The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #2

by Mary Connealy

  “Got to admit,” said another from the crowd, “if we had our own mill the price of flour would go down. So would the price of bread at my bakery.”

  There were a few other interested comments, enough to make the mayor lift one hand while at the same time taking Lukas’s arm with his other. Lukas tossed a glance to his father so he would follow as he allowed himself to be led away, expecting the interrogation at hand. He knew enough to cooperate if they wanted a chance at another job without a reference already among the town’s residents.

  Following the mayor, Lukas couldn’t remember the last time he was so eager for a job to work out.

  Chapter 3

  Sally watched as the mayor led two of the newcomers away. Lukas Daughton certainly knew how to stir the interest of a farming community.

  “I’m going to join my father.”

  Willis’s voice startled Sally; she’d been watching the trio ahead of them. Of course Willis would be part of the meeting. What surprised her was her immediate interest in going along, too. She detained him with a touch to his arm. “It certainly sounds like a good opportunity for the town, doesn’t it?”

  “Don’t be so easily taken in,” he said quietly, glancing at the remaining Daughton brothers not far behind them, who were mingling with others.

  Sally’s heart thrummed in anticipation of the meeting. Her father was out in the field, her mother at home with countless tasks, and her sister—where was Alice? If any one of them were here right now, they would want the town to make the best possible decision, not the mayor alone.

  “You don’t mind if I come along, do you?”

  One of Willis’s brows lifted, those brows that were thick and bold just like his father’s. Happy or bored or fascinated, his mood was easy to read. Just now they said he was surprised but skeptical. “I can’t think of a bigger waste of time.”

  “But. . . How often does such an opportunity come along? It’s worth investigating, isn’t it?”

  He scowled. “These men likely offer nothing but flimflam. I’m sure my father will see the sheriff escorts them quickly out of town.”

  “But what if they really could build a mill? Wouldn’t the farmers want to know about something like this?”

  Willis didn’t have the ample stomach his father carried, but he did have a certain softness about him. He was much better suited to the legal work he did for his father than for farming or other manual labor. Right now he stopped, crossing his arms in front of him the way his father did, and regarded her with interest.

  “Do you mean to say you really do wish to attend a meeting in my father’s office? Not just accompany me?”

  “I want to tell my father about it, and if I sat in I’d have more information for him, wouldn’t I?”

  Willis’s surprise gave way to amusement, the way he often looked at her when she raised a question. He’d told her more than once she should have been a schoolteacher, with all the questions she asked.

  “If not me,” she persisted, “perhaps you could bring Mr. Granger, or Mr. Gibbons, or one of the farmers. Someone who might benefit more directly from a mill—” She cut herself off, realizing she’d been about to infer his father might not be the most qualified person to make such a decision.

  Before Willis could disagree—she could see one of his brows pulling downward, just as it always did when he was about to state the opposite opinion of anyone around him—Mr. Granger stepped between them.

  “She’s right, Willis,” said the baker, revealing he hadn’t a hint of compunction about having listened in on their conversation. “Your father may think he’s protecting the community but he oughtn’t make this decision alone. Why don’t you lead the way?”

  “I don’t think—”

  But Willis didn’t finish, seeing Mr. Granger beckon Mr. Gibbons and two other farmers.

  Emboldened that their interest reflected her own, Sally grinned and held out an elbow to Willis as if to escort him, if need be. He managed a smile then took her arm to loop it properly through his.

  The mayor’s office was on the second floor of the post office, since he was also the postmaster as the town had yet to afford a salaried mayor. Tall windows let in the summer breeze while offering a view of the prairie and farms surrounding the town. His office wasn’t a large room, being a converted parlor designed for the private quarters of any postmaster. A large desk took up the center, and along one wall stood an impressive bookcase filled with volumes he’d brought from the East. English law books, he’d claimed them to be, as if possessing them added to his authority as mayor.

  Just now he looked none too pleased to see his son and the entourage behind him. The telltale brows revealed annoyance, even when he let his glance fall momentarily on Sally. He was usually happy to see her, at least whenever she was with Willis.

  “This is bound to be boring,” Willis said in her ear. “Why don’t you wait down in the post office and I’ll see you home afterward?”

  “That’s all right,” she said gently, as if grateful for his consideration. “I don’t mind in the least.”

  He might have been right about the engineering features of a grist mill being boring, since that was how the discussion resumed once the mayor realized their visitors were there to stay. But as the older man spoke with quiet confidence how he would design such a structure, using the power of the river that ran alongside the town, Sally could see she wasn’t the only one impressed by Mr. Daughton’s proposal. Or at least by his calm poise and depth of knowledge so obvious in his answers to every question.

  “We could be finished by harvest time of this year,” he finished, “sooner if some of the young men in your town could volunteer to help out with the digging and lend an ox or two to remove some of the earth we’ll be shifting. My boys are strong and hardworking, but can’t work faster than they’re able.”

  “You’ll have to buy a spot on the river, and most of the parcels are already owned by various farmers,” the mayor said. “That’ll be expensive.”

