“Oh.” For a moment Charley’s face fell. Then he shrugged and took the page back. “I’ll save it for someone else then.” He puffed up. “I’m taking them to every house in town.”
Jesse released a low whistle. “That’s a pretty big job for a little—”
Charley scowled.
Jesse amended, “—man.”
“I can do it.” He shifted the bag to his other shoulder. “As soon as I learn all the streets, Aunt Neva says Belle won’t have to come with me. I’ll be able to go by myself.”
Belle appeared as frazzled as her mother and brother had. Jesse pointed to the wagon. “Have you pulled that thing around all morning?”
She sighed. “Yes, sir. Momma said I couldn’t leave the girls behind. She had to work and couldn’t watch them. But it’s too far for Adeline and Cassie to walk, so Mr. Randall loaned us the wagon. Adeline really likes riding in it.” She glanced at the little girl, then whispered, “She’s heavier than she looks.”
Cassie scampered up next to Belle. “Belle won’t let me ride with Adeline. She says I make the wagon too hard to pull.”
Jesse crouched down to Cassie’s level. “Why don’t you try taking turns with Adeline?”
Cassie crossed her arms over her chest and poked out her lower lip. “Adeline doesn’t take turns.”
Jesse ruffled the little girl’s soft hair, then straightened and addressed Belle. “Since it’s lunchtime, you kids should run on home and eat something with Bud and your ma. Start out again after your arms have had a chance to recover.”
“Momma never takes a Saturday lunch break. The mercantile is too busy.”
Worry nibbled at Jesse. “But you all will eat something, won’t you?” Growing children needed to eat.
“We’ve got some leftover pork and beans in the refrigerator. I’ll heat them for us.”
Charley made a face. “Beans make my insides rumble.”
Jesse couldn’t stop a laugh from blasting. The boy’s expression…“Beans have that effect on me, too, Charley.” He scratched his chin. Belle looked worn out, but the kids had to eat. “I’m heading over to the café for a sandwich and a bottle of pop. You kids wanna come with me?”
Belle said, “We don’t have any money.”
Charley perked up. “I do! Mr. Randall gave me fifty cents to deliver his advertisements.”
Jesse shook his head. “You keep your money, Charley. The sign at the café says today’s special is a bologna or cheese sandwich.” And only ten cents. He grinned at Charley. “Does bologna make your stomach rumble?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had bologna.”
Jesse turned a dumbfounded look on the boy. “You’ve never had bologna?”
“Me neither.” Belle cringed. “One of the church ladies brought over a ring of bologna, but Momma put it out for the hobos. Poppa always said bologna was ‘poor man’s fare.’ He wouldn’t let us eat it.”
Charley stared at Belle in amazement. “My daddy said that, too.”
“No bologna then.” Jesse took the wagon handle from Belle and turned the group toward Betsy Ann’s Café. “We’ll have cheese sandwiches with our soda pop. Let’s go.”
Neva
Neva turned the sign to Closed a half hour early and pulled the shade. A yawn stretched her mouth, and she sagged against the doorframe as the breath heaved from her lungs. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so tired. What a good day. What a good, good day. Her money box contained enough to pay the invoices on her most recent deliveries and then some. The charge book showed several sizable purchases, which meant the promise of more money coming in. And, best of all, she was so tired she should be able to sleep instead of lying awake worrying.
Bud took the broom from the corner. “Sure hope Belle has supper ready. I’m half-starved.”
Neva gave a jolt. Had the children come back for lunch? Belle wouldn’t have bothered to come into the mercantile, as busy as things had been, but Neva should have heard them trooping up and down the stairs. Even little Adeline’s light steps sounded like an elephant tromping on the old, creaky stairs.
Neva looked at the tin ceiling, listening. Complete silence overhead. She frowned at Bud. “Was your sister here at lunchtime?”
He shoved the broom’s bristles across the floor. “I don’t know. I was too busy to notice.”
