by Ann Shorey
Mrs. Bingham darted a glance at the price, then smiled. “Perfect.” She dug in her bag and handed Faith two silver quarters. “Here you are. Mr. Bingham will come for us in an hour. Please have this wrapped for travel.” She turned toward the entrance. “Could you direct me to a milliner?”
Pointing north, Faith said, “Across King’s Highway, next to the bank. Miss Lytle does lovely work.”
“That remains to be seen. Are you coming, Cassie?”
“I’d rather wait here.”
“As you wish. Don’t wander off.” She swept onto the boardwalk and moved up the street like a ship under full sail.
Cassie untied the lavender ribbons on her bonnet and settled into one of the chairs near Bodie’s blanket. “I’m so happy I got to come to town today. It’s terribly lonely on the farm.”
“I wondered how you were faring,” Faith said, her hands busy cushioning the bowl and pitcher in brown paper. She couldn’t imagine being in Cassie’s position.
Cassie fanned herself. “Mr. Bingham was certainly less than forthcoming when Mother met him in St. Louis. His farm appears to have been neglected for years. He told her he had servants, but there’s no one there but an old man who sleeps most of the day. He’s a dreadful cook too.”
“I imagine you’re quite busy cleaning,” Rosemary said.
“Heavens, no.” Cassie stared at her with wide eyes. “Ladies don’t clean. Servants do that.”
“Ah. Then how do you pass the time?”
“Needlework. Reading. I’ve been taking walks around the property. There’s a little trail where things aren’t too overgrown.” She leaned forward. “That reminds me. I saw something curious on one of my walks last week. I must have wandered off the trail. I found a big tent, like soldiers use. No one was around, so I peeked inside.”
“That was dangerous,” Faith said. “There are lots of squatters living in the woods.”
Cassie shuddered. “Believe me, I won’t go near there again. The tent was full of guns, boots, shirts. Everything looked new and shiny, like someone was outfitting an army.”
Faith’s fingertips tingled. “Where was this exactly?” The question came out sharper than she intended.
“Up in the woods near Mr. Bingham’s farm.”
“Could you find the spot again?”
“I think so. Why?”
Rosemary crossed the room to Faith. “Don’t get your hopes up. There could be a logical explanation.”
“I can’t think of one.” She tied the paper-wrapped pottery with string and set the pieces aside, then turned to Cassie.
“Come with me, please. We’re going to see the sheriff. I want you to tell him what you saw.”
Cassie paled. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all. We were robbed the day the train derailed. I think you’ve found the thief.”
At Cassie’s incredulous expression, Faith described what had been stolen and the subsequent theft of her reticule. She added the information about the man Mr. Grisbee had chased away in July.
“I think you’re brave to stay here at all,” Cassie said. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know what you can do until you try.” Faith opened the door. “Let’s go. You too, Rosemary. We’ll leave Bodie here to guard the store, since my watchmen are late today.”
“I’ll be glad to see Curt’s name cleared.”
Faith patted Rosemary’s hand. “So will I.” She missed Curt. This news would give her a reason to visit with him, even if it was over the fence at the livery.
After fastening the lock on the front doors, Faith led the two women across Court Street to the jailhouse.
Sheriff Cooper looked up when they entered and hastily covered a salmon-colored dime novel with a wanted poster. “Good morning, ladies. Are you taking up a collection for some worthy cause?” He shoved a hand in his pocket.
“Miss Haddon here has something interesting to tell you,” Faith said.
He nodded in her direction. “I’m listening.”
Cassie’s hands trembled. Faith moved behind her and whispered, “Don’t be nervous. Just tell him what you saw.”
“My mother is married to Mr. Bingham.”
“Heard that. You here to complain about the state of his property?”
“No. Last week I saw something in the woods that Faith thinks is important.” Her voice gained strength. She explained how she’d happened upon the tent, and what she’d seen inside.
The sheriff placed his palms flat on the desktop. “I’ll look into this soon as I can. No law against a man having firearms and extra clothes. If I rousted every squatter around these hills, I’d have no time for anything else.”
