by Ann Shorey
He had to be going to call on Faith. Curt clenched his fists. The evenings they’d spent with the ledgers had started to feel like a real courtship. Weeks had passed since he’d had any recurring visions of wartime. It was time to let her know how he felt.
Curt slipped into the shadows and trailed after horse and rider. Once he reached the Lindbergs’ home he’d tell her, even if he had to say his piece in front of Baxter.
As he passed Dr. Greeley’s office, he heard someone ask, “Going somewhere, Saxon?” Sheriff Cooper stepped out from the shadows. “Been noticing you around town this evening. Let’s see what you’ve got in that bag.”
19
Grandpa glowered at Royal from his wing chair across the parlor. “So you say you knew my son, but you can’t tell me what he looked like. Maybe you didn’t know him at all.”
“Grandpa. Please. Royal came for a pleasant visit, not an interrogation.” Faith glanced between the two men from her position at one end of the sofa.
Royal sat at the other end, a cup of tea balanced in one hand. “Our paths crossed, I’m sure. We didn’t often have a father and son serving together. But know him?” Royal placed his cup and saucer on a side table. “There wasn’t time for that. Wish I could tell you more.”
Grandpa made a derisive sound. “You play chess?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Faith saw her grandfather mouth, “Told you so” as he rose to his feet. “It’s getting late. Reckon you’ll want to be on your way.”
She shot an apologetic look at Royal.
He dropped a wink in her direction, his expression unperturbed. “I came by to ask Faith if she’d like to attend a musicale next Friday evening. Now that the trains are moving again, a gentleman’s quartet will be here from St. Louis.”
“I’d enjoy that. Thank you,” Faith said, hoping to head off any more remarks from Grandpa.
“Good.” Royal took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Until next Friday. Now if you’ll be kind enough to see me to the door, I’ll be on my way.”
She lingered on the porch a moment, watching him ride toward town. A tiny thrill passed through her. If Marguerite were to be believed, Faith was the envy of half the girls she knew. What an amazing turn of events.
The next morning, Faith hummed as she prepared for church. Maybe Royal would be there. She wished she’d invited him. Grandpa’s rudeness had her so flustered she hadn’t been thinking. After checking her reflection in the pier glass on her wall, she sped downstairs. Curt and Rosemary would arrive any moment to take them to services.
Grandpa waited in the parlor, apparently over being crotchety. “Maybe afterwards Curt would like a game of chess. You’d like to spend time with Miss Rosemary, wouldn’t you?”
“Sounds lovely. Rosemary and I are often too busy at the store to visit much.”
Saxons’ buggy stopped out front, Rosemary holding the reins. Faith put a hand to her mouth. A long time had passed since Curt missed church because of headaches. She hurried to the door and opened it just as Rosemary raised her hand to knock.
“You’ve got to come right away. Curt’s in jail.”
Faith clutched her grandfather’s arm as they pushed through the jailhouse door. The stone building stank of stale food, vomit, and unemptied slop pails. She covered her nose with a handkerchief. An interior door comprised of flat metal bars crisscrossed in narrow rectangles blocked the stairs leading to the basement where prisoners were held. Her stomach clenched at the thought of Curt being locked up because of her.
Sheriff Cooper rose and nodded at them. “Judge Lindberg. I didn’t expect you this morning. Or you either, Miss Faith.” His gaze slid over to Rosemary. “Figured you was bluffing when you said the judge would vouch for your brother.”
Faith pounded her fist on his desk. “This is an outrage, Sheriff. Mr. Saxon has been a blessing to Grandpa and me. I can’t tell you how many times he’s stepped in to help us. Let him out this minute!”
“Whoa now. He claims you asked him to go knocking on doors to collect money. That’s where he got that bag full of coins.”
Faith opened her eyes wide. “A bag full? That’s splendid.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Thank you, Curt,” she yelled through the barred door.
“Wait a minute,” Grandpa said to her. “You sent Curt to collect those debts? Thought you were going to do it. Shouldn’t be his job.”
