As Love Blooms Page 3

“Naturally I have several dresses for that purpose.”

  “Dresses?” If the sharp tan jacket and skirt she was wearing were any indication, she’d stick out in an upturned garden like a rosebud in a pigpen. He wouldn’t even start on the lavish hat with a brim wider than her shoulders. And how on earth did she do up all those buttons on the front? There had to be at least thirty of the little things all lined in a straight row from the hem to the—

  She cleared her throat. Good grief. Had he been staring?

  “I have serviceable skirts and shirtwaists to work in, if you must know.”

  “Uh, yeah. That’ll have to do, I suppose.” Many of the girls who worked as teachers, clerks, switchboard operators, and stenographers wore black skirts and white shirts, so the other gardeners might simply look past her and think she was visiting Como on her lunch or a break. “The hardest part will be to keep your role here a secret. If the wrong person sees you working in the garden, they might say something to Mr. Nussbaumer and that will ruin our plans, so you’ll have to be on your guard all the time.”

  “I guess I’ll have to work incognito. Mr. Pinkerton said—”

  “As in Allan Pinkerton, the famous detective?”

  She nodded and placed her hand on her heart. “‘A friend to honesty and a foe to crime.’ Anyway, he said working incognito is a detective’s most difficult challenge.”

  “We aren’t solving a train robbery, but I’d agree.” Tessa Gregory certainly had a flare for the dramatic. “We’ll just have to be careful.”

  A smile bloomed on her face. “It will be a grand adventure, Reese. I can feel it. You’ll see.”

  Somehow he doubted that. “We’ll start at nine sharp. Meet me on the hill I showed you, where the new garden is to be planted.”

  “I’ll be there, and I promise, I won’t let anyone see me.” She pulled her enormous hat down until it nearly covered her eyes. “Incognito, see?”

  If he had to guess, Tessa Gregory would have a hard time becoming invisible. This idea was doomed. “I wish I knew a better way to keep you hidden, Tessa, but I don’t.”

  “Don’t look so glum. I’ll think of something. I always do. A grand adventure, remember?”

  He wanted to believe her, and looking at the glint in her hazel eyes, he almost did.

  Almost.

  Nine times out of ten, Tessa loved shopping at the Golden Rule almost as much as attending a moving picture show, but today her stomach quivered as she entered the unfamiliar boys’ department. Like she’d promised Reese, she’d come up with a better way to hide—to disguise herself completely.

  She eyed the trousers neatly stacked in wooden cubby holes. On the other side of the room, knickers were stacked in a similar manner. Which should she get? Only younger boys wore knickers, but they might fit her frame better. How would she figure out what size she wore without tipping off the salesman?

  She fingered the fabric on a rack of suits—tweeds, worsteds, serges, and cashmeres. None would work for a serious gardener.

  “May I help you, miss?” The salesman straightened a jacket on the hanger.

  “I need a pair of heavy trousers.”

  He looked down his long narrow nose, where his spectacles balanced. “Not for yourself, of course.”

  “No, uh . . . for my brother. My younger brother.” If she had a brother, she would surely purchase clothes for him. It wasn’t her fault God had only blessed her with sisters.

  “In that case, I think you’ll want to look over here, where we stock the work pants and overalls.”

  She followed him around the corner. He gestured to the wall of dark blue, black, gray, and brown work trousers. “What size is your brother’s waist?”

  “His waist?” She bit her lip. What had Madam Dubois measured her waist at last time she’d had a dress made? “Well, he’s about my size.”

  “I see.” The salesman seemed to be trying to guess her measurement. “Is he taller than you?”

  “No, about the same height too.”

  “Truly? That’s unusual.” The salesman took a step back and rubbed his chin. “Then, I’m guessing his inseam would be about twenty-nine inches.”

  “Inseam?”

  The salesman’s cheeks colored. “Miss, is your mother here? Perhaps shopping in another department? Mothers usually have a good idea about such things as measurements.”

