by Ann Shorey
She swung around and faced Curt. “I can’t thank you enough. I’d never have been able to do this without you.”
A pleased smile crossed his face. “Now you need to remember to keep track like I showed you, so you’ll always know how much you have in the bank.”
“I will.” She thought again how handsome he looked when his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“You may not be able to collect from everyone.”
Deflated, she eyed him. “Why not?”
“These are hard times. Some folks won’t have the money. That’s why they ran up a debt in the first place.”
She rattled the list in front of him. “There are customers on here who come in every week. They just need a reminder. I’ll start first thing tomorrow with Mrs. Wylie. She’s had her eye on that glass caster set over there, and she said she’d be in Friday to buy it.”
He gave her an indulgent look. “I hope everything goes as smoothly as you think it will.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” She shook her head. Curt could be so gloomy at times.
Faith turned to Rosemary when she saw Mrs. Wylie approach the front doors. “She’s the first person I plan to ask about paying up old accounts. Grandpa said not to give her credit, but he didn’t tell me about their back debts. I know they have the money.”
Rosemary raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I should talk to her. Let her be angry with me, rather than you.”
“My grandfather got us into this. It’s up to me to get us out.”
“Then I’ll be in the back praying.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “Call me if I can help.”
Faith turned toward the door when the bell chimed, arranging her face in her brightest smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Wylie. Are you here for the caster set?”
“I want to take one more look before I decide.” She swept past in a cloud of lavender scent. After fingering one of the pressed glass cruets, she turned. “This set will do nicely. You’ll have it delivered?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. It’s too small an item to warrant hiring a horse.” Faith held her breath. They needed this sale.
The yellow flowers on Mrs. Wylie’s bonnet quivered. “I wish your grandfather was here. He’s a more accommodating person.”
Faith lifted the caster set by its silver handle and carried it to a counter where she kept a stack of newsprint. Placing one of the cruets on a sheet, she tucked the edges under and rolled the paper tight. “I wish he were still interested too, but he’s placed me in charge.” She set the wrapped piece aside and picked up the next one, her hands busy while she talked. “Speaking of my grandfather, he allowed your husband credit for a selection of woodworking tools last fall. When you settle for the caster set, I’d appreciate it if you could clear that debt from our books.”
Mrs. Wylie’s face turned the color of a boiled crawdad. “Mr. Wylie gives me money for the household. He’ll have to settle his own accounts.”
Faith felt perspiration tickle under her bodice. She opened the cash drawer. “There’s also the matter of a toiletry set, a perfume vial, and a porcelain doll. These would be your purchases, I assume?”
“We made our arrangements with Judge Lindberg. You have no right . . .” She sputtered to a stop.
“Yes I do, Mrs. Wylie. We depend on the mercantile for our livelihood.” She held her voice steady, praying that the quaking she felt inside wasn’t visible to her customer.
The woman’s eyes darted between the wrapped caster set and the open cash drawer. With her mouth set in a grim line, she opened her reticule and handed Faith three five-dollar gold pieces. “This should be sufficient.” Her voice could have frozen a July day.
Faith checked her list. “I’m afraid not. If you would ask your husband to drop by, I’ll go over the balance with him.”
When Mrs. Wylie left with her purchase bulging the sides of her carryall, Faith’s knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from sinking to the floor. This was nowhere as easy as she thought it would be. There were two pages of people who owed money to the mercantile. She couldn’t afford to make that many enemies.
Bodie padded over to her and bumped his nose against her leg. Faith reached down and stroked his head. “At least you’re not angry with me, are you?”
“That’s why I like having a dog. They always love you,” Rosemary said, making her way toward the front. She made a “tsk” sound with her tongue. “I could hear Mrs. Wylie clear back in the storeroom.”
“At least she paid part of their bill.” She subtracted the woman’s payment from the amount due. “I don’t look forward to speaking with her husband, though, provided she gives him the message.”
“Why are you putting yourself through this?”
Faith massaged her temples. “Right now, I’m not sure. I wanted to have the shelves fully stocked before asking Grandpa again if he’d agree to sell the business. Royal thinks we should take what we can get right now.”
“Why is this his concern? I know you’ve been seeing a lot of him, but still . . . Has he spoken of his intentions?”
“Not directly. He’s hinted a bit, though.”
Rosemary put a hand on her arm. “Congratulations. From what I hear, it’s a feather in your cap to have captured his interest.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’m not sure how I feel about him. His attention is flattering, but I disagree with his opinion about selling. Not that I’m attached to the mercantile, but Grandpa has poured his life into this store. To just let it go in this state seems . . . disrespectful.”
The bell over the door chimed. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” Rosemary said, turning to greet their customer.
What was the right thing? Faith wished she knew. Without Grandpa’s permission, she couldn’t put the mercantile up for sale even if she could collect all the back debts. She slipped down the aisle between the stoves and the wall where the firearms had been displayed. The empty case that had held watches looked sad and dusty. She tightened her jaw. Lindberg’s Mercantile had been a leading business in the community for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t let it die now.
