by Ann Shorey
25
Faith struggled to her knees, gasping for breath, pain a blazing pitchfork in her ankle. Her bonnet had come loose and dangled in front of her eyes. She flung it aside. Where was Grandpa? Had he been hurt?
Through a haze of tears she saw Curt sprinting toward her. He dropped to one knee at her side. “What happened?”
“I . . . I stepped in a gopher hole. My ankle. I think it’s broken.” Speech left her breathless. “Grandpa . . .”
“He’s coming.” Curt slipped his arms around her waist and with a gentle motion turned her to a sitting position.
She leaned against him, fighting nausea. “It hurts so much.”
Several people gathered around. Her grandfather pushed his way past them. “I woke up just as you fell. Why in heaven’s name were you running in this heat? Was someone chasing you?” He brandished his cane. “You should have called me.”
Faith covered her mouth, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “There were two men fighting. Behind you. They had knives.”
“She’s right,” someone said, pointing toward Court Street. “Sheriff’s got ’em now.”
The two men, hands in the air, were being prodded by Sheriff Cooper in a quick step toward the jailhouse. From the set of his right shoulder, Faith assumed the sheriff had his revolver pointed at their backs. She breathed a silent apology to him for doubting his reason for attending the festivities. Thank goodness he’d been there to stop the fight before anyone, particularly her grandfather, had been injured.
Curt’s voice rumbled in her ear. “What did you think you could do against men with knives?” He drew her closer. “You could’ve been hurt.”
“She is hurt.” Rosemary appeared at her brother’s side. “Please carry her to our quilt so I can see what’s wrong. Be careful.”
Faith drew a sharp breath when Curt lifted her in his arms. The agony in her leg intensified as he stepped across the ground and settled her in the shade of the maple tree. She gritted her teeth to keep from moaning.
Rosemary knelt beside her. Her soft palm stroked Faith’s forehead. “Tell me where the pain is the worst.”
“My right leg.”
Mortified, Faith closed her eyes when Rosemary drew her skirt up. She hoped Curt couldn’t see her exposed limb. Her friend slowly unwound the laces on Faith’s boots, each motion a fresh burst of agony.
Faith caught her lip between her teeth while Rosemary’s fingers probed the ankle area.
“Is it broken?”
“Just sprained. We’ll get you home and soak it in a basin of cold water.”
“So I can go to the mercantile tomorrow?”
“Not so soon—”
“What’s happening here? I heard someone was injured.” Dr. Greeley stepped next to Grandpa and peered down at Faith.
Rosemary sat back on her heels. “Faith caught her foot in a gopher hole and turned her ankle. It’s just a sprain.”
His white goatee seemed to bristle. “I’ll thank you to allow a professional to make the diagnosis.” He turned to Grandpa. “Can you transport her to my office for a proper examination?”
Grandpa looked at Curt, a question in his eyes.
Curt nodded. “I’ll bring the wagon over here. We can meet you at your office, but I don’t think it’s necessary. My sister is perfectly qualified to care for an ankle sprain.”
Rosemary stood, her cheeks redder than the bunting draped over the bandstand. “Let it go,” she said to her brother. “I’ll see you at home.” She stalked away.
“Rosemary.” Faith tried to stand, only to crumple to the ground. Anger at the doctor burned in her throat. “Dr. Greeley, Miss Saxon was a nurse during the conflict. She’s no doubt treated worse injuries than my ankle.”
“She treated them, perhaps, but not before they were diagnosed.”
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Faith avoided the doctor’s eyes by tracking Curt’s path to the wagon. He paused to speak to Amy for a moment, then crossed the street and unhitched Moses.
Amy gathered the discarded picnic baskets and held them in one hand while pushing Sophia’s carriage toward the edge of the grass. When Curt brought the wagon around, she lifted the baby into her arms. He placed the carriage in the wagon bed, then swung Amy up to the front seat.
Faith stifled a jolt of jealousy. Whatever Curt decided to do with his life was his own concern.
“Please stretch out flat.” The doctor lifted one corner of Rosemary’s quilt. “We’ll wrap this around you before placing you in the wagon.”
Her eyes widened at the thought of being transported through town like a stack of lumber. “Why can’t I sit next to Grandpa?”
“We need to keep your leg elevated. From what I could see, it’s quite swollen.” He tucked the corner of the quilt under her hip.
Faith winced at the motion. Perhaps Dr. Greeley was right. She tried to ignore the stares of several small boys who’d gathered nearby while he bundled the quilt from her waist to beyond her toes.
One of the lads stepped forward. “Excuse me, miss, did you drop this?” He held a shiny object toward her. “After that man covered you up, it was sitting in the grass right there.” He pointed to a crushed area where the quilt had rested. “I never stole it, honest.”
With a thrill of recognition, she clasped her fingers around the smooth silver case. “Thank you. I know you didn’t steal it.”
But someone had. It was one of the pocket watches that had been on display in the mercantile.
An hour later, Faith trundled home in the rear of the mercantile’s delivery wagon. An unbidden thought crossed her mind. If she’d said yes to Royal when he first asked, she and Grandpa might already be on their way west and away from the ongoing turmoil stirred up in the wake of the war. Mr. Allen would own the mercantile and its problems.
