by Ann Shorey
13
The following morning Faith stepped out the door with Grandpa at her side. “Are you sure you want to come with me today?”
“First you fuss when I stay home, now you fuss when I leave. Can’t ever make a woman happy.”
“I’m happy. Just surprised.”
“That little Rosemary like to wore me out digging holes for her flowers.” He waved rolled manuscript pages in the direction of freshly turned soil. “Thought I’d rest up and work on my book.”
It had been too dark the previous evening when Curt brought Faith home for her to appreciate the work Rosemary and Grandpa had done. Columbines nodded in beds freshly spaded on both sides of the steps. Their scalloped leaves swayed the morning breeze. Geranium starts were scattered in a pleasing pattern among plantings of daisies. On one side of the porch, Rosemary had transplanted a climbing rose.
Faith smiled at her grandfather. “It looks like she brought half her flower garden over here.”
“She claims she overplanted and had to get rid of these.” He flexed his shoulders. “Been a long time since I was acquainted with the working end of a shovel. Felt kind of good. Don’t tell Rosemary, though. She’ll put me to digging again.”
“It’ll be our secret.”
Curt walked out to greet them when they reached the livery. “Morning, Judge, Faith.” His eyes lingered on her carryall. “You going straight to the bank?”
“As soon as Rosemary comes in.” She wished she hadn’t told him about bringing the cash home with her in the evenings. She didn’t need him directing her day.
“No one’s going to bother Faith with me around,” Grandpa said, brandishing his cane.
Curt’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Faith could see he was trying not to grin. Why hadn’t she ever noticed how appealing he was when he smiled? Maybe because she’d so seldom seen him wearing a happy expression.
“Thank you again for . . . everything.”
“Glad to help.” This time his smile broke free, wrapping her in warmth. For a moment she was tempted to reach for his hand, then chastised herself for being silly. He was only being a good friend.
When Faith returned from the bank, Rosemary had one customer waiting while she helped a woman with a fabric selection. “Glad you’re back.” She pointed to a man standing next to the plows. “This gentleman wants your grandfather to assist him.”
Faith tied her apron around her waist and tucked her carry-all behind a counter. “Grandpa is busy with other matters,” she said, walking toward the customer. Something about him seemed familiar. She shook her head. The memory would come to her. “Are you interested in buying a plow?”
“Naw.” His gaze darted over the goods on display. “I need me one of them shotguns. Figger a man can tell me more about it than you can.”
Faith chose the most expensive shotgun from the rack and swung it up to her right shoulder. Sighting along the barrel, she aimed at the remaining pieces of tea leaf china arranged atop a counter, then opened the breech. “This model has served well for birds and deer. Take a look.”
He stared at the weapon in her hands. “How would a little thing like you know about a big ol’ gun?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Hunting with my brother. Do you want—”
A deafening crash shook the building, followed by a series of equally loud reverberations. Faith left the shotgun on a counter and dashed to the front window.
Concussions pounded through the livery. Curt ran outside and saw an ominous pillar of umber-tinged smoke rising from the south. Within moments, both church and fire bells began clanging.
“Gotta go,” Rip called from the doorway. “That’s the call for volunteers.”
Curt nodded. “Be right behind you, soon’s I settle the horses.” He sprinted to the inside of the stable, where the animals whinnied and kicked at the doors of their stalls. The roan mare was first in the row, so he paused and stroked her neck. “Quiet now. Nothing to worry about.” She calmed under his fingers. Moving through the building, he gentled each horse in turn.
After closing the rear doors, he stepped out front and secured the building. The cloud of smoke had doubled and now covered the downtown area. Traffic along the street increased to a steady flow of volunteers and gawkers.
Curt’s memory transported him to the remains of a burned settlement. His assignment had been to search through the rubble to be sure no enemy soldiers were waiting in ambush. Sour odors gagged him as he made his way through the ruins.
He slumped against the stable doors, rough-sawn wood clutching at his hair. Lord, deliver me. He forced himself to open his eyes. The odors changed to coal and wood smoke drifting from the scene of the fire.