“That’s my opinion, Judge,” the sheriff said. “Thought I’d better lock him up.”
“Now unlock him.” Faith gripped her fingers together. “Grandpa and I will straighten out our misunderstanding. Regardless of who’s right, Mr. Saxon is innocent. Didn’t he show you the letter of introduction I gave him?”
“He did. Not that I believed it. Anyone can write a letter.”
“Let him out, Thaddeus,” Grandpa said.
Grabbing a key ring, Sheriff Cooper flung open the barred door. His boot heels echoed on the wooden steps, then they heard keys jingle and the screech of iron on iron. In a moment he reentered the room with Curt at his heels.
Rosemary rushed to Curt and studied him. “Are you . . . all right?”
“Yes. Fine.” He glared at the sheriff. “Like I told you, that bag of coins belongs to Miss Lindberg. I know how much was in there, so don’t try to cheat her.”
“You’re not making a friend of me, Saxon. Lucky for you the judge is here, or you’d be right back in that cell.”
Faith held out her hand. “The money, please.”
After he handed the bag to her, she turned to Curt. “I am so sorry. We’ll make it up to you somehow.”
He returned her gaze with an expression that melted her all the way to her toes.
The following Friday evening, Faith couldn’t help stealing occasional glances at Royal during the musicale performance. He looked over at her and smiled, then turned his attention back to the stage. Or appeared to. Marguerite had swished up to them when they arrived, batting her vivid green eyes as she demanded an introduction. Once they were seated, she’d placed herself across the center aisle, giving Royal an unobstructed view of her trim figure sheathed in teal green watered silk. Faith felt certain his eyes had drifted from the performers more than once.
On the stage at the front of the hotel ballroom, a pianist accompanied four men dressed in dark trousers and identical scarlet waistcoats. They’d sung several wartime tunes in perfect four-part harmony, and now were tapping their toes and swaying as they sang “Camptown Races.”
The song ended and during the applause she smiled at Royal. “Wonderful music. I’m glad you suggested this evening.”
His eyes met hers. “Good. I hoped you’d enjoy the quartet. Perhaps afterwards we can take a short ride in the moonlight before I take you home.”
The pianist played the introductory bars to “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair.” Royal squeezed her hand. “This should be called ‘Faith with the light brown hair,’ ” he whispered.
She leaned against his shoulder and sighed as the quartet sang through the verses. “I dream of Jeanie . . . I long for Jeanie . . . I sigh for Jeanie.” Maybe she’d imagined his glances at Marguerite.
When Royal drove away from the hotel after the performance, he turned right on King’s Highway. “I thought we’d take a turn around the square.”
“Sounds lovely,” Faith said, relaxing against the cushioned seat. They rolled past the closed mercantile and the newspaper office. Across the street, moonlight transformed the grass behind the courthouse into glittering spears. Over the clop of the horse’s hooves, she heard crickets chirping their evening melodies.
“Seeing the mercantile reminds me.” Royal’s voice cut through the night. “Have you had any luck selling the place?” He guided the buggy left up the next street.
“There are a few things I want to set right beforehand. The business is not for sale at the moment.”
“I told you, just go ahead and sell it. Let someone else take over. You shouldn’t hav
e to be involved.”
She scooted away from his side. “I am involved. My grandfather founded Lindberg’s Mercantile before I was born. I’d be dishonoring his years of work to walk away now.”
“Even for a chance to go to Oregon?” At her surprised expression, he grinned. “I heard about you asking McGuire to take you with his company. What if someone else asked you to go? Would you?” He slowed the horse to a sedate walk, turning onto the street that passed in front of the courthouse.
“Are you asking—?” Out of the corner of her eye, Faith noticed a shadowy figure standing on the courthouse steps. She gasped. “Stop the carriage! There’s my grandpa.”
As soon as Royal drew up on the reins, she scrambled down and ran to the entrance door. Grandpa turned at the sound of her footsteps. “Clara?”