“Don’t you see?” Faith stamped her foot. “If a squatter who’s camped south of here is the thief, you’ll have to stop blaming Mr. Saxon.”
“Not necessarily. They could be in cahoots.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell Amy how hard you’re trying to protect our town.”
He flushed. “No need to be hasty.” He flipped the wanted poster over and dipped a pen in a bottle of ink. “Now, exactly where was this tent?”
When they left the sheriff’s office, Cassie turned worried eyes on Faith. “Do you think we’ve been gone more than an hour? Mr. Bingham gets very upset if he’s kept waiting.” She hurried ahead of them, but slowed her steps when she reached the corner. Her mother was pacing back and forth in front of the locked doors, her face set in furious lines. Mr. Bingham sat in the buggy with his arms folded across his chest.
“I’m late. He’s already here.” Cassie clutched Faith’s arm. “Please don’t say anything about visiting the sheriff. He hates lawmen.”
“Sooner or later he’s bound to find out. Sheriff Cooper may need to talk to him.”
Cassie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Heaven forbid.”
“Miss Lindberg.” Cassie’s mother strode toward her. “What’s the meaning of this? I step across the street for a moment, and you lock the store. I demand my parcels.”
“I apologize, ma’am. I had urgent business to attend to.”
“If you keep your store locked, you won’t have any business at all.” She huffed out an exasperated breath.
“Yes, ma’am.” Faith opened the doors and grabbed the paper-wrapped items from the counter. “Thank you for your trade.” Over Mrs. Bingham’s shoulder, she met Cassie’s eyes.
“I hope you’ll both return in spite of this inconvenience.”
“I hope so too,” Cassie said.
Faith walked home that evening praying Curt would be at the livery, but it was Mr. Ripley who greeted her when she stepped into the pungent-smelling interior.
“Saxon’s left already. He don’t hang around much in the evenings since—” He cleared his throat. “Guess he’s found better things to do.”
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him on her walks home for several days. He must be avoiding her.
She forced a smile. “I’ll stop by in the morning. I had some good news I wanted to share.”
Mr. Ripley pulled a straw from a mound of fresh hay next to a stall and stuck it between his teeth. “Just between you and me, I think the good news he’d like to hear is that you’ve called off your wedding. ‘Course he ain’t said nothing to me, but I know him. Wears his heart on his sleeve where you’re concerned.”
“You must be mistaken.” A flush climbed her cheeks. “If you’re thinking of his visits to our house, he’s shown an interest in Amy Dunsmuir, and my grandfather, of course.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Anyway, I’ll tell him you’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Faith’s thoughts whirled as she covered the remaining distance to her home. Surely Mr. Ripley was wrong about Curt’s feelings toward her. Curt saw her as his sister’s friend, someone who needed his help from time to time. He’d never once asked her . . . well, he did invite her to the Independence D
ay celebration. But Amy and Grandpa were included. They’d never spent any time alone . . . wait. Yes, they had. She touched her forehead where he’d kissed her after she explained the 20327 mystery. A friendly kiss, nothing more.
Grandpa sat in his usual place near the window when Faith drifted into the parlor, her mind still on Curt. Amy held Sophia in her lap and smiled at her over the baby’s head. “I finished basting your dress. After supper I’ll help you with the fitting.”
Her words snapped Faith’s thoughts from Curt to her wedding. Ten more days and she’d be Mrs. Royal Baxter. Soon after, they’d be off for the west. Perspiration dampened her palms.
Grandpa tucked his pen into a holder on the table in front of him. “I made arrangements for Amy today.” He gestured at several papers. “Wrote up a statement giving her possession of the house for as long as she needs it.”
Faith bent and kissed the top of his head, then looked at Amy. “I told you not to worry about where you’d live when we leave.”
“Judge Lindberg. Faith. I don’t know what to say.” Tears trembled on Amy’s lashes. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Did it because I wanted to, not because I had to,” Grandpa said in a gruff voice.
