by Ann Shorey
“In case you haven’t noticed, he has trouble denying you anything. Going to Oregon is your idea, isn’t it?”
“What if it is?” She glared at him. “Going west will get us away from old memories.”
“Your memories will follow you.” The scar on his neck reddened. “I know.”
Rosemary crossed to her brother. “Curt. This is none of our concern.”
“You’re right. Forgive me, Miss Lindberg.” He shrugged Rosemary’s hand off his shoulder and stalked from the room.
Faith stared. She’d gone from being Faith to Miss Lindberg in the space of a few minutes. The man was as changeable as a Missouri spring—warm one minute and biting the next.
By Friday morning, Faith had dismissed Curt’s moodiness from her mind. That evening, she’d be attending a dance with Royal Baxter. For once the lack of customers seemed a blessing rather than a curse. She could close the mercantile promptly at five, cook Grandpa’s supper, and still have time to bathe and dress for the festivities.
At half past four, Faith hurried to the storeroom, tucked a feather duster under her apron strings, and grabbed a clean rag. Starting in the farthest corner, she flicked dust from shelves and countertops, working her way toward the front door. Halfway there, she surveyed the unsold lusterware dinner set while she polished a matching soup tureen. Maybe if she moved the dishes to a glass case they’d be more likely to catch a customer’s eye. With a little rearranging—
The bell over the door chimed. Startled, Faith whirled to see who’d entered, then heard a clink. The handle of the duster connected with one of the stacked teacups and knocked the delicate china piece into its mates. Like dominoes, cups tipped and crashed to the floor.
“No-o-o!” Faith lunged forward to protect the bowls, at the same time losing her grip on the tureen, which shattered on top of several dinner plates. She sagged against a counter, aghast. She didn’t know which was worse—destroying a set of expensive dishes, or staying to clean the mess, knowing she wouldn’t be ready when Royal arrived at seven.
“Miss Faith?”
She looked up to see Mr. Grisbee holding a tin container.
“I need me some coal oil. Decided not to go to Hartfield.”
10
Faith caught a section of her hair between heated tongs and rolled a curl. Her stomach flipped with anxiety as she listened to Royal and her grandfather’s voices coming from the parlor. Of all the days to be late.
She held the tongs over an oil lamp and waited while they reheated. Precious minutes slipped by while she arranged her thick hair into a fashionable cascade of curls at the back of her head. Dipping her fingers into a bowl of sugar water, she smoothed the sides of her coiffure to control any stray locks, then stepped into her purple chintz dress.
The clock chimed half past the hour as she skimmed down the stairs and arrived, breathless, at the parlor door. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Did Grandpa explain that I was detained at the mercantile late this afternoon?”
“Indeed he did.” Royal’s face creased in a broad smile. “And I must say, you’re worth waiting for.” His dark brown eyes glinted approval.
Using his cane, Grandpa levered himself to his feet. “We’ve been having an interesting discussion. Seems Major Baxter thinks he might have met Sebastian and Maxwell during his time with the Federal militia.”
Faith’s heart contracted at the mention of her father and brother’s names. “You saw them? Where?”
“I can’t be sure.” He pointed at the oil painting hanging over the fireplace. “But I know I’ve seen their faces.”
She looked at the portrait of her parents with herself and Maxwell. “That was painted years ago. Maxwell looked quite different as a boy.”
“The resemblance remains.” Royal nodded at her grandfather. “I’ll search my memory. We’ll talk again next time I call on Miss Faith.”
Next time. Faith couldn’t keep a pleased smile from her lips.
Buggies lined the front of the Lafayette Hotel when Royal turned the carriage onto Spring Street. He rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to tie up in front of the depot. Would you like me to help you down here first?”
Although the entrance to the hotel was well-lit, the remainder of the area lay hidden in dusky shadows. Faith had heard enough rumors about vagrants loitering near the railroad depot to be uncomfortable near the tracks after sundown. “It’s not far. I don’t mind a short walk.”