  “No. My mother is gone.” There. That was the truth. “She died of influenza.”

  “Please accept my condolences.” He moved to the shelf and pulled out three pairs of trousers. He held up the dark blue first. “This is a nine-ounce York denim.”

  Tessa took the pants and held them up to her body. She wouldn’t look like a girl in these—except for her top half.

  “Are you certain these are for your brother?” The salesman seemed to be studying her. “We don’t sell trousers for young women to wear. It’s simply not appropriate. Our store owner frowns on such sales.”

  A prickle of anger nudged her, but she tempered it. This man couldn’t possibly know if the trousers were for her, and besides, what business was it of the department store if she wore the pants or not? Aunt Sam had been wearing bloomers for years and was always praising them for their comfort. As of late, she’d taken to wearing cropped pants, tall boots, and a long jacket for motoring about.

  Tessa smoothed the velvet lapels of her fitted jacket. “I’m offended. Do I look like the kind of girl who would go around in a pair of work trousers?”

  “Pardon me, miss, but those suffrage girls are everywhere these days.”

  Tessa pointed to the black trousers. “What can you tell me about those?”

  The man ran his long fingers over the fabric as if trying to decide if he should continue the sale. “These fine pants are called Texas Ranger Overalls. They are made of ten-ounce duck, and they’re very sturdy. I’m assuming your brother is doing some farm work, so these pants would be perfect. Or he might like a pair of these bibbed overalls. A lot of men like having the bib in the front so there’s no need for suspenders.”

  “Yes, those would be perfect.” The bib would hide her most obvious feminine part. “I’ll take two pairs—one blue and one gray. Please charge them to my account.”

  “And what’s the name?”

  “Tessa Gregory. My name is under my Aunt Sam’s—Mrs. Samantha Phillips. She lives on Summit Avenue.” Tessa would have to pay Aunt Sam back as soon as she could.

  “Yes, miss.” Clearly impressed with the address, the salesman grinned and picked up the clothes. “And you’ll probably need some shirts to go with those. May I suggest the blue and white percale over here?”

  “Excellent. And I’ll take that white linen one as well.” She pointed to her selection. “In my—I mean his—size.”

  The salesman’s brow furled. Oh no. He’d caught her slip. Would he turn her away now?

  His furl lessened, and he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m certain your brother will require work boots too. We have a nice selection in the corner. If you’d like, you could go over and select a pair while I write these up.”

  So a pair of boots was the price of his silence? She had shoes that would have served her well, but the boots would be a small price to pay. To her great relief, the salesman ignored her while she tried on a few pairs. After she selected a soft kidskin pair, she slipped her own shoes back on, found an appropriate straw hat to buy as well, and carried her purchases to the counter.

  The salesman’s eyes widened. “Excellent choices, Miss Gregory. Excellent indeed.” He wrapped up the shoes and boxed the hat before tying the parcels together. “I’ll have your packages delivered this afternoon, and I do hope your brother doesn’t work too hard.”

  She smiled. “Nothing too strenuous. Just a little gardening.”

  And a little subterfuge. A thrill shot through her as she imagined Reese’s face when she arrived dressed in her bibbed overalls and straw hat. Maybe he wouldn’t even recognize her.

  Chee
se and crackers, this was going to be fun.

  5

  Reese lifted the handles of the supply-laden wheelbarrow and directed it toward the area where he’d be implementing Tessa’s design.

  He stifled a yawn. No wonder he was tired this morning. He’d pored over the plans late into the night. Tessa truly had a gift. As with Mr. Nussbaumer, the garden was her canvas, and the plants she’d chosen were her paints and textures. If only he possessed that creative ability, then maybe he could be as successful as his father.

  But that wasn’t his forte. Hard work was his gift. With renewed vigor, he pushed the wheelbarrow up a steady incline and left the path. He reached the area and looked around. Where was Tessa? As eager as she had been yesterday, he’d imagined she would be there before him.