“It’s me. Faith. Your granddaughter. What are you doing here?”
“I have a trial scheduled. You know that.” He wore his black frock coat buttoned over his nightshirt. His feet were shoved into his best boots. Moonlight illuminated his bare calves.
Faith struggled to keep from weeping. She’d dared to think he was better since he’d slept through the evenings she spent with Curt. Slipping an arm through his, she kept her voice gentle. “You’re a little early. Let’s go home now.”
“Who’s out there in that buggy?”
“Mr. Baxter.”
“Do I know him?”
“Yes.” She tugged at his arm.
Royal moved toward them through the shadows cast by an oak tree. “C’mon, old fellow, let’s get you to your house.” He reached toward Grandpa.
“Don’t need your help.” He sidestepped and marched to the buggy.
Faith followed, Royal’s hand on her elbow.
“There’s a place in Fulton for folks like that,” he whispered.
She stared at him, horrified.
“Never.”
Faith watched Grandpa while he ate his breakfast. He’d dressed to accompany her to town as though nothing had happened the night before. After swirling a biscuit through the gravy on his plate, he spoke around a mouthful. “You’re staring at me like I was a stranger. What’s on your mind?”
She set her fork on the edge of her plate. “Do you remember being at the courthouse last night?”
He gaped at her as though she’d begun speaking Chinese. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was home last night. You went to a musicale with that Baxter fellow.” He patted her hand. “Did you have a bad dream?”
It wouldn’t do any good to tell him. If she jogged his memory, he’d only be humiliated at being found in public in his nightshirt, especially by Royal Baxter. In fact, was her evening with Royal the reason for one of his spells?
She stood to clear their empty plates. “Yes. It must have been a dream.”
As they walked to town, she marveled at how he could be so chipper when she’d barely slept for worry. Royal’s suggestion that she put Grandpa in the lunatic asylum in Fulton frightened her. If he slipped into one of his cloudy moments and failed to recover, she didn’t know what she’d do. To see him this morning, such a thing didn’t seem possible. But the concern failed to leave her thoughts.
Rosemary arrived at the mercantile soon after the doors were unlocked, Bodie at her heels. She took one look at Faith and asked, “You have raccoon eyes this morning. Were you out late with Mr. Baxter?” A teasing smile played over her lips.
“Nothing so romantic.” Faith leaned against a counter with her arms folded. “On the way home from the performance we passed the courthouse, and there was Grandpa standing by the door, thinking he had a case to hear. Royal brought him home.” She shuddered. “What if I hadn’t seen him? Who knows where he’d have gone.”
Rosemary hugged her, then stepped back. “I’m so sorry. Where is he now?”
“Working on his memoir, just like always. He’s fine. He doesn’t remember a thing about last night.” She chewed her lower lip. “Royal suggested sending him away to the asylum in Fulton, but I could never do that.”
“Of course you couldn’t. Don’t even consider the idea.”
“That’s all I did last night. I considered his suggestion and then tried to think of how I could manage alone if Grandpa gets worse.”
“You know things always look bleakest after midnight. You’re not alone. Remember that. Curt and I are very fond of your grandfather.” Rosemary put a finger to her cheek. “I’ll brew him a special tea that’s said to help memory. Curt can bring a jarful over this evening.”
Some of the tension left Faith’s shoulder muscles. “The Lord must have sent you into my life. You’re a gift.”
“Fiddlesticks.” Nevertheless, Rosemary looked pleased. She went to the counter where she’d placed her belongings when she entered and drew a canvas bag from her carryall. “If you want a real blessing, Curt has managed to collect from several more names on the list you drew up.” A frown crinkled her forehead. “Remember the man you talked to the other day who said your grandfather gave him merchandise free of charge?”
Faith nodded.
“Curt has spoken with three such people. He doesn’t understand why their debts were listed.”
“I don’t either.” She smiled to herself. Solving the mystery would give her a legitimate reason to spend more time with Rosemary’s brother. She’d raise the subject when he brought the tea.