  “We plan to build the mill right here in town, Mayor,” said Lukas, in a voice so calmly assured perhaps he didn’t expect the gasp that greeted his words.

  “In town? But the river will power the mill, your father said it himself.”

  “And so we build a canal to capture the water for a mill pond.” The immediate doubt spreading across the room didn’t dampen the man’s confidence. “We’ve already measured the distance from the springhead. All we need is the plot at the end of town, where our wagons now stand, and permission to dig between the spring and there.”

  Sally studied the faces around her, seeing the man’s cool certainty impacted a few others as it did her. Perhaps they really could perform such a miracle as putting a mill right where it would most conveniently serve.

  She was also more convinced than ever that her father needed to hear about this proposal. Their cornfield stood between the springhead and town.

  She looked again at the man called Lukas, hoping to ask if he might talk directly to her father. He happened to be looking at her, and despite her inquiry she dropped her gaze. She wouldn’t ask in front of everyone; it would be hard enough just to have his attention, let alone everyone else’s. When she looked at him again she noticed he included Willis in his glance this time, with a question in his eyes. She looked at Willis, too, who hadn’t seemed to notice the exchange.

  Surely she imagined that. Why should he care who Willis was to her?

  As the discussion shifted to cost and supplies, Sally tried to listen more intently. Her father would be interested in such details, but for some reason she had a hard time concentrating; she, who was always so good with numbers. She handled all of her father’s accounts, with livestock and feed and seed, a job gratefully relinquished by her mother the moment Sally expressed her interest. Sally delighted in contributing to the family in a way they appreciated. Numbers never failed her. There was always a right and wrong answer to make sense of the books. Unlike life, which wasn�
�t always so clear.

  To her annoyance, her thoughts were muddled more than once. Surely the young Mr. Daughton couldn’t have such a quick effect on her. Willis never flustered her this way.

  When the meeting ended, Mayor Pollit agreed to let Mr. Daughton speak to the farmers and businessmen after church on Sunday, in the church itself, since it was large enough to accommodate everyone who might want to attend. Sally moved toward the door, but Willis touched her elbow again.

  “I’d like to stay and talk to my father about this,” he said. “If you’d like to stay, I can see you home afterward.”

  She shook her head. “No, Willis. I must find Alice. We were supposed to meet at Gibbons’ store and I’m sure she must be looking for me.”

  He gave her a distracted half-smile. “All right.” Reaching up, he stroked one of her cheeks. “I’ll call on you later this afternoon?”

  She nodded, catching sight of the two Daughtons who seemed to be waiting for her to exit the room before they did. Smiling at them politely, she led the way back outside.

  Chapter 4

  Watching that young man stroke this girl’s cheek flared equal parts envy and desire for Lukas to gain the right to do the same thing. This wasn’t likely the first time the man had touched her in such a familiar, friendly way. Perhaps he was her husband—in which case, Lukas’s envy was entirely inappropriate.

  There was only one thing to do, and that was to find out who this man was to her. Once they were outside the post office, he left his father two steps behind. To his delight the girl appeared to be waiting for them.

  “Thank you for your interest in our proposal, miss,” he said, using his friendliest smile. “And I’m sorry to be so bold by introducing myself, but since I don’t know anyone in town yet, I guess I haven’t much choice if I’m going to know your name. You already know mine.”

  “I wonder if you might speak to my father about your proposal?” she asked without answering his question. “He owns some of the land you might be interested—”

  “There you are! Sally Hobson, I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

  Lukas couldn’t help but welcome the exasperated woman interrupting them, if only for providing the information he’d been seeking. Sally Hobson. As sweet a name as she deserved.

  The other woman was perhaps a half-dozen years older than the pretty girl at his side—she was a friend or sister, too young to be her mother, though she did wear motherly concern, especially when she glanced from Sally to him.

  “This is Lukas Daughton,” said Sally. She held her palm toward Lukas’s father. “And Mr. Daughton. They’ve come to build a grist mill.”

  The woman’s brows shot up with interest. “Have you? My husband will be glad to hear that, I’m sure.”

  Lukas decided to like this woman, even if he did sense she wasn’t prepared to return the feeling. Yet. “Perhaps you might have your husband speak to the mayor. The project will need local support if we’re to succeed.” He turned back to Sally, where his gaze was so eager to go. “And we’ll be happy to speak to your father. Perhaps we can schedule to meet back here this afternoon, or in the evening?”

  “That could be arranged, I think,” Sally said. “Where shall we look for you?”

  “At the rooming house dining room. We’ve already learned the food is good.”

  Lukas held out his hand to shake the older girl’s hand first, not because it was expected but because he could follow with the same gesture toward Sally. He’d already spied the woman’s left hand, looking for a wedding band and finding none. Besides, if she were married, wouldn’t she have included her husband in a discussion about the grist mill, like this other woman?

  He shook her hand gently, finding her hand small, warm, and just as soft as he’d expected. But there was strength there, too, and one tiny blister at the base of her forefinger betraying that she worked at something other than just keeping her skin smooth. He held her hand too long, but he wanted her to notice, to return his gaze, and she did.