Neva whisked her apron over her head and moved for the staircase. As she rounded the corner, the back door burst open, and Belle, followed by the three younger children, clattered in.
Belle sent her mother an apologetic look. “Is it five o’clock already, Momma? Charley wanted to get as many papers delivered as we could, and then we took the wagon back to Mr. Randall’s. He wanted to know where all we’d been. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“You’re not late. I closed early.”
Belle blew out a little breath, smiling. “Oh, good. I’ll get supper started right away then. Is it all right if I heat the ham-and-potato casserole Mrs. Wooster brought over? It’ll go good with the leftover peas in the Frigidaire.”
“Whatever can be heated quickly is fine. The children must be famished.” Neva put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you bring them back for lunch?”
Belle herded the children toward the stairs. “Mr. Caudel took us to the café for a sandwich.”
“And pop!” Cassie added. Apparently they’d had strawberry pop, because she and Adeline wore pink mustaches.
“Hold still for a minute!”
The entire cluster of children froze. Neva waved her hands at the younger ones. “Go wash up. Charley, help your sisters.” She waited until the trio departed. Then she aimed a frown at her daughter. “You let Mr. Caudel buy your lunch?”
Belle’s cheeks turned pink. “I tried to talk him out of it, Momma, but the children were hungry, and the mercantile was so busy. So I—”
Someone banged on the front door.
Neva sighed. Maybe she wouldn’t close early. “Go get supper started. We’ll discuss this later.”
Belle scurried off, and Neva returned to the door. Jesse Caudel stood outside, frowning at his timepiece.
She opened the door, and he jerked to face her, surprise registering on his face.
“I thought you stayed open until five on Saturdays.”
She stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. She snapped the door closed behind him, though, and turned the lock. “I am usually open until five, but the traffic had slowed so much after an especially hectic morning and early afternoon, I decided to lock up early.”
“Oh.” He took a step backward. “If you’re too tired to do business, I can come back on Monday.”
Why did he always have to be so accommodating? She wanted to be mad at him. “That’s fine. I have enough energy to put together one more order.”
He grinned and pushed his hat to the back of his head the way Bud wore Warren’s old hat. The rakish angle made him seem far too young to assume responsibility for maintaining law in an entire town.
She turned and headed for the remaining few empty crates. “What do you need?”
The clop of his feet followed her. “To be honest, ma’am, I’m not real sure. I’ve never had my own kitchen. The boardinghouse owner didn’t allow cooking in our rooms, so this is my first time to fend for myself.”
Neva picked up a crate and faced him. “So you have no idea what grocery items you want?”
He shrugged, the gesture boyish. “No, ma’am. But I trust you to put together something that will meet my needs for some simple meals.”
Neva stared at him for several seconds, unwilling to believe he had no idea what to buy. “You bought lunch for my children today.”
A slow grin grew on his cheek. “Yes, but no need to thank me. I enjoyed their company.”
She frowned. She hadn’t intended to thank him. “It was kind of you, I’m sure, but we had food here. They didn’t need to eat somewhere else.”
The grin faded fast. “I didn’t feed the
m bologna.”
Now she drew back in surprise. “Who said anything about bologna?”
Jesse glanced at Bud, who had finished sweeping and began straightening cans on the closest display shelf. “Belle. And Charley. Apparently neither of them had ever tasted it before. So I got them cheese sandwiches instead. I…I hope cheese was all right.”
Obviously there was more to the story than what he was telling. But tiredness stole her desire to understand. She plopped the crate onto the counter. “If you want ease in preparation, I suggest a variety of canned goods—meat, vegetables, and fruit. Do you have an oven?”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll give you some potatoes. Baked potatoes are easy and they go with anything. You can even dice a leftover baked potato and fry it for your breakfast. As for breakfast, oatmeal is a simple choice. Or boxed cereal. We carry Post Toasties and Rice Krispies—both are popular with my customers.” She began gathering the items and laying them out on the counter for him to choose. “You can either arrange delivery of milk from the dairy, or I can add a few cans to your order. Whichever you prefer.”