Thunderclouds bruised the sky to the southwest. Faith kept her arm tucked under her grandfather’s as they walked home through the humid June evening. When they approached Ripley’s Livery, she craned her neck to see if Curt might be inside. She had something important to ask him, if she could leave Grandpa for a moment.
“You looking for your young man?” he asked.
Faith drew a quick breath. “He’s not my young man. We’re friends.”
“Doesn’t seem like it to me, with all the evenings he’s called to take you out for a stroll. You could do worse, you know. Like that Baxter fellow. Told you before, I don’t think he’s been honest with us.”
She bit her lower lip. “You’re not being fair. Once you get to know Royal, you’ll like him.”
“Bet he can’t play chess.”
“Evening, Judge, Faith,” Mr. Ripley called from the entrance to the stable. He wiggled his eyebrows at Faith. “Reckon you’re looking for Curt. He’s already gone home. I’ll tell him you was here, though.”
“Thank you.” She glanced between him and Grandpa. Let them think what they wanted. “Would you ask him to stop by the store tomorrow sometime if it’s convenient?”
His eyes twinkled. “Sure thing. I don’t mind playing Cupid.”
She opened her mouth to object, then closed it. The more she protested, the less convincing she sounded.
An arrow of lightning zigzagged from one of the clouds, followed by a rumble of thunder. Grateful for the distraction, Faith tugged at Grandpa’s arm. “We’d better get in before this hits.”
When they reached their front walk, a wagon rumbled to a stop next to the hitching rail. A fleshy man wearing canvas pants and a rumpled plaid shirt jumped down and poked a finger in Grandpa’s chest. “My poor wife come home sore upset today, thanks to this gal right here.”
Faith
cringed. This could only be Mr. Wylie. As far as she knew, she hadn’t offended anyone else’s wife.
Grandpa confirmed her suspicions when he said, “Calm down, Wylie. Come in and tell me what’s bothering you.” He used his authoritative Judge Lindberg voice.
“Nope. Ain’t got time. Just wanted to give you this.” He handed Grandpa a bank draft. “You can close your books on us. We’ll go to Hartfield from now on.” The irate man stomped back to his wagon and rattled away.
Once inside, Grandpa peered at the draft. “Eighteen dollars.” His forehead wrinkled. “What in the name of heaven did you do to Mrs. Wylie?”
Faith removed her shawl and hung it on the hall tree, stalling for time while she thought of a way to tell him about collecting their debts. She’d hoped she’d be able to order new stock without Grandpa learning about their lack of finances. A look at his confused expression told her it was too late.
“The Wylies owed us more than thirty dollars. This morning I asked Mrs. Wylie for the money.”
“Thirty dollars! How’d you come up with that?”
“Let’s sit in the kitchen and I’ll tell you.”
He stalked ahead of her, his cane rapping on the floor. “This better be good. I’ve known Cletus Wylie for a number of years. Never saw him so angry.”
As Faith explained her encounter with the banker and her subsequent investigation of the ledgers, Grandpa looked stricken. She was careful not to mention Curt’s involvement. The idea had been hers.
She concluded, “So I made a list of debts, and plan to collect them. We can’t get new merchandise unless we pay cash.”
He leaned toward her, both of his hands clasped over the top of his cane. “You be mighty careful when you talk to folks. I won’t have you raising a ruckus all over town.”
“Mr. Wylie raised the ruckus. I didn’t. Not everyone will be so touchy.” She prayed she was right.
Curt grinned at his employer. “She asked for me?”
“Sure did. Looked disappointed you wasn’t here too.” Rip cut open a bag of oats and scooped some into a bucket. “You want to run down there right now?”
“Might as well.” Curt attempted to sound casual. “Shouldn’t be gone long.”
When he passed the courthouse, Sheriff Cooper hailed him from the jail building across the street. “Got a couple questions for you, Saxon.”
Curt sprinted over. “Did you find the thieves who robbed the mercantile?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Miss Faith says she had another intruder last week.”
“Yup. I ran him off, but never got to see his face. Guess she told you that.”
“So you were the only one who saw him.” The sheriff surveyed Curt, his gaze pausing at his neck before traveling to his face. “How’d you get that scar? Not a rope burn, is it?”
A chill doused Curt’s insides. “Rebel knife.” He took a step backward, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you getting at?”
“You and that sister of yours spend a lot of time at Judge Lindberg’s store. Then expensive merchandise turns up missing. Makes a man wonder.”
“While you’re wondering, you might check some of the stragglers camped in the hills. I don’t think it’s likely a thief will come walking up to you and ask to be arrested.” Curt spoke through gritted teeth.
Sheriff Cooper rested his hand on the hitching post in front of the jail. “Mind yourself, Saxon. I’ve got my eye on you.”
Curt raised his hat in a mocking salute and strode toward the mercantile, enraged. The sheriff wouldn’t have looked at him twice if not for the scar. Memories of supercilious officers ticked through his mind. He wondered if rank made men bullies, or whether they were bullies to start with. When he entered the store, he was still angry.
Faith hurried over, smiling. “I’m so glad to see you.” She took a second glance at him and her smile vanished. She jammed her hands on her hips. “You look like someone marched you here with a rifle to your back. You didn’t have to come, you know.”