  He studied the area, allowing the plans Tessa had created and he had studied to take shape on the empty land before him. In the end, he’d selected her design for an Arts and Crafts garden. She’d included a nice selection of flower groupings in intense colors. Most of the flowers needed were already propagating in the greenhouse.

  Her design featured separate garden rooms, which would give each area of the garden a different feel. The little areas, partitioned off a larger garden, would have different schemes. Some would have ornamental additions, some water features, and some hard landscaping.

  He spotted a boy pilfering through his wheelbarrow. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  The boy looked up.

  Only he wasn’t a boy.

  “Tessa?”

  She stepped back and hooked her thumbs in the buckles of her bib overalls. “So, what do you think? I told you I’d think of something. ”

  “I must admit I’m a little dumbfounded.” Reese scratched his forehead. What kind of young lady went around in overalls? “I know I said you had to remain hidden as much as possible, but I didn’t mean this. What would your mother say if she saw you in that getup?”

  “I can assure you my mother will not say a thing. My sisters, on the other hand”—she flipped her right wrist—“might have a few words for my costume choice. Then again, they seem to have a few words about everything I do.”

  “Is that so?” He did nothing to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. But could this work? He took in her appearance. From the straw hat on her head to the boots on her feet, Tessa Gregory had transformed. From a distance she’d pass for a boy, but up close—she was still all lovely young lady. A wave of protectiveness swept over him. “How did you get here? Did you ride a streetcar like that?”

  “Heavens, no. I had my Aunt Sam’s driver bring me.”

  “Your aunt has a driver?” He sucked in his breath. Would the surprises never end with this girl?

  “Yes, his name is Henry and he’s worked for her for years. Since I’m living with her right now, it wasn’t any problem.”

  “You live with your aunt, who has a driver?”

  “Yes, I just said that. And yesterday you said no one could know I was a girl”—she spun in a circle—“so I thought this should take care of it. Problem solved.”

  Was it that easy? It was true most of the other gardeners wouldn’t give her a second look if they passed by, but what kind of man would allow a young lady to continue this charade? Sure, he didn’t cotton to keeping women “in their place,” but was this going too far? Still, she was so excited, and the itch he had to get started told him her exuberance was contagious.

  Before he had a chance to decide if he should allow it, she tugged work gloves out of her back pocket—heavy leather ones, not pretty white ones—and slipped her hands inside. “Ready to get started, Mr. King? Time is wasting.”

  Tessa held a wooden stake in place as Reese pounded it into the ground, then he stepped back and surveyed their handiwork. Already they had the plots staked, and they’d removed the grassy sod from the border areas and marked where they’d build raised planters. She could picture them spilling over with a rainbow of blooms by summer.

  The more she thought of this project, the harder her heart pounded. Even though she’d worked many hours in a garden, this was the first time she was part of transforming a large green space into one of her own creations.

  As she worked alongside Reese, more and more questions formed about him. Why didn’t it bother him to work alongside a woman? What kind of man was he? Perhaps the bigger question was why was he willing to risk so much for her? If given a chance, she aimed to get some of her questions answered.

  “We’ll bring the hand cultivator over after lunch.” Reese’s hammer dropped with a thunk into the wheelbarrow. “It’ll take most of the afternoon to till the soil, so if you want to call it a day, I can do that myself.”

  “No, thank you. I’m staying with you every step of the way. From now on, you’re stuck with me.” Even though it was only May, the noonday sun and the work had warmed her cheeks. She could almost feel the freckles popping out. She removed her hat and fanned her face.

  “Then let’s go eat.”

  “Is there a place I can purchase lunch?” She glanced down at her clothes. “Oh wait. Never mind. I guess I can’t do that.”

  He chuckled. “I brought lunch for both of us. Nothing fancy. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Bless you, Reese King! I’m starving.” Her cheeks grew hot. “Pardon me. I think it’s the hunger speaking.”

  “I knew the concessions weren’t open yet for the season.” He grinned. “Why don’t you go sit down in the shade, and I’ll be back in a few minutes with our food.”

