by Ann Shorey
Her grandfather stormed in the door, eyes snapping. “The store is not yours to sell. You know that. How could you?”
“We’ve talked about it more than once. Have you forgotten?” She bit her lip, not intending to refer to his memory troubles.
His face reddened. “I well recall our conversations. I’ve allowed you to order necessary merchandise. What I can’t remember is giving you permission to sell the business out from under me.”
“If we’re to go west, we need the money. You’ve said so yourself.”
Faith cringed when she noticed Grandpa’s cronies standing at the doorway. The entire discussion would be all over town within the hour. She laid her hand on her grandfather’s arm. “Can we please wait to discuss this at dinner?”
He shook her hand free. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m going next door and telling Simpkins to print a retraction. Lindberg’s Mercantile is not for sale.”
15
Her grandfather’s words reverberated in Faith’s mind. Lindberg’s Mercantile is not for sale. She should never have assumed he’d agree. Selling the business was far different from expecting him to indulge her childish whims for a kitten or a trip to a circus.
The front door clicked shut. Grandpa’s cronies walked across the street toward the courthouse lawn, no doubt to spread the news of Judge Lindberg’s presumptuous granddaughter going behind his back to sell the family business. “It wasn’t like that,” she said to the empty room. “Grandpa told me we’d leave when the store turned a profit. I didn’t place the advertisement until we had customers buying equipment for the trail.”
Her big mistake had been going ahead without consulting him.
Faith stepped out onto the covered boardwalk and paused to lock the door. Grandpa was probably still in the newspaper office. She needed to pacify him in order to ward off his tendency to wander away when upset.
Mr. Simpkins dropped his head and shuffled some papers on his desk when she entered.
Grandpa raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead up to his bald scalp. “The retraction will be in next Saturday’s paper. I told Aaron you made a mistake.”
She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t shared the details of their personal disagreement. “I did indeed. I’m so sorry.”
When they turned to leave, Mr. Simpkins asked, “Did you lock the doors before coming here? I can always use another front-page story.” A smile twitched at one corner of his mouth.
Enough was enough. “Why yes, I did,” Faith said in her sweetest voice. “Thank you for your concern.”
By the end of the week, Faith had grown accustomed to the renewed presence of the woodstove regulars, as she thought of Mr. Grisbee and Mr. Slocum. They’d resumed their daily checker games as though there’d been no interruption.
Repairs to the rail bed gave them plenty to gossip about with customers. Rumor had it, a few more days and horse teams would arrive to help stand the locomotive upright on the tracks.
When a man wearing a frock coat over a plaid waistcoat entered, carrying a leather case, she assumed he was one of the railroad officials visiting Noble Springs to supervise the project.
“May I help you? We have most everything a traveler might need.”
“I’m here to talk to the owner.” He opened the case and handed her a business card.
“Jerome Jenner. Marblehead Gun Works,” she read aloud. “Splendid. I’ve been expecting someone from your company.”
“Good. That makes my job easier. Now, where’s the owner?”
From his post at the checkerboard, Mr. Slocum snorted. “You’re talkin’ to her. Judge Lindberg give her free rein here.” He winked at Faith. “Almost.”
She ignored him. “I’m Miss Lindberg, and we need to renew our stock of firearms. I’ve made a list. If you’ll come with me, please.”
He studied her for a moment before joining her beneath the gun rack. Up close, he matched her in height and probably weighed no more than she did. His white shirt gapped at the collar. Somehow she’d expected someone from a firearms company to have a more commanding presence.
“Looks like you sold all your stock.” Admiration colored his words. “That’s not easy to do in these hard times.”
Her face warmed. “They were stolen. Last week, after the derailment.”
“Ah.” He removed an order book from the leather case. “What can Marblehead provide you with?”
“A Sharps rifle. Three Henrys. Two of your most reliable shotguns—perhaps the Perkins.”
Behind her, one of the woodstove regulars whistled.