Judge Lindberg had gone to the mercantile that morning, along with Faith and Rosemary. What had happened to them? How much time had he wasted reliving the past? He broke into a run, heading south toward the source of the alarm.
Within a block of the stable he saw flames leaping behind the hotel and railroad depot. Bells continued to clang discordantly. Panting, he paused at the edge of a crowd gathered near the tracks, then pushed his way closer. A locomotive, coal car, tender, and baggage car lay on their sides to the south of the rails. Fire roared from the engine compartment, lapping at the wreckage, while the ruptured tender spewed water uselessly onto the ground. The remaining cars had piled into each other and now tilted at crazy angles. The carcass of a black cow sprawled a dozen feet from the front of the train.
A fire brigade was in high gear, ferrying water to the flames. “You, there. If you’re able-bodied, get yourself a bucket.” Royal Baxter wiped his forehead, leaving a black smear behind. Without waiting for Curt’s response, he swung around, jogging toward the cars that remained upright on the track.
Curt clenched his teeth at the man’s imperious command. The sheriff should be the one giving orders, not some jumped-up veteran claiming to have been a major in an anonymous regiment. Men carrying water jostled past him.
Travelers stood on the platform holding baggage and gaping at the flames. Shock wrote itself across their faces.
“Get back,” Royal yelled. He pointed to a group of townspeople gathered across the street. “You’ll be safer over thataway.”
Curt looked in the direction Royal pointed and saw Judge Lindberg and Rosemary. Where was Faith? Alarmed, he surveyed the area. He took a few steps toward town, thinking she’d stayed at the mercantile, then spotted her among the passengers. She had her arm linked through that of a woman with a gashed forehead. A man carrying a wailing infant limped beside them as they made their way toward Rosemary.
Relieved, he ran to the pump next to the hotel and filled an empty bucket. Water slopped over the rim as he crowded into the line.
“Let the cars go,” Royal ordered the volunteers when they reached the derailment. “Save the engine.”
Steam hissed when Curt flung liquid into the firebox. Black appeared where coals had been subdued. Returning to the pump, he noticed other townspeople had followed Faith’s example and were tending to the injured. Blankets had been spread in an empty field directly across from the depot. Children sobbed, clinging to their parents. Dr. Greeley’s distinctive maroon buggy was tied to a hitching rail, but Curt couldn’t pick him out of the crowd.
By mid-afternoon, the remains of the baggage car smoldered next to twisted rails. Broken bones and lacerations were the worst of the passengers’ injuries. However, lodging had to be found for the forty or so travelers and crew who were stranded in Noble Springs.
Sweating and filthy, Curt made his way to the makeshift hospital area. He found Judge Lindberg seated on a packing container under a maple tree. He flopped down on the ground and rested his back against the wooden crate. “I don’t see Faith or my sister. You here by yourself?”
“Faith went to West & Riley’s. You watch. She’ll be back with enough food for everyone.”
Curt surveyed the size of the crowd. “I’d better go help. She can’t carry a
ll that alone.”
“She’s not alone. That Baxter fellow borrowed a wagon and took her over there.”
“Did the cooperage close for the day?” As soon as Curt voiced the question, he realized how churlish he sounded.
Judge Lindberg gave him a knowing grin. “There’s nothing stopping you from lending a hand. Don’t want Baxter to think he’s got a claim on her.”
“Good idea.” Curt brushed dried grass and ashes from his trousers. “I’ll find Rosemary first and tell her where you are.” He hoped the judge wouldn’t realize why he wanted his sister nearby. With this many people around, he didn’t want to risk having the older man wander off.
“She’s over there somewhere. Went to help Doc Greeley.”
Curt strode in the direction indicated until he spotted the doctor facing Rosemary. A man with a bandaged head lay on a blanket at her feet. Next to him a second man sat hunched over, clutching his arm close to his body.
“Leave them be,” Dr. Greeley said to Rosemary. His white goatee bounced with rage. “I won’t have a female touching men’s bodies. It’s indecent.”
