“Mrs. Bowie Hart.” Though it felt strange to say, she got a thrill just the same.
“Well, well, Bowie got himself a wife, did he? Folks will be mighty surprised to hear that.” He looked her over. “You said you wanted a catalog? Come to spend some of that Hart money already?” He cackled and slapped his thigh. “Guess it don’t matter how ugly a man you are, if you’ve got cash, you can find a gal to marry you.”
Her jaw dropped. How dare he? She skewered him with a stare. He stopped laughing.
“I believe I’ve changed my mind, thank you very much.” She turned on her heel, making sure to slam the door behind her. She’d rather sleep on bare floorboards and bathe in a bucket for the rest of her life than buy anything in that store.
Things went much better at Mortenson’s Mercantile up the street. Their place was bright and clean, and the proprietor, Michael Mortenson was helpful and friendly. Elise spent a happy two hours selecting pieces for the house, ordering some from the catalog at the table in the back and choosing some from the extensive inventory. She was especially happy to see Mrs. Mortenson’s selection of handmade soaps and picked up three cakes of jasmine-scented bars for herself.
“My mother said a woman should always have a signature scent. Roses, vanilla, cinnamon, lavender. I chose jasmine, but it isn’t always easy to find.” Elise smelled the floral soap, warmed by the memory of her mother.
“Now that I know you use it, I’ll make sure to keep some on hand. Easy enough, since I make all my own soaps, and I have a jasmine vine at home.” Meribeth Mortenson handed her baby to her husband and jotted down a note to herself. “Now, what else might you need for your new home?”
By the time she’d finished choosing furnishings for an entire house, Elise was weary and ready to sit for a while.
“I’ll send this order out by telegram this afternoon, and it should be freighted from San Antonio within a couple weeks. I’ll leave directions for it all to be shipped right out to your house.” Mr. Mortenson totaled her purchases in his ledger. “And the Hartville Hotel? It’s across the street on your left, beside Harley Burton’s law office. Tillie will take good care of you there.”
Elise entered the hotel and paused beside the screen that separated the lobby from the dining room, taking the time to smooth her hair and gather her courage. She once again wished Bowie were here. It had felt wrong to spend so much money, make so many decisions on her own, even though she was doing what he had asked.
A pair of young women swept in, laughing and chattering. When they saw her, they stopped, giving each other knowing looks and walking by, almost drawing their skirts aside. Elise frowned. Now what had caused that reaction? She was a stranger to them. What could they possibly have against her?
They took a table in the front of the restaurant by the windows, whispering and glancing over their lace gloves at her.
A large woman in a flowered apron came by, plates balanced in her hands. “Hi, honey, you take a seat anywhere you like. I’ll be right with you.” She sent a kind smile Elise’s way, which acted like a balm to her frazzled nerves.
She chose a small table near a potted fern, mostly out of sight of the twittering duo by the windows. Before the waitress returned, a tall woman in rustling silk strode in, the brim of her hat drooping fashionably to one side. Her eyes, like the blades on a button press, bored through the room, stopping when they struck upon Elise.
“So, you must be the newest Hart bride I’ve been hearing about from Mr. Yost.”
The room went still. News traveled fast. “I am Mrs. Bowie Hart. And you are?”
“Miss Spanner. I am a modiste. My salon is across the street.” She said it with a haughty lilt in her voice that told Elise she was a plain old dressmaker. It was the same way her uncle had used to say “entrepreneur.” “I was sorry to hear you had already married, since I was hoping for a chance to sew a wedding gown for a Hart bride.” She looked Elise over, and her lips twitched. “Ready-made garments, I see.”
Elise’s happiness with the new clothes Bowie had purchased for her dimmed a bit.
“Still, I imagine you’ll be coming by my shop soon. I heard you were in town already to spend some of that lovely Hart money. I don’t blame you. At least the money will sugar the pill of being married to Bowie Hart.”
The waitress returned, cutting in front of the outspoken dressmaker before Elise could form any thought beyond anger.