Mr. Jenner beamed. “Excellent, Miss Lindberg.” His pencil moved rapidly down the page, as though he feared she’d change her mind if he didn’t get each item listed. He circled the total at the end of the column. “Since this is such a substantial amount, Marblehead will require payment of half now, and half upon satisfactory delivery.”
Previous orders she placed with salesmen hadn’t required sizable deposits. She swallowed, trying to seem matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a note to take to Noble Springs National Bank. They’ll issue payment.”
She removed a receipt book from the cash drawer and drew a line through “Received From,” replacing it with “Pay To.” After writing the amount, she added her signature and handed him the document. “You’ll find the bank at the end of the next block, across the street. Ask for Mr. Paulson. He’s the president.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Mr. Jenner bowed, tucked the note inside his coat, and bolted through the door.
Faith rubbed sweaty palms on her apron. She’d never spent so much money in her life.
Mr. Slocum pushed himself to his feet. “Best be heading home. Near time for dinner.” He paused next to her. “You surely brightened that young feller’s day. Bet he ain’t never got an order that big.”
“And from a girl, to boot.” Mr. Grisbee shuffled past, snickering.
Rolling her eyes, she dropped the receipt book in the drawer. When she glanced up, she saw Rosemary and Bodie entering the building. The dog bounded toward her, wagging his tail.
Faith patted his head and then hurried to her friend. “I’ve missed you.” She pointed to the recently vacated chairs. “Come sit with me a moment. Where are your guests today?”
“Watching the repair work on the railroad tracks.”
“How’s Cassie?”
Rosemary settled into her chair. “Quiet, as always. She helps with washing up but otherwise doesn’t seem to know how to do much in the kitchen. I rarely see her except at mealtimes. She’s like the rest of the stranded souls—anxious to return home.” She sighed. “Her mother’s another story. Bless her, she can’t seem to find a single good word to say about anything.”
“Send her over here. Maybe she could meet a kindred spirit. Some of the other women come in to the mercantile during the day, just to pass the time. They walk around and look at things, but they’re not buying.” Faith shook her head. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if I were adrift in a strange town. I walked by the depot yesterday to watch the activity. The place is a beehive. Won’t be long now and trains will be—”
Mr. Jenner strode through the door, brandishing a slip of paper. “I wouldn’t have thought a woman would pull such a low-down trick. This note is worthless.” He marched over to Faith, his coat flapping, and ripped the paper in half.
The pounding of her heart threatened to choke her. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“Paulson was very polite, but he said the mercantile’s accounts weren’t in a position to cover such an amount.” He sneered while he mimicked the banker’s words. “Put another way, you tried to cheat me.”
Faith felt a flush spread over her body. “I assure you, I had no such intention.”
“Then you’ll pay me for this order?”
She stood, chin raised, and he took a step away. “Come back in an hour. I’ll call on Mr. Paulson myself. There must be a mistake.”
“One hour. I’ll be her
e.” He stalked out.
“What an unpleasant little man,” Rosemary said. “If I may ask, what was he talking about?”
Faith told her about the order to replace the firearms that had been stolen and the note she’d given Mr. Jenner to cover the deposit. “I’ve drawn on our account a time or two since March. Nothing like this has ever happened. I think Mr. Paulson has us confused with another merchant.” As her embarrassment faded, she felt coals of anger glow inside.
“Would you like me to stay?”
“Please. I won’t be gone long.” Faith leaned forward and squeezed Rosemary’s hands. “You’re a wonderful friend. Thank you.”
On the walk to the bank, she tried to imagine how such an error could have taken place. Each day’s receipts were noted in the ledger. After expenses, the balance was deposited in the bank, the way Grandpa taught her. Mr. Paulson had better be ready to apologize for her humiliation.
The imposing two-story brick façade of Noble Springs National Bank dominated the corner of First Street and King’s Highway. Faith pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered the quiet lobby. The space had a metallic smell, almost as though coins themselves perfumed the interior. She passed the teller cage, wondering, as she often did, what it would be like to spend one’s day working behind narrow brass bars.