“What about pancakes?”
She paused with her hands around two cans of condensed milk. “Pancakes?”
He nodded. “I tried to make some this morning with water and a little flour I found in a tin in one of the cupboards, but they burned. I like to never scraped it all out of the pan.”
She could well imagine. She returned to the counter and plunked the cans next to the crate. “Mr. Caudel, you need more than flour and water to make pancakes. You use flour, oil, an egg, milk, or water. And then you put oil in the pan to keep the batter from sticking.”
He cringed. “I sure messed that up.”
She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her smile. “There is a simpler solution.”
“What’s that?”
She crossed to a shelf and pulled down a box of Bisquick. “I don’t generally stock this because it’s considered a luxury item around here, but it’s perfect for you. This is premixed for biscuits or pancakes. All you add is water or milk. See here?” She pointed to the back of the box and the easy-to-follow directions. “Just do what this says, and you should have pancakes you’ll be able to eat.” She put the box in his crate. “Would you like syrup or jam to put on your pancakes?”
“Both.”
She laughed softly. “You and your sweet tooth.”
He grimaced, his cheeks blotching with pink. “Yeah, pretty bad, isn’t it? I can’t ever remember getting store-bought candy when I was a kid, but my ma made taffy every year at Christmas. Never could get enough of it to suit me.”
For reasons she didn’t understand, his admission created an uncomfortable ache in the center of her chest. She turned to the row of jam jars. “Strawberry, peach, or marmalade?”
“Anything but marmalade.”
He made marmalade sound like a dirty word. Neva almost laughed. “Strawberry then. It’s the sweetest.” She punched each item into the cash register, each click and clang intrusive in the now-quiet store, and he put everything in the crate. She placed two loaves of bread on top without asking if he wanted them, but he didn’t take them out. She wrote the total on a slip of paper, then subtracted sixty cents and handed him the paper.
He frowned at it. “What’s this?”
“Your bill.”
“No. I mean what’s this amount you took off? Some sort of discount?”
“That is what you paid for the children’s lunch.”
He shook his head.
She raised one eyebrow. “Mr. Caudel, do not lie to me. I’ve lived in Buffalo Creek for a number of years, and I’m familiar with Betsy Ann’s specials. She charges ten cents for a sandwich and five cents for a bottle of pop. Four children means four sandwiches and four pops. Sixty cents.”
He shook his head again. “Cassie and Adeline shared a sandwich and a bottle of strawberry pop. Belle and Charley each had a sandwich, but they shared a Royal Crown Cola. So your figure is off.” He plucked the pencil from her hand and scratched through the sixty cents. “Three sandwiches and two bottles of pop comes to forty cents.” He wrote the number down, then added it back into her total. “And it was my treat. So you aren’t taking it off my bill.”
She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. With her uncombed hair straggling along her cheek and her dress wrinkled, she might not look like a formidable opponent, but she could be as stubborn as a mule when provoked. “Mr. Caudel, I—”
“You’re a proud woman. I understand that.” He spoke so kindly her shoulders began to wilt. “But I wanted to treat the kids. It was my idea. You don’t owe me anything.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew several bills and coins. He laid the payment on the counter and reached for his crate.
“Just a minute.”
He froze in place.
She snapped a small brown bag open and then popped the lid on the gumdrop jar. She scooped three handfuls of the sugar-coated drops into the bag, rolled the top, and placed it in the crate. He aimed a questioning look at her.
“My treat.” She swished her palms together. “Turnabout is fair play.”
A grin broke across his face. “Thank you, Mrs. Shilling.” He inched toward the door. “And now I’ve kept you long enough. Go on up and have your supper. Enjoy your day of rest tomorrow. Bye, Bud.”