She glared at him, her face crimson. “You’d rather let them suffer until you have time to tend to their injuries? What’s decent about that?”
“Don’t sass me, young lady.”
“I’ve had enough of you and your archaic opinions. I’ll go where I’m needed.” She stalked toward a man bleeding from a gash on his shoulder.
Curt caught up with her. “Thought you were through nursing the sick.”
She waved her hand at the injured passengers. “I can’t just stand by.”
He surveyed the wreckage, the crowd, the wounded. For the first time since returning from the war, he allowed himself to hope he’d left his demons behind. “Neither can I.”
Faith stood at a worktable in West & Riley’s kitchen slicing bread while Curt and Royal loaded baskets of food into the wagon. Both men were sweat-stained and sooty. Was it her imagination, or did Curt do twice the work while Royal lingered, instructing the harassed cook?
Jacob West entered from the storeroom and stopped at Royal’s side. “It’ll probably be a couple weeks before the track’s repaired. If the hotel fills up, I’ve got two empty beds over at the rooming house.”
“Good. I’ll spread the word.” Royal straightened his shoulders, looking important.
Faith stacked the bread on a tray and covered it with a towel. “This is all we need for now,” she said, smiling over at Jacob. “It’s so kind of you to provide this meal.”
“No trouble, miss. Nobody was here for dinner anyway. They were all down at the fire. Couldn’t let the food go to waste.”
Curt took the tray from her hands. The smell of smoke clung to his clothing. Tiny burn holes pocked the fabric of his shirt. “Thanks, Jacob,” he said. “We’d better get back. I told people food was coming.”
When they reached the accident scene, Royal stopped the wagon at the edge of the grass and strode to the rear to open the endgate. Faith scrambled down after him and ran toward the crowd.
“We brought food,” she called, waving her arms to attract attention. “Come line up behind the wagon.”
The couple she’d helped earlier walked toward her. The woman didn’t look to be more than sixteen or seventeen. Her skirt was torn and dirty, as was her husband’s jacket.
“Thank you, miss.” She touched a hand to the bandage on her forehead. “I couldn’t think of where we’d get a meal. Our dinner basket is somewhere in all that wreckage.”
Faith patted her shoulder. “The thanks go to Mr. West. He kindly provided food from his restaurant.”
“But you brought it to all of us. You’re a blessing.” She shifted her baby to one shoulder and offered a slim hand. “I’m Amaryllis Dunsmuir—Amy for short. This is my husband, Joel, and our baby, Sophia.”
“How do,” Joel said. His straight black hair flopped forward when he nodded at her. He backhanded it off his forehead.
Faith shook hands with the two of them and led the way to the wagon at a brisk trot, talking as she went. “I’m Faith Lindberg.” She surveyed Amy’s attire. “Were you able to rescue your valise when you escaped?”
“No. The conductor was hollering, ‘Get out, get out! She’s gonna burn.’ We all just got out best we could. Kept my reticule, though.” She patted a needlepoint bag draped over her wrist, then turned to look at the smoldering cars. “Guess when they cool off Joel can pick through and see what he can find.”
Her husband grunted acknowledgment.
They reached the food-laden wagon, followed by much of the crowd. Curt stood at the left side of the endgate, folding chunks of meat between slices of bread. A stack of sandwiches waited on a tray to his right, next to a roasting pan filled with ginger cookies.
Faith sent him a grateful smile. “You always know just what to do. Thank you.”
“Glad to help. Working together, we’ll get everyone fed in short order.”
“That we will.” She handed the food to each of the Dunsmuirs. “Come see me after we finish here,” she whispered to Amy.
As soon as the couple stepped aside, another passenger crowded in. Over her shoulder, she noticed Royal lounging against the depot wall, talking to two men. She suppressed a huff of annoyance. He should be helping instead of relaxing with his cronies.
For the next half hour, Faith distributed sandwiches and ginger cookies until it appeared everyone had been served. Wiping perspiration from her forehead, she sagged against the back of the wagon.
