“That's rather late to be making new dresses.” Ivy tilted her head. “She'll only be able to wear them for a little while.”
Hank pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “I’m the mail carrier today.” He handed the letter to Ivy.
She glanced at the address. “Oh, from my sister.” She held the envelope to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Canfield.”
“Now, now. Not of thatMisterCanfield. I’m Hank to my friends.” He chuckled, scooped up his Stetson, and walked over to place it on the hatrack. “Her father's doing. Mr. Bellaire thought some new outfits made specifically for her…” He gestured in a rounded arc over his midsection, indicating a very pregnant belly, “would help her through the last uncomfortable weeks.” He removed his coat and brown scarf and hung them up. His gloves went into a coat pocket.
“And because he likes to spoil her,” Torin added. "Even I've heard of Mr. Bellaire's generosity. After all, he provided for the extra bedroom to be built at Brian's house when he was recuperating from the bullet wound.”
“The man has a heart the size of Montana,” Hank agreed. He reached to take the parcel from Torin and handed it to Jewel. “Cookies from Elsie. Why don't you carry these to the kitchen and put them on a plate? Can you do that?”
Jewel nodded solemnly, accepting the mission with adorable gravity. She marched down the hall toward the kitchen with Brave trotting at her heels.
When she was out of earshot, Hank tapped the end of the rolled paper Torin held. “I didn't just come for the pleasure of your company, much as I enjoy it. I need your eye on something.”
Curious, Torin held up the plans. “These?”
“I'm building us a house in town. Elsie doesn't know yet—I want to surprise her when the plans are properly drawn up. But I remembered how you set me straight on the bedroom addition for the house up here.” He glanced at Torin. “You told me to make it longer, add a fireplace, give a lady room for her wardrobe. You were right about all of it. So, I figured I'd better get your advice before I go any further.”
“You haven’t even built on that bedroom yet.”
“Was a bit busy trying to convince a certain young lady to allow me to court her.”
Torin cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. “A loonngg courtship,” he said in a teasing aside to Ivy.
“Cora told me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you think Elsie should see the plans before they’re drawn up? After all, it’s her house, too.”
“Miss Jackson, I assure you that I have no problem with having the plans redrawn as often as we need them.”
She bestowed an approving smile on him. “Call me Ivy.” She headed toward the doorway. “I’ll go oversee Jewel and the cookies.”
“Let’s look at these in the dining room.” Torin led the way, placing the roll on the table and going to the fireplace to start a fire.
Hank followed Torin and Ivy into the dining room, where he unrolled the paper across the table, weighting the corners with the salt and pepper shakers and a vase.
Torin leaned over the plans. The drawing was rough—Hank was a skilled craftsman but no draftsman. However, the layout of a house was clearly discernible. Rooms were sketched in firm pencil lines, each one labeled in his friend's blunt hand.
Hank walked him through the floor plan, his finger tracing room to room. “Kitchen here, facing east for the morning light. Parlor here, big enough for Elsie's piano if we ever get one.Dining room. Two bedrooms upstairs—ours and a spare.” He tapped a room at the back of the ground floor. “And this is the important one. Elsie's sewing room.”
He’s certainly taking her into consideration.“She’ll love that.”
“Elsie's so talented, and I want her to be able to work at home, if need be.” The pride in Hank's voice was quiet and deep, the kind that came not from boasting but from genuine wonder at another person's gifts. “I want her to have a proper space. Good light, room for her worktable, shelves for her fabrics and notions.”
“Put it on the north side," Torin said, straightening up. He had a vague memory of escorting one of his cousin’s to a dressmaking shop and then having to wait a tedious hour while she chose fabric, trim, and buttons.
He traced a line on the plan with his finger. “Dressmakers prefer north-facing windows. The light is even—no direct sun to fade fabrics or cast harsh shadows. And make it wider than you've drawn here.” He paced two steps to demonstrate. “She'll need room to lay out fabric for cutting. A table against this wall, shelving on the opposite, sewing machine here, and leave floor space in between.”
Hank pulled a stub of pencil from his pocket and began making notations.
“The kitchen…” Torin leaned back over the plans. “You've got the stove against an interior wall, which is good—keeps the heat in the house. But move the dry sink under the window. She'll want light for washing up, and the view will make the chores less tedious.”
“Elsie doesn't mind tedious work,” Hank said, but he was already sketching the change.
“Everyone minds tedious work. Some don’t complain, is all.” He touched one square of the floorplan. “The parlor's generous.That's fine for entertaining, but you might steal a foot from it to widen the hallway. Carrying furniture through a narrow hall is a misery—take it from a man who's done it.”
Hank nodded and made a note near the parlor.
“And I suggest another bedroom. You don’t know how many children you’ll have, and you’ll want one for the boys and one for the girls.”