The horse ambled along the street as though making its own search for a stopping place. Suddenly it whinnied and sidestepped. A dark shape stood in the center of the road, swinging its head back and forth.
“Whoa!” Royal fought the reins to control the horse.
Faith clutched his arm, feeling the strength of taut muscles through his coat. “What on earth is that?”
He stood and peered into the dusk beyond the reach of the buggy lamp. “Looks like a cow. Good thing the horse saw her. She’s black as midnight.”
“A cow.” Faith chuckled over the thrum of her slowing heartbeat. “I thought it was a bear.”
“You’d have been safe.” He patted her hand, then reached under the seat and brought out a rifle. “This here Spencer repeater saved my skin more than once during the war.”
She stared at the polished stock gleaming in the lamplight. “Is it loaded?”
“Always. If it’s not, I might as well carry a stick.” He shoved the weapon out of sight and handed her the reins. “Hold the horse. I’ll run old Bessie back across the tracks.” Royal vaulted to the ground and sprinted toward the cow, waving his arms.
The animal bellowed and backed away.
“Keep going! Hoo yah!” He chased her until they were both out of sight.
Faith clutched the reins, thankful he hadn’t fired at the animal before identifying it.
Royal huffed back to the carriage and climbed in. “She’s on her way home. Hope she stays there.” Taking the reins from Faith’s hands, he directed the horse to a hitching rail in front of the depot.
She put the incident out of her mind when they entered the hotel ballroom, determined to enjoy the evening. Swags of white muslin, anchored with crossed dogwood boughs, festooned the walls. The fresh-cut branches gave the square room the look and fragrance of a forest glade. For a moment, Faith’s mind slipped to the previous Sunday’s picnic with Curt and Rosemary. As quickly, she returned to the present with Royal. Lean and handsome in his black frock coat, he drew admiring stares from girls clustered at the edges of the dance floor.
Couples circled to a lively polka, scraped from the bows of two fiddlers. As was the case with every social event since the war, women outnumbered the men. Those not dancing rested on chairs grouped along the sides of the room.
Royal guided her to a seat and whispered in her ear. “You won’t mind if I leave you with the other ladies for a moment, will you? I’d like to make a donation to the cause.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll be fine.”
He gave a half bow and skirted the room, heading for a decorated booth near the musicians’ platform.
“Faith?”
Faith suppressed a groan when she saw Nelda Raines mincing toward her with exaggerated daintiness. Trapped. During her years at Noble Springs Academy, Nelda was one girl she’d learned to avoid. No one took more pleasure in spreading bad news, whether or not it was true.
Nelda sank into an empty chair. “Did I see you come in with that Royal Baxter? Calls himself a major?” She fanned herself. “My dear, haven’t you heard about him?”
“What is it you think I should know?” She glanced across the room, hoping for rescue, but Royal stood at the donation booth, chatting with a gray-haired lady wearing mourning clothes.
“Well,” Nelda leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s fickle. One lady friend after another. Leads them on, then drops them. You’d best be careful.” She batted her blonde lashes, looking like a nearsighted mouse. “I thought you should hear the news from a friend—for your
own good, of course.”
“How on earth would you know that? Unless you . . .”
Nelda’s cheeks turned a mottled red. “Me? Of course not! But a man like that—dashing, handsome—what do you think he’s been doing during the years he’s been away?”
“Since he was in the militia, I assumed he was fighting a war.” Blood pounded in Faith’s ears. “When did he become your business, Nelda?”
The music stopped, and the other woman’s response sounded loud over the shuffle of dancers moving toward their seats. “He’s not. I just felt—as your friend—”
Curious glances came their way.
Faith stood. “I’m sure I’ve taken enough of your time. Your companions must be wondering where you’ve gone.” She turned and walked away, not caring where she went. What difference did it make what Royal had done before they met? She bit her lip.
All the difference in the world.
