Groom by Design. Christine Johnson

the next seam and reached for a hot iron off the old stove. On hot summer days, she wished for an electric iron, but those cost money, and every cent was needed for the hospital. “You could best help by basting that blouse for me.”

      Naturally, Jen ignored her request. Of all the sisters, she possessed the least skill and interest in sewing. Her dreams leaned more toward the adventurous, like flying airplanes.

      Jen plunked the pincushion down on the worktable. “You heard the doctors. Daddy needs that electrical treatment.”

      “Electrotherapy.”

      “Whatever they call it. The point is it’ll cost more. After this latest episode...” Jen’s voice drifted off in concern. “Did you see the look on Mother’s face? And then she left for the sanitarium that very afternoon. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

      Ruth had to stop this conversation from escalating into hysteria. “We don’t know that.”

      “Because no one tells us anything.” Jen crossed her arms. “Do they think we can’t figure it out? We’re grown women. Tell me the truth, Ruthie. Mother left you in charge. I saw you looking through the ledger last night. We don’t have the money for the treatment, do we?”

      Ruth hesitated. It hadn’t taken her long to discover they were deep in debt, but revealing that fact would serve no good purpose. “I’m sure Daddy and Mother have taken care of everything.”

      Jen looked doubtful.

      “Even if they haven’t,” Ruth added before Minnie picked up her sister’s pessimism, “it doesn’t mean we need to hound rich men. There are more reliable ways to make money.”

      “It would take twenty years to earn it on our wages,” Jen countered, “and Daddy needs the money now. That’s why marrying into wealth is such a good idea. You heard the story of Nurse Walker when we last visited Daddy. How her patient Mr. Cornelius fell in love with her and paid off all her debts?”

      Ruth hated to admit the story had tumbled around in her head, too.

      “He was rich.” Minnie’s eyes lit with excitement. “From oil.”

      “Automobiles,” Jen corrected. “But it doesn’t matter how he made his money. What we need to do is find our own Mr. Cornelius.”

      Ruth shook her head. “That was just a story. Even if it is true, that sort of thing only happens once in a lifetime.”

      “No, it doesn’t.” Minnie fairly quivered with excitement. “I know someone just like Mr. Cornelius. Mr. Brandon Landers helped Mrs. Simmons when he fell in love with Anna.”

      “That’s not the same,” Ruth said, though in some ways it was. The man had given Anna and her mother a home when they lost theirs. In time, he fell in love with Anna and married her. Anna’s mother still lived in the guest cottage on the Landers estate right here in Pearlman. “He married Anna for love, not money.”

      “I love his brother, Reggie, and in time Reggie will love me,” Minnie insisted. “It’ll be just like Mr. Cornelius and Miss Walker.”

      Ruth would never understand her baby sister. After initially shying away from the college man, she had developed a crush on him. This plan of Jen’s provided just the vehicle to encourage Minnie’s fancy for a man who didn’t deserve her.

      “Mother and Daddy would never let you marry at your age,” Ruth cautioned.

      “Eighteen is old enough. Plenty of girls my age are engaged, and some already married. I wouldn’t want to wait forever, like...”

      Though Minnie stopped before uttering the hurtful words, Ruth knew her sister meant her. Ruth had never had a beau, never danced with a man and never experienced a romantic kiss. Oh, she longed for it all. A home. A family of her own. A good Christian husband, poor but hardworking. A man who wouldn’t mind a plain wife with poor eyesight. Countless tearful prayers had been sent heavenward, but at twenty-six, she was a spinster.

      Minnie was right about girls here marrying young, but she didn’t understand that a man didn’t love you simply because you loved him. That applied doubly to rich, handsome men. The wounds they inflicted lasted a lifetime.

      Ruth attacked the seam with the iron.

      “I’m sorry, Ruthie,” Minnie said with a sob. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But can’t you see? Daddy needs our help, and this is the perfect solution.”

      “We are already helping by taking care of the shop and house and praying for him.” Yet as Daddy’s heart grew weaker, Ruth feared the small contribution they made would never be enough. But marry for money? That road led to nothing but heartache, as their oldest sister could testify. Beatrice had married the heir to the biggest fortune in town, yet she’d confided to Ruth that her marriage was struggling.

      Jen drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Any little bit would help. Even if we can’t marry into wealth, at least we wouldn’t be living at home anymore. Daddy wouldn’t have to feed and clothe us. Any decent husband would help pay for the treatments.”

      As Jen ticked off the benefits of her idea, Ruth paused in her pressing, iron held high so it wouldn’t scorch the delicate georgette crepe. Her sister had a point. None of them brought in much from their part-time jobs. The dress shop had lost clients. Maybe marriage was the only answer. Unfortunately, no man would look twice at plain old Ruth. Jen dashed around in trousers half the time, discouraging all but the most forward-thinking man. That left Minnie, and Ruth couldn’t abide the thought of her baby sister marrying that idler Reggie Landers.

      Ruth pushed up her spectacles and set down the heavy iron. “There must be a better way to help Daddy. It’s not as if we can walk up to a man and ask him to marry us.”

      Jen tossed her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll come up with a plan of attack.”

      “A plan of attack? You make it sound like a military maneuver.” Ruth shook her head. Sometimes Jen behaved more like a boy than the lady she ought to be.

      A scorched smell tickled her nostrils. The iron! In her inattention, she’d set it down. She jerked it up. Thank goodness, the silk hadn’t burned.

      “I made a list of eligible bachelors.” Jen produced a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. With a great show, she smoothed it out on the tabletop.

      Ruth fought a wave of panic. “No man wants to feel like he’s being hunted.”

      “But it’s all right for them to pursue us,” Jen pointed out before addressing her list. “Gil Vanderloo is home from college. He asked me to dance once. A definite possibility. You could ask about him when you drop off the dresses.”

      “I will do no such thing.” Through the open windows, Ruth heard the church bells ring the five-o’clock hour. “Oh, dear. Mrs. Vanderloo wanted her gowns before five so she could dress for her garden party. You’ve made me late with all this silly talk.”

      She finished the last seam and slid the dress onto a hanger to cool. She plunked a plain straw hat on her head and jabbed a hatpin through the loose bun of fine blond hair at the nape of her neck. Gloves, gloves... Where were her gloves? She dashed around the shop looking for them while her sisters reviewed Jen’s list. If she weren’t already frantic, the whispers would have driven her mad.

      “I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Ruth grabbed the pasteboard carton she used to protect garments against dirt but hesitated. Even this short distance could wrinkle the gowns, and Mrs. Vanderloo didn’t have time to iron them out. Considering the weather had cleared after this morning’s rain and few clouds now graced the sky, she decided to risk going without. What could happen in a few blocks?

      She grabbed the hangers and held the dresses high so their hems didn’t brush the ground. Once out the door, she’d loosely drape them over her other arm and pray they didn’t crease.

      Before leaving, she directed her sisters to close the shop. Without