such a personal thing did queer things to her stomach. Blindly, she grabbed the counter to steady herself.
    ‘‘There,’’ he said. ‘‘That should hold, for a while, anyway.’’
    She lifted her chin, the brim of her hat revealing his jaw, cheeks, and nose one linear inch at a time. She moistened her lips. The brown eyes behind his square spectacles were as warm as hot cocoa and at very close range.
    ‘‘You have quite a knack for sales, Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’
    ‘‘It’s nothing, really,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I just know everybody and what kinds