A Mistaken Match

“And you are Frederick’s cousin?”

The young woman placed a palm to her forehead. “Where are my manners, Mrs. McCann? I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ardelia. Ardelia Ludlow.”

Ann shook her hand, and knew they couldn’t let this woman’s assumptions go uncorrected any longer. “It’s still Miss Cromwell.” She glanced again at James. His face flushed scarlet.

“Forgive my mistake.” Her smile didn’t dim and she laughed. “I’d say I’m still Miss Ludlow, but no one calls me that. My friends call me Delia, and you should, too.”

Ann felt a twinge of the familiar and fumbled back to the jumble of memories from the day before. “I met a woman from New Haven on the train yesterday. She told me she had a daughter near my age. You both have the same last name.”

Delia clapped her hands together and brought them under her chin. “You met Mother? What a coincidence!”

“This woman said she’d been visiting her sister.”

Delia nodded her head vigorously. “That was her, alright. She visited my aunt in Pataskala. Just had her tenth child—can you believe it?”

“Your mother was so kind to help her.”

Delia pointed to a cluster of chairs in the corner and a love seat. “Please, let’s all of us sit and have a chat.”

James rocked back and forth on his heels. The color in his cheeks diffused.

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” he offered.

“Nonsense!” Delia exclaimed. “Miss Cromwell, implore him to stay.”

Ann bit her cheeks to keep from smirking. As if she could convince James to do anything.

“If I’m to call you Delia, you must call me Ann.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Delia’s smile grew broader.

“Ahem.” James cleared his throat. “Ann, did you bring that...uh...thing I asked you to?”

Ann bit back another smirk. So like a man to refer to a lady’s handkerchief as a “thing.” “Yes, I did,” she replied, and fished the piece from her pocket. “It isn’t quite finished.”

No sooner had the lace left the folds of Ann’s skirt than Delia snatched it from her hand.

“This needle lace is exquisite! Did you make this yourself?”

Ann nodded. Pride stirred in her middle.

“Handmade lace and embroidery are rare skills around here.”

“It isn’t as difficult as it appears. I am far more impressed with your quilt work.”

Delia’s dismissed Ann’s compliment with a wave of her hand. “Everyone quilts. My baby sister is already better than me. But lace like this!” She chewed her lower lip. “I wish I could buy this piece for the shop today.”

“Buy it?” Ann’s voice rose half an octave. She paused and continued in a more ladylike tone. “You believe you could sell my lace?”

“Certainly. But I’m only an apprentice. Mrs. Williams, the shop owner, would have to make the decision to sell your work here. She’ll be back tomorrow. Can I keep this and show it to her?”

James stepped forward. “Is it really all that special? That kind of lace, I mean?”

“Absolutely!” Delia stood and held the handkerchief a few inches from his nose. She traced a slim finger along one of the scallops. “See this pattern? It was made by embroidering scores of stitches, one on top of the other, to build up the design. There’s no backing to guide it, like bobbin lace, just a needle and thread. Lace like this requires true talent.”

Ann’s mind raced with figures. It would cost one or two dollars a week for a boardinghouse. Twenty-five dollars to repay James for her steerage ticket, followed by the agency fee—the price of which she couldn’t even guess. Still, she’d brought with her several dozen handkerchiefs. If they fetched half a dollar each, she might have some hope of supporting herself.

“Do you have any idea how a handkerchief like this might be priced?” Ann could barely contain the tremor of excitement in her voice.

Delia walked to the window and held the handkerchief in front of the glass. Sunlight streamed through the embroidery and painted a patterned shadow on the floor. “It’s hard to say. We won’t have many buyers in New Haven for something so fine, but we are getting more customers from Columbus. And it’s English-made, which is very popular.”

Ann laughed. In England her work was maid-made.

Delia looked up when she laughed and smiled back. “Five dollars.”

It was good Ann remained seated. Otherwise she might have fainted. Had she heard right?

James coughed and backed into another dress form. “Did you say five dollars?” he croaked.

“Like I said, I’ll have to check with Mrs. Williams, but I think that’s how she’d price it.”

Ann’s head was spinning. “When will you know?” she breathed.

“You’ll be at church this Sunday?”

Ann looked to James. He nodded.

“Wonderful. I can tell you then if Mrs. Williams is interested. If she is, I’m sure she’ll wish to meet with you.”

Ann moved through the pleasantries as if in a trance. It was only when James lightly touched her elbow that she realized they were leaving. She returned Delia’s hug goodbye, and allowed James to guide her to the door. Once on the sidewalk outside, with the shop door safely shut behind them, James let out a long, low whistle. His green eyes met hers and he squeezed her elbow. “Five dollars!” he said, as if it were a fantastic secret between them.

His excitement added to her own. She drew a deep breath to retain her decorum. “Mrs. Williams might not think it’s worth so much.”

James laughed. “Even a few dollars is a lot of money for some old handkerchief.”

Ann stiffened at the comment. “Needle lace takes years to learn and countless hours to create a few inches.”

“I believe you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

James’s loose hair flopped over his right eye and he hadn’t yet raked it back into place. The sight positively unnerved her. It was hard to concentrate as he gazed at her through the sand-colored strands. Why hadn’t he swept it back?

A realization flickered. “You intended for me to meet Delia, didn’t you? She was the new friend you mentioned?”

“Delia or Mrs. Williams. I thought you’d find something in common with them and could make a friend during your short time here.”

“And you like it? The needle lace, I mean?”

He raked the hair from his forehead and met her gaze straight on. “Beautiful but impractical.”