She took the bag from Rosemary and counted the contents. Curt’s tidy handwriting listed each name and amount. After making ledger entries, Faith consulted her totals. “We can order more stock now. Boots, some firearms—not all, but some—and maybe two or three watches. I can’t wait to see the shelves fill up again.” She clapped her hands in delight.
Bodie jumped to his feet and woofed when she clapped. Faith giggled. “This is a happy day. Seeing the supplies decline has been almost as sad as Grandpa’s spells. If the store prospers, maybe he will too.”
“That’s certainly possible.”
Faith grabbed her reticule and dropped the canvas bag inside. “I’ll go to the bank with this right now. If Grandpa comes in, please tell him I’ll be right back.” She hugged Rosemary and dashed out the door.
The porch roof brought welcome shade from a day that promised to be a scorcher. With the weather this hot in mid-June, she dreaded the prospect of August. Faith hooked her reticule over one finger. Using her free hand, she dug in her pocket for a handkerchief to dab her forehead. As she passed the alley between the mercantile and the newspaper office, someone stepped from the shadows and jostled her.
A man’s voice said, “’Scuze me.”
Faith whirled to see who’d nearly knocked her off her feet, and saw nothing but his back as he ran down the alley toward the railroad tracks. Her breath caught in her throat.
He’d taken her reticule.
20
Faith sat in front of the sheriff’s desk, swiping tears from her cheeks. “I told you, all I saw was his back as he ran down the alley. He had a hat on so I couldn’t see his hair.”
Sheriff Cooper leaned back in his chair, his thin face weary. “Been too much of this lately. Not sure I want to stand for reelection.” He tugged at a corner of his drooping moustache. “How d’you suppose the feller knew you carried all that money?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just thought he was stealing my reticule.” She sniffled. “Imagine his surprise.”
“Who knew you’d be going to the bank this morning?”
“Just my helper, Miss Saxon.”
“Ah, the Saxons.” He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “It’s safe to say if she knew, so did her brother.”
Anger flared through her. “If you’d stop trying to find Mr. Saxon responsible for our misfortunes, you might have time to catch the real thieves.”
“Miss Faith, you forget yourself. I’ve been sheriff here for a dozen years. I know dishonesty when I see it.”
“Apparently you do not. Good day, Sheriff.”
Faith
marched from the jailhouse, spine rigid, mind whirling. There had to be a way to find whoever had taken her reticule. Could he be the same person who robbed the store? And what about the intruder Curt had surprised last week?
Clouds piled overhead, adding to the stickiness of the morning. One thing she knew, she needed to warn Curt of the sheriff’s suspicions.
That evening, she kept watch out the parlor window for Curt’s promised arrival with the tea for Grandpa. A light rain fell, glistening on the pink petals of the climbing rose twining through the porch rail.
She stepped out into the warm twilight, settling into a wicker chair on the covered porch to wait. Moisture plinked from the roof with a musical note, joining drops from the roses and the maple tree to fill the air with an orchestral chorus. Faith closed her eyes, allowing the soothing sounds to cleanse her mind of worry.
She stood when she heard footsteps on the walkway, smiling as Curt approached carrying two jars bound at their tops with a wire handle. Strands of his dark brown hair visible beneath his hat looked almost black with dampness. Once he climbed the porch steps, he shrugged off his oiled coat and draped it with his hat over the chair she had just vacated. “What a nice welcome. I expected you’d be inside where it’s dry.”
“It’s not wet here under the roof.” She took the jars from him. “I love to listen to the rain. The sound is like tinkling keys on a piano.”
An expression of pleasure crossed his face. “We’re kindred spirits, then. Rain always acts as a lullaby for me on restless nights.”
Faith led the way into the house, appreciating the warmth of his closeness. A dozen thoughts tumbled through her mind. Foremost was the importance of warning him about the sheriff.
Then somehow she needed a private moment to talk to him about the customers who claimed to have received merchandise as a gift.
