Chapter Six
ELEANOR WHIPPED HERhead around in surprise. Merrick caught her eye briefly, but quickly turned away as he ran a hand over his beard again. “I don’t know what those things might be, but she’ll . . . she’ll need them.”
“Merrick,” Eleanor whispered.
He forced himself to look at her. He so desperately wanted her to be happy, and he thought a new dress might do just that. Besides, if he knew anything about babies, she would certainly be needing something new to wear soon. But she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Drexel made a quick excuse and stepped aside, and Merrick turned to face Eleanor. “You need new shoes. And I thought you’d be in need of something new to wear, given . . .” He gestured toward her stomach.
“I do . . . I mean, yes, I will, I imagine. But I’m sure there’s a lady in town who might be able to lend me some clothing. Perhaps Clara, since her baby will be here soon. And the shoes . . . you needn’t spend money on something new. Especially with such a large order already.”
It made sense then. She was worried about the money. Merrick knew that feeling of never having enough. It was one he hoped Eleanor—and the child she carried—would never need to experience again.
“Don’t worry about the money,” he said, his voice a little gruff to cover the emotion he felt.
She bit her lip as if she wasn’t certain whether to believe him.
He cleared his throat. “Get the shoes. Purchase what you need to make a new dress. Or two. Make two dresses.”
“I can’t possibly—”
“Drexel!” he called, tapping his hand on the counter in finality. “Mrs. Benton needs to make two dresses. She’ll need to choose fabric, thread, and— and . . .” He trailed off, having no idea what else went into sewing clothing.
“That’s all,” Eleanor said quickly, almost as if she were afraid he’d start rattling off twenty more items. “I’ve brought my own sewing supplies.”
Drexel brought out a few bolts of fabric, and after Eleanor attempted to choose only the least expensive, Merrick suggested buying at least some of the pretty pink or red material.
“The calico will do just fine—” Eleanor started.
“Do you prefer pink or red?” Drexel asked with a quick wink at Merrick.
When Eleanor glanced at the calico again, Merrick added, “I’m awfully partial to that red myself. Makes me think of strawberries.”
Eleanor hesitated, and then nodded. As Drexel cut both fabrics to her specifications, Merrick asked the question he knew was on her mind.
“Have you run into a fellow called Whiteside? He has a farm somewhere outside of town.”
Drexel paused. “Edward Whiteside?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Eleanor said eagerly. “Do you know him?”