  Tessa found a spot beneath an oak tree, brushed some acorns aside, and sat down. She watched Reese go and was struck by the way he carried himself. He walked briskly, like a man who knew what he wanted, but his relaxed broad shoulders showed how at ease he was with this park.

  He had certainly worked hard, but he’d said little. Her questions about him resurfaced. What was Reese’s story?

  Despite the rough bark pressing against her back, Tessa closed her eyes. The morning’s hard work had left her more tired than she expected. A few minutes of rest would do wonders for restoring her energy.

  “Tessa?”

  A deep voice stirred her. Where was she? Her eyes flew open and Reese came into view. Embarrassment streamed through her. How could she have fallen asleep?

  “Did you have a nice nap?” He passed her a waxed paper–wrapped sandwich. “It’s egg salad. I’m not much of a cook, but it’s one of the five things I’ve mastered. Do you mind if I say grace?”

  “Please do.” His sincere prayer added another thing for her to consider about Reese. Had he offered to help her because of his convictions?

  Tessa unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. His egg salad was almost as good as Charlotte’s, but she wouldn’t dare tell her sister that. “This is delicious.”

  “Thanks.” He blotted his mouth with a napkin and began to discuss what they’d accomplished and what their next steps would be in creating the garden. “It’ll take us at least two weeks to get it all set up. I have some other obligations here at the park I’ll have to see to besides working on this.”

  “Are there other things you need to work on today? I could help.”

  “No, no other jobs today. I did them before we got started.” He pulled two apples from his sack and handed one to her. “I can see questions are running amok in your head. What do you want to know?”

  “Mr. Pinkerton would not be impressed if he knew I was easy to read.”

  “You mentioned Allan Pinkerton yesterday. What’s with the references to him?”

  “I went through a time when I considered becoming a Pinkerton detective.”

  “You would have been good at that, I bet.” He bit into his apple with a loud crunch.

  “You think so?” Tessa rubbed her fruit with the napkin until it became glossy. “Most people thought it was silly.”

  “It sounds dangerous. Gardening is much safer, but somehow I don’t think that was the reason you turned to it.”


  She took a bite and then dabbed the juice from her lips. “I’ve always loved gardening. My mother and I used to do it together.”

  “Used to?”

  “When I was fourteen, she and my father died.” She went on to explain how they’d lost the farm and how her sister Hannah had had to drop out of law school and become a switchboard operator to provide for them. “But when we left the farm, I took three of my mother’s rosebushes, and I’m happy to say all three are thriving.” She swallowed the emotion clogging her throat and changed the subject. “Reese, have you always wanted to be a gardener?”

  “You might say I was born with a hoe in my hand.” He glanced toward the garden they were planting. “My father is the park commissioner for Chicago.”

  “Samuel King?”

  He nodded. “And he’s almost as well-known as Fred Nussbaumer. Maybe gardening runs in my blood.”

  “Why don’t you work for him?”

  “Sometimes a man needs to make a name on his own. I don’t want other people to think I’m successful because I’m related to the man in charge. I want them to think I’m successful because of my own work.”

  “Does Mr. Nussbaumer know about your father?”

  “Sure.” He tossed his apple core into the bushes. “I told him from the start, but he said I’d have to prove myself, and he’s certainly meant it.”

  “He’s a hard man to please?”

  “He’s fair, but his expectations are high. He’s an artist—like you.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Mr. Nussbaumer sees the big picture.” He stood and pulled out his pocket watch. “Time to get back to work—unless you need another nap.”

  “You just try to keep up.” She jumped up and hurried toward the cultivator Reese had brought.

  Rough beneath her ungloved hands, the wooden handles bit into her skin as she shoved the cultivator in deep and directed it down the path. The metal wheel on the front creaked. The tiller turned the soil, filling the air with the earthy scent of dirt. Expecting Reese to stop her after a few yards, she glanced back only to find him seated, his back against a tree and his ivy cap down over his eyes.