He pulled off his hat and swiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
A hurt expression crossed her face. She didn’t respond.
Curt felt the pain he was inflicting. “Sorry.” He tried to smile. “What did you want?”
She studied him for a moment, then evidently deciding he was sincere, said, “I need help with the lists we made.”
“You found more names?”
“No.” She walked behind the counter and pushed the pages in his direction. Spots of color showed in her cheeks. “I spoke to Mrs. Wylie yesterday about what they owed and stirred up a hornet’s nest. She’ll never shop here again. Then Mr. Wylie came to the house last evening and hollered at Grandpa.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think of this until after Mr. Wylie left, but I can’t go out in the evenings to collect debts from customers—particularly the men. And I don’t dare trust Grandpa out alone at night. Could you please talk to some of these people?”
She looked fragile standing at a counter with floor-to-ceiling shelves looming behind her. Much as he admired Judge Lindberg, he questioned the man’s decision to turn such a large enterprise over to Faith. Of course, he’d never say as much to her.
A thought came unbidden. Take her in your arms and kiss the worry lines from her forehead. He forced the impulse away, angry for allowing his thoughts to take him where he had no right to go.
He compelled himself to focus on the sheet in front of him. “I don’t work here. How would your customers feel about me telling them to pay up?”
“I’ll give you a letter of introduction.” Her teary blue eyes pleaded with him.
Curt knew he’d lost the battle. “Let me see what I can do. There are several names here I recognize.”
A smile spread over her face. “Thank you.” While he reviewed the lists, she wrote a brief message on a fresh sheet of paper and handed it to him.
Curt folded the letter and the lists of names and tucked the pages in his pocket. “Give me a few days. I’ll go evenings after the livery closes. Meantime, if any of these folks come in, you talk to them.” He squeezed her hand. “You can do it.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
At the end of the day, Curt stopped at home to change his clothes, then stepped out into the sticky evening to walk to Ivar Harrison’s house. By starting with people he knew best, he hoped to shorten the task. Harrisons lived not far from the livery and had rented a buggy from them more than once.
Curt’s knock was answered by a pretty blonde woman. A boy of about seven peered around a doorway to the right.
“I wonder if I could have a word with your husband, ma’am.”
She nodded and left him standing on the porch while she walked past the boy. He eyed Curt, then scuttled after her. In a moment, Ivar appeared. His spectacles were perched on top of his springy dark hair. “Saxon. What brings you here?”
“A matter of business. You may know Miss Lindberg is now managing her grandfather’s mercantile.”
“Yes. Heard that.”
“Things got a little out of hand there the past year or so. She’s asked my help in collecting a few back debts.” He handed him the letter of introduction.
“Why are you telling me this? I don’t owe the judge any money.”
Curt cleared his throat. “Appears you do.” He showed Ivar the amount written next to his name.
The man shook his head and continued to shake it while he spoke. “Judge Lindberg said that was between him and me. There’d be no debt.” He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. “Our house burned down last year. Lost every last thing and had to start over.” He lowered his voice. “The judge gave us cookware and blankets and such. Gave it to us. Said we could do the same for someone else one day.”
Curt rubbed the back of his neck. Why would Harrison’s name be entered if the judge didn’t char
ge him for the merchandise?
Ivar broke the momentary silence. “Couldn’t pay you now anyway. Had to quit my job so we could move to St. Louis to take care of the wife’s mother. She’s poorly.” He sighed. “Hated to leave the academy with no mathematics teacher, but couldn’t be helped.”
“We must’ve made a mistake. Sorry I bothered you.” Curt studied the figures on his list. It was Harrison’s word against the ledger, and somehow the man didn’t seem like a liar.
He hoped he’d have more success at his next stop, which was—he consulted his list—Jesse Slocum’s house on Third Street. Rosemary had mentioned the man often. Faith called him one of the woodstove regulars.
How could Slocum visit the mercantile almost daily and not settle his debt? Curt thought of what Faith said about Mr. Wylie’s explosion and crossed his fingers. He’d promised to help, and help he would.
He stepped up to the door of a tidy cottage set back from the street. On one side of the property a vegetable garden flourished. He noticed mustard greens and onion tops in the first rows. Sucking in a breath, he knocked.
After a moment of silence, he knocked again.
“No need to beat the door down. I was coming.” Jesse Slocum stood in stocking feet, one suspender hanging loose. “You’re Miss Rosemary’s brother, ain’t you? What brings you over this way?”
“Helping Miss Faith collect some leftover debts.” He hoped his smile looked friendly. “Seems the judge has been a little lax the past year or so.”
“You’d be lax, too, if’n you lost your son and grandson at the same time.” He gave Curt a sharp glance. “Looks like you know a thing or two about battles yourself.” Swinging the door wide, he said, “Come on in. Tell me what Nate has me down for and I’ll get you the money. Been meaning to take care of this.”
After two more successful stops, Curt walked toward home. Maybe Ivar Harrison’s response was an anomaly. He hoped so. He enjoyed being able to provide something Faith needed.
