Page 27 of Hank and Elsie
“You’ll be treading on the Cobbs’ toes.”
“You mean treading on the Cobbs’ toes even more than I already am?” Miss Taylor hooked her arm through Elsie’s. Her eyes danced. “It’s Sunday, so I don’t dare answer with a more…pointedrejoinder.”
Elsie giggled, then had to gasp for air. She put her hand on her stomach. “Oh, this corset.”
Miss Taylor rolled her eyes. “Elsie, lower your hand immediately. Ladies don’t touch their stomachs in public.”
Not at all abashed, Elsie did as Miss Taylor requested. “I don’t suppose they roll their eyes, either,” she teased.
“Touché. But I only did so because there’s no one close enough to see. A hand on the stomach is obvious to more distant observers.”
“Too-shey?”
“Touchéis French. Means something like ‘you bested me with a clever remark.’”
Touché, Elsie repeated silently, mentally adding the word to the growing list of French terms she planned on sharing with Mary. Her sister loved words and reading in the same way Elsie loved clothes.
She let out a sigh, this time remembering to keep her breath shallow.Who knows when I’ll next spend time with my sister?
CHAPTER 11
After church, Elsie walked a few steps behind Miss Taylor as the dressmaker strolled through the crowd chatting outside. With amusement, she watched the admiring glances cast her pretty employer’s way—from both men and women—although the women looked at her hat and clothes and the men stared at her face, or occasionally lowered their eyes to her bosom.
Some then gazed beyond the dressmaker to Elsie, giving her the same appraising stares. Uncomfortable, she looked away and edged closer to Miss Taylor, almost wanting to grab her skirts for comfort and protection like she did with Ma’s when she was little.
Elsie slid sideways to search the crowd for her family, even as she knew they wouldn’t have attended church two Sundays in a row. Still, she couldn’t help hoping they’d missed her so much that they’d driven into town today.
She imagined their reunion, where she could excitedly tell them about her week, and they’d be just as eager to hear her stories. There’d be hugs and expressions of pride from her parents, and more hugs and ‘happy to see ya” from her siblings.
A man in front of her facing outward stepped back, swinging his arm to summon someone on the street.
She turned sharply and slightly ducked to avoid being bumped. The corresponding pinch from her corset brought her soaring flights of fancy down to reality. Even if her parents and siblingsdidmiss her, beyond just having to take over Elsie’s chores, there’d be no exuberant greetings from her staid family. To expect such would only disappoint her when she did see them.
She spotted the cowboy again, standing at the outskirts of the crowd, seeming to survey everyone. He caught her gaze, and she gave a little wave.
He smiled and wound through the people to her and stopped with a slight bow and finger to the brim of his Stetson. “My gallant hat rescuer.”
Elsie couldn’t help but giggle. “Did your daughter like her hat?” She glanced around, searching for a little girl in the boater, before looking back at him.
“Ah, you mean for myneighbor’sdaughter. I’m not married.” He winked. “But I hope to be. Just have to find a bride first.”
Elsie felt a blush rising in her cheeks.Is he flirting?She had no idea what to say. She’d never before spoken to a man she didn’t know, at least, not as a younglady.
“We probably should wait for one of the Mrs. Nortons to properly introduce us, but that might take forever, so I’ll risk stepping over the etiquette breach.” He took an exaggerated sidestep, his brown eyes twinkling. “I’m Hank Canfield.”
She liked him right away. “Elsie Bailey.”
He gave her another slight bow, his gaze going beyond her to Miss Taylor. “I saw you arrive with a companion...?”
“My employer,” Elsie said proudly. She pointed in the direction of the Gordon Building. “She owns the new dress shop.”
Miss Taylor moved beside her and touched Elsie’s hand with just enough pressure to signal for her to lower her arm. She leaned close. “Pointing is impolite,” she said in a quiet voice.
Hastily, Elsie pulled in her arm.
“Let me guess.” Mr. Canfield sent Miss Taylor a charming smile. “The new dressmaker.”
Relieved that he didn’t seem to notice herfaux pas—another French expression she’d learned this week—Elsie flashed him a brilliant smile. “Miss Taylor is ever so clever at fashioning gowns.”