Pretending to study the document her grandfather signed, Faith riffled through the other papers on the table. The sale agreement for the mercantile ought to be there too.
“I know what you’re looking for, and it’s not here. I put it somewhere safe until the time is right.”
Her shoulders slumped. Royal had made it clear that they couldn’t leave without the proceeds from the sale. “Time’s growing short, Grandpa.”
“Won’t take but a minute—when I’m ready.”
She recognized the steely tone. Further persuasion would be wasted.
“I do have something you might like to hear,” he said, drawing a page from another stack. “I remembered this today.”
After clearing his throat, he read, “When my sister Charlotte Anne was twenty, she worried so much about her spinster status that she accepted a proposal from a prosperous farmer, in spite of her affection for a local blacksmith. Our family opposed the match, knowing she didn’t love her intended, but she was determined to see herself married and settled in a fine home. But as fate or providence would have it, several days before the unfortunate event was to take place she—”
A loud hissing sound erupted, followed by a noxious odor. Faith dashed toward the source of the smell, which could only be the kitchen.
Amy followed at her heels. “Oh my word. The soup.” She plunked Sophia on the floor next to the pantry door and wrapped her hands in a towel, then lifted a kettle onto the worktable. Black liquid smoked on the stovetop and around the lids.
Amy sent Faith an agonized look. “I thought pea soup would be an easy supper, so we could spend more time on your dress. Now see what happened. I’ll be half the night scrubbing.”
“We’ll work on it together as soon as the stove cools.”
“But it wasn’t your doing.”
“You’re helping me with my dress. Why shouldn’t I lend a hand out here?” Faith sniffed at what was left of the kettle’s contents. “Doesn’t smell too scorched. This will be fine for supper.” She felt relieved at the interruption of Grandpa’s morality tale, wondering whether he really had a sister named Charlotte Anne. He’d never mentioned her before.
Later that evening, Faith stood in her bedroom while Amy slipped the pale green and gray shot silk dress over her head. In the lamplight, the colors appeared iridescent, shimmering like moonlight on water.
Amy sighed. “What lovely fabric. I’ve never sewn anything so fine.”
“Rosemary convinced me to make this selection. I don’t think it’s going to be practical for pioneer life.” She stroked the skirt, secretly thankful for her friend’s persuasion. If Royal succeeded in his plans to command a western fort, perhaps there’d be dances or parties where she could wear the gown.
When Amy had the rear panels arranged, she led Faith to the pier glass and handed her a small mirror. “How do you like the train?”
Faith held the mirror so she could see her back. A long swath of silk swept from the neckline to trail on the floor behind the hem. She sucked in a breath. “I don’t recognize myself. You’ve done splendid work. Have you ever considered becoming a dressmaker?”
“I like to sew. I don’t know that anybody’d want me to make their dresses. What do I know about fashion?” She brushed a hand across her plain over-dyed black frock.
“You could learn. I’ll bring home some Godey’s and Peterson’s magazines tomorrow.” She turned around and surveyed the front of her gown, appreciating the simple lines.
“Rosemary said I should make bows for the front, maybe from dark green ribbon. Here, here, and here.” Amy tapped places where pins marked future buttons.
“It’s fine the way it is.” Faith bit her lip. The closer the date loomed, the less she felt like celebrating. Bows would be a festive touch she preferred to avoid.
31
Faith slowed her steps as she neared the livery on Saturday morning. Curt deserved to hear about Cassie’s discovery. She hoped for an opportunity to talk to him without Mr. Ripley listening, but when she didn’t see him in the corral, she knew her hopes were in vain.
Sighing, she lifted her skirt over her boot tops and walked through the door, her eyes seeking Curt.
“He’s up there,” Mr. Ripley said, bounding out of his office and pointing at the loft. A forkful of fragrant hay dropped into a bin inside one of the stalls, confirming the man’s statement. “Saxon! You got a special visitor.”
Faith cringed. He made it sound like the governor’s lady had come to call.