At the entrance, she paused, inhaling the sweet aroma of forsythia from sprays arched around the doorway. As her pulse slowed, Faith acknowledged her foolishness. Twelve days ago Royal hadn’t known who she was. She had no claim on him other than as a dance partner for one evening. Raising her chin, she searched the room and smiled when he strode her way.
“Are you ready for a waltz?” He placed his hand over hers. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
Her heart skittered when he drew her to him. “So have I.”
For a few moments, she lost herself in the intoxicating pleasure of gliding over the floor following Royal’s lead. When she glanced up, his eyes met hers.
“You’re a quiet one.”
She chuckled. “Not always. In fact, I was about to ask you what brought you back to Noble Springs. I can’t remember whether you have family here.”
“My family is in Jefferson City. We’re estranged.”
The tone of his voice told her not to ask why.
He pivoted, swinging her around before gliding forward. “As to what I’m doing here, I took my former job at Allen’s Cooperage—not that barrel-making is going to be my life’s work.”
“What do you see as your life’s work?”
Instead of answering, he led her through a complicated series of steps that ended with him closing the space between them. His fingers pressed into the small of her back. When the music ended, he held her hand as he escorted her from the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nelda looking in their direction and whispering to her companion. Faith wondered how much she embellished her story about Royal each time she repeated the tale.
“I haven’t forgotten my question,” she said as he drew a chair out for her and turned his own so that they faced each other. “What do you see as your life’s work?”
He threw his shoulders back. “I plan to enlist in the regular Army, at my battlefield rank. A man of my experience will be an asset with the Indian troubles out west.”
“I’d think you would have had enough of fighting.” She shuddered. “You were blessed to survive.”
“Enough fighting? Perhaps. But not enough of commanding troops. Beats arching staves for a living. As for survival, it’s a matter of skill and luck. I don’t know about blessed.”
Faith thought of her father and brother. Was he implying they lacked skill? Or were simply unlucky?
“You were blessed. In God’s providence, there’s no such thing as luck.”
“If you say so.” His mouth quirked in a smile. “Let’s dance instead of debating.”
Faith awoke the following morning with waltz music echoing through her thoughts. Her feet ached from dancing all evening. After their disagreement about survival, Royal had kept the conversation light, entertaining her with jokes and stories about his coworkers at the cooperage. Closing her eyes, she pictured him in officer’s dress. If he were successful with his goal, he could leave Noble Springs at any time. But while he was here, she’d enjoy his company.
“How was your evening with Major Baxter?” Grandpa asked when she put breakfast on the table.
“Very nice. He’s a splendid dancer.” She decided not to mention Nelda’s gossip.
“I hope he comes to call again. I want to hear about his time with Sebastian and Maxwell.” He cut his fried eggs into square bits and pushed the pieces around his plate.
“He wasn’t sure, Grandpa. Don’t expect too much.”
He gripped the edge of the table. “He’s got to remember. I want to know.”
Faith rested a calming hand on his shoulder. “Now, now. Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not upset.” His fork clanked against the plate. “Please, bring me my hat. It’s time to go. Saturdays are busy at the store.”
Sensing his agitation, she decided not to remind him that he hadn’t helped in the mercantile for weeks. Instead, she went to the entryway and fetched his hat and her shawl. “As soon as I wash these plates, we’ll leave.”
He paced between the kitchen and the front door while she hurried through her task. Maybe seeing Royal again would be a mistake. It might be better if Grandpa forgot about the man’s promise to tell him about his son and grandson.
She threw the damp dishtowel over a drying rack and joined her grandfather.
“About time.” He opened the door and was ready to leave when she noticed a ribbon-tied spray of forsythia branches on the top step.
“How sweet of Royal to leave flowers.” Faith gathered the aromatic bundle in her arms.
Grandpa tapped a white envelope with his cane. “There’s a note.”