Curt put a slice of buttered bread in her hand. “Better eat something. You look tuckered.”
“So do you.”
He hitched himself up so he sat on the wagon gate next to an empty tray. “Haven’t done anything like this since—” His hand moved to cover his scar. “Been awhile.”
She studied his face, noting the smile lines in his tanned skin. How could she ever have been afraid of him because he was scarred? Faith wanted to take his wrist, move it away from the red slash, and tell him he looked just fine. Handsome, in fact.
He flushed under her scrutiny. Hunching his left shoulder, he slid to the ground and busied himself stacking empty trays. “Best get these back to Jacob. He’ll be needing them tonight.”
She pursed her lips, feeling dismissed. Curt and his moods. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw Amy and Joel moving in her direction.
“You said you wanted to see us after we ate?” Amy asked. A drop of red stained her bandage.
Faith’s gaze took in both the woman and her husband. “Do you need a place to sleep? We have a spare bedroom.”
“This town is plum full of kind folks,” Joel said. “Your Reverend French done asked us already. He’s bringing his buggy directly to take us there.”
“Splendid.” She gestured at the pair’s torn clothing. “If you come by Lindberg’s Mercantile tomorrow—Reverend French can tell you where it is—I’ll get you outfitted with some clothes to replace the ones that were ruined.”
“We can pay.”
“No need.”
Tears slid over Amy’s piquant face. “God bless you. We’ll be there.”
Faith waited with them until Reverend French arrived, then crossed to the maple tree and settled on the grass next to Grandpa. Her bones ached with weariness. She leaned against her grandfather’s leg and he patted her shoulder.
“I was mighty proud of you today.” He squeezed her close. “Bet you’re ready to go home.”
“Curt said he’d hitch his buggy and take us, but I need to stop by the mercantile first.” She looked across the field, spotting Curt and his sister talking to two women dressed in widow’s weeds.
She heaved herself to her feet. “I’ll let him know we’re ready.”
As she approached, she noticed the younger of the two had raw scrapes across one side of her face. The braids in her auburn hair had come unpinned and trailed down her back. The older woman standing next to her clutched at one shoulder, where he
r sleeve had torn from her black silk garment. Sunlight glinted off her unnaturally red-gold hair.
Rosemary turned in her direction. “Faith, this is Miss Cassie Haddon and her mother, Eliza Haddon.”
Cassie smoothed her hair with a self-conscious motion. “I’m afraid I look a fright. My bonnet is completely ruined, and my dress”—she gestured toward the torn black lace trim across the bodice—“is in sad need of attention.” Her voice carried the softness of southern speech.
“They’ll be staying with us until the rails are repaired,” Rosemary told Faith.
Curious, she eyed the younger woman. She was introduced as Miss Haddon, yet she wore full mourning? Faith shook her head. This was not the time to pry.
“You’ll be in good hands,” Faith said to them, offering a smile.
Mrs. Haddon pursed her lips and sent her daughter a dark look. “I was in good hands before I left St. Louis. I should never have come on this fool’s errand.”
“Mother, please.” Cassie dipped her head and blotted the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief she removed from her sleeve. “We’re grateful to you,” she said to Rosemary. Her voice trembled. “First my fiancé, now this.” She gestured toward the wreckage, where smoke and ash twisted into the sky.
Rosemary patted her shoulder. “After a bath and a night’s rest, things will look better.”
“Maybe.” Cassie sounded doubtful.
Her mother sniffed. “I’ve lost my parasol and this sun is ruining my skin.” She turned to Curt. “I’ll wait under those trees while you fetch a carriage.”
He laid a hand on Faith’s arm. “I’ll come for you and your granddad as soon as we get these ladies settled. D’you mind waiting a few more minutes?”
“Not at all.”
After he left, Faith glanced around the area. “What happened to the injured men?” she asked Rosemary.
“Dr. Greeley found beds for them.” She made an expression of disgust. “Heaven forbid I should have anything to do with caring for anyone of the opposite gender.”