Curt’s shoulder muscles strained at the fabric of his shirt as he descended the ladder. She averted her eyes, ashamed of the direction her thoughts were taking.
“Rip told me you were here last night. Must be something important.” His voice held a note of curiosity.
She noticed Mr. Ripley lingering nearby. “I have news you’ll be pleased to hear. Would you be able to step outside for a moment?”
“Go ahead, Saxon. Take all the time you need.” Curt’s employer sent a broad wink in her direction.
Curt took her arm and guided her to a shaded area on the west side of the building. His eyes studied her face as though he were memorizing her features. “Last night, Rosemary told me about Cassie’s discovery. Is that your news?” His tone was guarded.
Faith hoped her disappointment didn’t show. “Yes,” she said, deflated. “I wanted to tell you myself. I should have realized Rosemary would be even more excited than I am.”
“I’m glad you stopped by.” His expression warmed. “It’s nice to know you’re interested in my welfare.”
Faith dared to place a hand on his arm. “Of course I am. You said a long time ago that you wanted to be my friend. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed. You know that. If Baxter happened by at this moment, do you think he’d be pleased to see us together?”
“No.” She let her hand fall to her side.
He took a step toward the front of the livery, then turned to face her. “You’d better go.” His jaw was set in a tight line.
Faith fought the impulse to run after him when he entered the building. He didn’t look back. The memory of the tale Grandpa read last night entered her mind.
How did Charlotte Anne’s life turn out? Did she marry to attain her goal of a fine home, or did she follow her heart?
Torn, she directed her steps toward town. Royal had promised to take her for a buggy ride after church tomorrow. When they were together, his charm had the effect of casting a spell over her. She wasn’t plagued by indecision. At least, not much.
As she approached the jailhouse, she saw Sheriff Cooper untie his horse from the hitching rail and swing into the saddle. He tipped his hat to her and rode south on Court Street. Faith hurried toward the mercantile, eager to
tell Rosemary what she’d seen.
Mr. Grisbee met her outside the locked doors. “Got bad news, Miss Faith. Someone tried to break in to the store last night.”
“How do you know?” Her gaze swept the storefront. “Nothing’s disturbed.”
“Not here. In the alley.”
“Did you tell Sheriff Cooper?”
“Haven’t had time. Only been here a couple minutes.”
“I just saw him ride away. Maybe we can stop him.” Faith whirled and dashed to the corner, but the sheriff had apparently turned on the street fronting the railroad tracks and ridden out of sight.
She stomped back to Mr. Grisbee, anger rising in her throat. “I’ve had enough of this. If the sheriff won’t stop the thieves, I’ll do it myself.”
“Now, calm down.” His faded blue eyes filled with concern. “We got no more idea who to arrest than Cooper does. Anyways, all that happened last night is some ax marks cleaved in the door. I’ll show you.” He shuffled to the corner of the mercantile and followed the gravel path to the alley. Faith matched her steps to his slow pace.
Morning sun angled between the buildings, lighting the alleyway but leaving the storeroom door shaded. Faith clamped her teeth together at the sight of raw wood chips on the ground. Half a dozen gashes stood in pale contrast to the weathered exterior around the door frame.
“That door would’ve been chopped open if’n you wasn’t using that bolt.”
“Why do you suppose he didn’t finish?” She studied the damage. “A wooden bar wouldn’t stop an ax.”
“Likely making too much noise. We’re a stone’s throw from the jailhouse.”
“But Sheriff Cooper doesn’t sleep there. Who would hear?”
Mr. Grisbee spread his hands. “I’m just an old teamster. Don’t expect me to think like a thief.”
Faith chuckled and linked her arm through the older man’s. She’d come to depend on Mr. Grisbee’s watchful care. She’d miss him when she left. “Let’s open the store. We’ll talk to the sheriff when he returns.”
The back door of the adjoining business creaked open. Mr. Simpkins poked his head out of the newspaper office. “Thought I heard voices. Something wrong out here?”