“I’ll just take a moment to put these in water, then I’ll read what he said.” While she arranged the bright yellow sprigs in a tall opal ware vase, her mind buzzed with what Royal may have written in his message. What a gentleman. Perhaps seeing more of him wouldn’t be a mistake after all.
She slit the envelope open as they walked toward town.
Miss Faith,
Please forgive my outburst last Monday. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your friendship with my sister. Perhaps you’d also allow me to be numbered among those you count as friends.
Yours in sincerity,
Curt
11
Faith read the note again before tucking it into her carryall. How unusual to have a man ask to be her friend. She thought of Curt as Rosemary’s unpredictable brother. No doubt Grandpa was fond of him, and for his sake she could overlook Curt’s flashes of irritability and long silences.
When they reached the livery, Curt leaned over the corral fence. “Morning, Faith. Judge.” Uncertainty filled his eyes as they sought Faith’s. “Hope the flowers weren’t wilted.”
“They’re lovely. Thank you. Apology accepted.” She sent him her brightest smile.
“Good.” Flushing, he kicked at a post. “Well . . . better get to work.” He loped toward the gate at the rear of the corral.
“He reminds me of your father,” Grandpa said as they walked on.
Surprised, Faith glanced at him. “How? They don’t look a thing alike. Papa’s hair was the same color as mine, and he was short and stocky. Curt’s tall and kind of thin.”
“Not his looks. His behavior. I watched Sebastian when he courted your mother. It’s a wonder she ever said yes, he was so tongue-tied.”
“Grandpa! Curt’s not courting me. You read the note. He’s asking to be friends.”
“That’s what he said. I wonder what he meant.”
She shook her head at Grandpa’s fancy. If Curt were interested in courting her, why hadn’t he asked her to the dance?
Inside the mercantile, Faith studied what was left of the lusterware. Dessert plates, butter plates, soup bowls, demitasse cups. A few of each. Not enough of any one item to sell as a set. She picked a shard she’d missed off the floor and turned to open the doors.
“Right on time,” Rosemary said, entering with Bodie at her heels. She stopped when she saw the meager stack of dishes on a countertop. “Oh, gracious! What happened?”
Faith
pressed her lips together. “I had a little . . . mishap Friday afternoon. This is what’s left of my expensive folly.” She described how she’d bumped one thing and dropped another. “It seemed like they just kept falling and falling.” A giggle bubbled up. “You should have seen the mess. Looked like a tornado went through.”
Faith snorted, then leaned against the counter, laughing. “It’s not a bit funny,” she said, gasping for breath, “but have you ever been angry enough to throw a plate against a wall? Don’t. You’ll just have to clean it up.”
Rosemary tipped her head back and joined in the laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
After a few moments they sobered, patting tears from the corners of their eyes. “The question is, what are you going to do with what’s left?” Rosemary asked.
“I have an idea.”
The bell over the door jingled.
“I’ll tell you later.” Faith said, then turned to greet an older couple who entered. “Can I help you find something?”
“Guess you’ll have to,” the man said. “I’m lookin’ for a new ax handle. You’ve moved things around so much I cain’t find my way.” He pointed to the woman with him. “The wife here wants some thread, ain’t that right?”
She nodded.
Faith gestured in Rosemary’s direction. “Miss Saxon will get the thread, while I show you our fine hickory handles.”
The woman sidled next to her husband and whispered in his ear. His eyes widened as he scrutinized Rosemary. “It’s askin’ enough for me to do business with you ’stead of your grandpap, miss, but I ain’t going to have my wife talkin’ to such as that woman yonder.”
Rosemary’s eyes snapped fire. “I’ll be in the storeroom unpacking the . . .” She waved a hand. “Unpacking something.” She stalked past the couple, her chin in the air.
Faith put out a hand to stop her. “Wait.” She faced their customers. “Miss Saxon will be helping me as long as we own Lindberg’s Mercantile. Her past is to be admired, not condemned. If you don’t wish to trade here, I’m told Hartfield has a fine mercantile. It’s only a couple of hours away.”