Before she reached Mr. Paulson’s desk, he noticed her and stood, his rounded stomach straining at the buttons on his gray waistcoat. “Miss Lindberg. I must apologize.”
She drew a deep breath and released it with a whoosh, relieved she’d worried for nothing.
“It’s quite all right. Mistakes happen. Shall I send Mr. Jenner back to redeem the note?”
He fingered the bow on his maroon cravat. “I’m apologizing for not informing you sooner of the state of your finances. Please sit.”
Suddenly weak, she took the chair he indicated. “State of our finances? But I’m here almost every Friday with a deposit.”
“Simply put, for the past year or so Judge Lindberg has been spending more than the mercantile takes in. When he bought those four cookstoves last fall, he nearly depleted your funds. Sooner or later things were bound to reach this point.” He fiddled with a pen holder on his desk, not quite meeting her eyes. “I saw in last week’s paper that the business is for sale. Unfortunately, right now I doubt if anyone would want to invest in such a losing proposition.”
“Grandpa cancelled the advertisement,” she said, almost in a whisper.
“Very wise.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his stomach. “You’re to be congratulated for doing a fine job of helping your grandfather. If you need any advice, feel free to come to me. In the meantime, however, you must concentrate on building up your account with us.”
“But we need those firearms to replace the ones that were stolen. They’re always in demand. I know they’d sell.”
“Perhaps in another month or so . . .” He rose. “Again, I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”
She stepped into the sunlight, barely aware of leaving the bank. She couldn’t replace the stolen merchandise. Grandpa had never talked to her about finances. She’d always assumed the mercantile to be profitable, or at least holding its own. She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears. Her dream of traveling to Oregon had no more substance than the ash that covered the town in the aftermath of the derailment.
Upon her return to the mercantile, Faith noticed Rosemary assisting a woman with washtubs and laundry implements. Grateful for a moment to herself, she headed for the shelf where ledgers were kept and opened the current book to the first entry of the year. “January second. Cold and snow. When I was a boy, snow became covered with a crust hard enough to bear the weight of a man, but would not—”
She skimmed to the bottom of the page. Either Grandpa had no customers that day, or he’d neglected to enter the sales.
She flipped to the next sheet. After a paragraph about his father’s musical skills, Grandpa noted, “Arthur Bennett. One lamp. Can of oil. Will pay next week.”
Day after day, the entries were similar. Random stories about her grandfather’s boyhood, with careless notes about who’d made a purchase and whether or not the item had been paid for. She drew a shuddering breath. He’d instructed her to enter names and purchases for each date, then tally at closing time. How long had it been since he’d followed his own advice? Overwhelmed, she moaned, massaging her forehead with her fingertips.
“Are you ill?” Rosemary crossed the room. Her customer followed, holding a wood-framed tin washboard.
“No.” Faith glanced at the shopper and sent her what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Please don’t let me interrupt you.” She moved aside so Rosemary could open the cash drawer.
When the customer left, Rosemary crossed her arms over her middle and turned to Faith. “What happened at the bank? Obviously it wasn’t good news.”
She rested a hand on the closed book. “Grandpa’s been neglecting the bookkeeping for some time, apparently. There’s little money left in our account at the bank. I can’t make heads nor tails of these entries.” She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “I don’t know what to do. It appears people owe us money, and heaven knows, we can use it. Should I ask Grandpa?”
“You can ask, but you don’t want to upset him.”
“I know.”
The two women were silent for a moment, then Rosemary said, “Would you mind if I told Curt? He’s a—he’s very good with numbers.”
A stableman, good with numbers? Faith shrugged. “If you think he can help, please do.”