“Bye, Mr. Caudel.” Bud held the door open for the man and then closed it behind him. He sent a smirk to Neva. “He ramrodded you just like Pop always did.”
Neva sniffed. “I’m going up to help Belle with supper. Finish cleaning and then turn out the lights.” She hurried off before her son witnessed her succumbing to tears.
Jesse
Jesse balanced the crate of groceries on one hip and opened the front door to Randall’s Emporium with the other. Arthur Randall himself bustled over before the bell swinging above the door stopped clanging, a genial smile on his face.
“Leon said you’d be coming in, but I’d just about given up on you, Sheriff.” The man chuckled. “You made it in the nick of time. I’ll be locking up in another five minutes.”
Jesse grimaced. “Sorry. Time got away from me today.”
“No worries.” Mr. Randall slipped his thumbs into the little pockets of his vest. “Leon says you need a bedframe, correct?”
“Yes, I do.” He set the box on the floor by the door. “Nothing fancy, though. The bedroom at my place is too small for anything more than a simple frame.”
“Well, follow me, and I’ll show you what I have in stock.”
Jesse glanced at the various furniture arrangements as he trailed behind the man. He couldn’t resist releasing a low whew. “You’ve got some nice things in here.”
Randall flashed a grin over his shoulder. “I try to provide my customers with some of the finer things in life. Even though most folks in the Buffalo Creek township are farmers or quarry workers, they still deserve a bit of luxury, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. I don’t need anything too luxurious, though.”
“I’ve got simple things, too, Sheriff.” Randall stopped next to a stained pine bed and rested his hand on the headboard. “Like this one.”
“How much?”
“Eleven dollars and fifty cents. Now that doesn’t include a mattress, but I will throw in the matching bedside cabinet.” Randall leaned in, his mustache twitching. “If you don’t have indoor plumbing, you can tuck a chamber pot out of sight behind that cabinet door.”
Jesse laughed. “I have indoor plumbing, but I reckon I could tuck my gun or maybe a snack in the cabinet.” His bag of gumdrops would fit behind the square raised-panel door nicely. He pulled his money purse from his pocket, counted out the amount, and handed it over. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” The man rolled the bills around the coins and held the wad in his fist. “Shall I have my boys bring the pieces over to your place? No extra charge.”
“Sounds good.”
“Fine, fine.�
� Randall clapped Jesse on the shoulder. “I’m glad we found something that suits. Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe a painting for the wall or an entry table?”
He had no need for decorative items. Jesse shook his head. “No, thanks.” He ambled toward the front door.
Randall moved alongside him. “Well, if you ever find yourself in need of other furniture, please trust Randall’s Emporium to meet your needs.”
Jesse came to a stop and faced the store owner. “Say, have you heard of Rich & Baker furniture?”
Randall’s eyebrows shot high. “Rich & Baker? That’s high-dollar furniture.”
He should have surmised that by the quality of the pieces jammed into his house. “Do you sell their things?”
The man pursed his lips. “Their things are a little too, er, high class for most folks around here. But if you’re interested, I could look into—”
Jesse held up his hand. “Don’t bother. I just wondered if you knew about them.”
“I’m sure every furniture salesman in the US knows about Rich & Baker. Or at the very least knows about the theft from their warehouse.”
Jesse’s scalp began to prickle. “Theft?”
“Yes, sir. Five, maybe six years ago some officials came here to search my store.” Randall made a face. “They said they were searching every furniture dealer in the state, but it didn’t make me feel any less violated. As if I would sell stolen goods!” He shook his head. “They didn’t find anything here to match the description of the stolen pieces, but I wasn’t surprised. I only buy from reputable dealers, never out of the back of a wagon.”
The back of a wagon…Jesse forced a smile. “Glad to know there are honest businessmen left.” He stuck out his hand and Randall took it. “Thanks for staying open for me. I’ll be at the house whenever your boys are ready to deliver the furniture.”
Room for Hope Page 16