  He tipped his hat again, watched his father do the same without having spoken a word, and they walked down the street in the opposite direction of the girls.

  “You ought not break another heart, Lukas,” said his father, low, but thankfully they were well out of earshot from Sally or anyone else.

  He patted his father’s strong shoulder as if he were the wiser of the two. “I won’t, Pap.”

  Sally let Alice loop their arms together as they walked along the sidewalk. The sidewalk itself was new, built by Willis’s school friend who came to town just last year. It was a vast improvement over the street’s dirt, so eager to go muddy at the slightest hint of rain, but many of the nails had popped and some of the boards were uneven.

  “So you think Arthur and Pa will be interested in supporting a grist mill right here in town? “ Sally asked Alice.

  “I do,” Alice said, but she looked distracted, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. When she threw a glance over her shoulder, Sally guessed where her thoughts had lingered. “You know that man was flirting with you, don’t you?”

  Sally felt the heat of blood rush to her cheeks. “He barely said a word to me!”

  “The way he held your hand like that, waiting for you to look at him.” She sighed. “I can’t say that I’d blame you if you were flattered. He’s fine looking.”

  “Alice! He’s a stranger!”

  Her sister nodded, evidently back to her senses. “Exactly. So you better be careful around him until you know him. He’s got his sights on you, though, there’s no doubt about that.”

  “Even if he does, it wouldn’t matter a bit to me.” The words flowed off of her tongue with such assurance Sally impressed even herself.

  “Oh?” Alice nudged Sally’s side with her elbow. “I didn’t think Willis made you blind to anyone else. In fact, I thought you found him annoying.”

  “Of course I don’t!” Now she, too, glanced around, just to be sure no one could hear such a private conversation. “I do find Mr. Daughton. . .well, appealing. But in his speech to the townspeople, he said they’ve built four grist mills already—”

  “Really? How wonderful! They must have all the experience in the world.”

  “So that’s what they do, Alice. They build a grist mill, then they move on to the next town and build another. I have no intention of getting caught up with someone for a summer romance only to be left behind when his job is finished.”

  Alice stopped their perambulation, smiling gently at Sally. “You’ve always been the sensible one in the family. And of course you’re right.” She led on again, giving Sally’s forearm a squeeze with her free hand. “Maybe that shy streak in you is more protection than I imagined. It’s given you the strength to control your heart better than I ever could. Once Arthur looked at me the way that man looked at you just now, I was entirely at his mercy. Yes, you have far more sense than I ever had!”

  Sally walked along, telling herself her sister was right.

  Of course she was.

  Chapter 5

  The Arms, as the rooming house was called, boasted a dining room where the owners shared their love of food with everyone who came through their threshold, luring people to stay with heavenly scents from their kitchen or free biscuits when they were hot from the oven. Rumor had it Mayor Pollit had been as slim as Willis before The Arms opened in Finchville some twenty years ago.

  Despite the fine taste of roasted chicken, Sally had trouble finishing her meal. It was hard to eat with uninvited butterflies getting in the way. She was never quite at ease eating with people she didn’t know, and more than once she’d caught Lukas Daughton smile her way. It was his attention that created those butterflies, she was sure of it.

  “We may never leave here even if we don’t stay to build the grist mill,” said Lukas as he scraped the last remnant of chicken from his own empty plate. “I haven’t had such a fine meal since my mother died, and that’s almost five years ago now.”

 
; “I’m sorry to hear about such a loss,” said Alice, her voice reflecting the same sympathy filling Sally. She’d have voiced her own condolences if she’d been quicker with words, but as usual Alice beat her to it.

  She regarded Lukas, as she’d already begun calling him in her mind. How hard it must have been for such a large family to do without the one figure who could play every role from mediator to nurturer, as Sally’s mother did.

  Mr. Daughton and Sally’s father had already spoken at some length about the prospect of building a gristmill and running a canal through his cornfield. That the town needed a mill suddenly seemed obvious. Whether or not the Daughtons were the ones to build it, and if the town could afford for them to do so, were other matters entirely.

  But before anyone had finished eating, Father and Arthur had already agreed to support the Daughtons when they presented their plan at the town meeting on Sunday.

  Sally couldn’t help but be pleased with the development, although she was afraid to dwell on why. After Chicago, the thought of all the new people and traffic it would draw made her shudder, but having their own gristmill would be good for Finchville. Surely that was why she was pleased.

  If Lukas Daughton would be staying, she knew already she must guard her thoughts. He was undoubtedly a flirt; he smiled at her in a way he hadn’t toward either her mother or Alice. His smiles were slow, as if to extend how long he might politely look at her. And even though she reminded herself he likely chose a favorite girl to spend time with during the building of each grist mill, she couldn’t help but recognize the growing warmth around her heart with each passing moment in his company.

  She was only half surprised but entirely pleased when he detained her as the others walked from the dining room after their meal ended.

  “I’d be pleased to escort you to church on Sunday morning, Miss Sally,” he whispered.

  Welcome as that sounded, she knew it was impossible. For the past month, Willis and his father shared the same pew with her family, right up front for all to see. It had been Willis’s idea.