On Sunday afternoon, Faith cast a glance out the kitchen window at rainclouds clustered overhead. She hoped she and Royal would still go on their picnic. She hadn’t seen him since last Sunday’s ride to Pioneer Lake. But he’d said two o’clock, so she’d be ready. The promise of an afternoon with him made the week’s events fade for the moment.
She tucked a napkin-wrapped plate filled with slices of yesterday’s Dolly Varden cake next to a flask of ginger water in the picnic basket, then dashed to the springhouse for the ham salad she’d prepared early that morning. A drop of moisture splashed on her arm. “Oh, go away!” she said. “Come back tonight.”
The cool interior smelled of moist earth. Before removing the cloth-covered bowl from a shelf, Faith paused to listen to the friendly murmur of water bubbling from a gap in the ground. After a moment she realized that some of the watery music was coming from the roof of the springhouse. She tried to swallow her disappointment.
Hugging the crockery bowl close to her middle, she dashed into the kitchen and tucked the salad into the basket. She’d waited all week for this day. Maybe the clouds would blow over.
By two o’clock Faith had changed into a sprigged muslin dress with blue forget-me-nots printed on the fabric and settled in the parlor to wait for Royal. At five minutes past, a covered buggy stopped beside the hitching rail. She jumped to her feet and opened the door before he knocked. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
His gaze took in her clothing and the blue shawl draped over her arm. “Do you always dress to go out just in case someone drops by?” His grin teased. “In any case, I keep my promises. The rain’s a nuisance, but we’re going to have a picnic.”
“I hoped you’d feel that way.” She settled her loosely woven wool shawl over her shoulders, then lifted the basket from the entry table.
He took it from her, hefting it as though weighing the contents. “Feels like quite a feast. Would your grandfather like to join us?”
“How kind of you to ask. He’s spending the afternoon with friends.” Mentally, she thanked Rosemary for her offer, and wondered whether she’d told her brother about their financial dilemma. If she had, Faith hoped Curt wouldn’t question Grandpa during the visit. She cringed at the idea of what might happen if her grandfather became agitated again.
Royal tucked his free hand under her elbow. “Then we’d better leave right away. Wouldn’t want your neighbo
rs to gossip about you entertaining a male caller without your grandfather present.”
The columbines next to the steps resembled fairy flowers in the misty rain. Faith held her skirt above the toes of her boots as they walked to the buggy, conscious of Royal’s firm grip with every step. He certainly knew how to make a girl feel protected.
At Pioneer Lake, Royal stopped in a sheltered spot under the sprawling branches of a white oak. Rain dripped on the canvas buggy cover, a sound almost as musical as the spring bubbling behind her house. A few towhees splashed in a puddle nearby, the white in their tail feathers flashing in the gray light.
Faith arranged the basket on the floor of the buggy between them and filled a plate for Royal, then served herself.
He took a bite of the salad. “Delicious, as I’m sure everything is.”
“Thank you. These are my mother’s recipes.” She picked at her meal, taking tiny bites of the cake between a couple of forkfuls of ham. Hard as she tried to prevent the intrusion, she couldn’t help but worry about finances at the mercantile. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“You’re quiet. Is it too cold out here for you? We can always leave.” Royal rested his empty plate on top of the basket. “I want you to be comfortable.”
She reminded herself that he didn’t like to talk about unpleasant subjects. If she wanted to keep him interested, she needed to be bright and amusing. “I’m fine. Just a bit preoccupied.”
“Can I help?”
If she’d been at all cold, his gaze would have warmed her. His interest seemed genuine.
“I talked to Mr. Paulson at the bank yesterday. It seems the store’s finances are in sad condition—temporarily.” She tried to sound positive. “We’ve been quite busy lately. Customers are outfitting for the wagon train that’s leaving in a couple of weeks, so we’ll soon be fine.” A lump formed in her throat at the idea of the company heading west without her.
Royal shook his head, a sympathetic expression in his eyes. “You’re a woman. You shouldn’t be working in a store anyway. It would be best if you sold the mercantile. That way you and the old man would be set.”