How foolish she’d been to postpone her decision. She thought of Mr. Allen’s offer. As soon as she could, she’d inform the banker that she was interested. After today’s events, her grandfather was bound to see things her way.
“Are you comfortable?” Curt asked, pushing the curtain aside with one hand while keeping the other on the reins.
She shaped the pillow behind her head into a mound so she could see his face. “This is better than being out in the open with people staring.” Her mouth quirked in a half-smile. “But comfortable? No.”
“After a couple weeks’ rest, your sprained ankle will be as good as new.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to tell Rosemary her diagnosis was correct. Dr. Greeley merely reinforced everything she said.”
Faith had no intention of resting for two weeks, but she didn’t say so. As soon as she could hobble well enough on the crutches the doctor provided, she’d go straight to the sheriff with her find. One of the men he arrested must have been carrying the watch.
She smiled at Curt’s back. Before she and Royal left, she’d have the satisfaction of knowing Curt was no longer suspected of robbing the store. Her smile faded when she imagined herself leaving Noble Springs as Royal’s wife. No more Curt and Rosemary. No more mercantile.
A lump rose in her throat. She forced it down. Grandpa would be happier away from reminders of the war, and so would she. While she waited for Royal’s return from Jefferson City, she’d do all she could to get their affairs in order. He would be pleased.
Curt carried Faith into her house. Her hair tumbled loose, surrounding him with the fragrance of rose oil. He savored the softness of her body against his chest. For a moment, he pretended he was carrying her across a threshold as his wife. Baxter could go hang. Until there was an official engagement, he had an equal chance with Faith.
One day soon, he’d be ready to ask her. All he had to do was give Reverend French the word and the last barrier would be removed.
Amy led the way past the kitchen to the same small bedroom where Faith’s granddad had recuperated from his fall earlier in the year. Curt maneuvered through the hallway with care to avoid striking Faith’s injured foo
t against the wall.
“While you were with the doctor, I freshened the bedding and moved things so you can see out the window,” Amy said to Faith.
“Thank you.” Her voice wavered.
Curt felt her tremble as he placed her atop a quilt spread over the cot. He folded her hand in his. “Rest now. Amy can help you change your . . . garments. Rosemary said she’d look in on you later.”
Faith nodded, shivering.
Past scenes of men in tent hospitals painted themselves behind his eyelids. He drew a long breath and held it for a moment, then moved to the doorway and motioned Amy to follow him. Once in the hall, he spoke in a low tone. “She’s experiencing delayed shock from the fall. Keep her warm and see if she’ll sleep.”
“I’ll be happy to tend to her. It’s the least I can do after all she’s done for me.”
A pang squeezed his chest at the sight of her earnest young face, so pale above her severe black dress. He hoped the day would come when she’d meet someone who’d be as good to her as Joel had been.
Curt placed a hand on her shoulder. “Faith is blessed to have you here. You’ve been a godsend with her grandfather.”
Amy blushed.
He heard a rustling sound from the bedroom. Glancing back, he saw Faith propped on one elbow watching them, sorrow in her eyes.
The popping of firecrackers greeted Curt when he left the Lindbergs’ house. Flinching at the sound, he supposed he’d have to endure the crackling until long past dark. Little boys hadn’t changed since he was a youth.
He untied his horse from the hitching rail and drove the delivery vehicle toward the alley behind the mercantile, where his own open wagon waited. Moses plodded along at his usual snail’s pace. As they approached the jailhouse, the door opened and two sullen-looking men stumbled onto the boardwalk.
Sheriff Cooper leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. “You two git now. Any more trouble out of either of you boys and you’ll spend a few weeks enjoying my hospitality.”
One of the men turned his skinny neck toward the sheriff as though he planned a retort, then looked away. The other clapped a slouch hat over greasy-looking curls and stomped off toward the train station.
The sheriff angled his head at Curt. “Hope you didn’t steal that wagon. Belongs behind the mercantile.”
Seething, Curt pulled up on the reins. “Were those the brawlers you arrested at the festivities?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“They’re the reason I’m driving the Judge’s wagon. Miss Faith hurt her ankle when she saw them carry their fight too close to her granddad. I just got done taking her home from Doc Greeley’s.”
Sheriff Cooper’s expression softened. “I grabbed ’em right after she fell. Sorry to hear she’s hurt.”
“So, why’d you let them go? You know they’ll have a couple more mugs of beer and start all over again.”
“Now you’re a lawman? Let me handle miscreants. You stick to currying horses.” He stepped inside and banged the door behind him.
Curt clenched his jaw, wishing he knew a way to shake Sheriff Cooper out of his shortsighted complacency.
Early Thursday morning, Curt sat across from Reverend French’s desk sipping stout black coffee. No wonder the man was such a passel of energy behind the pulpit. If he started his Sundays with this brew, it was a wonder he didn’t bound up and down the walls of the sanctuary.
“You came for a letter of introduction?” the reverend asked. “You really don’t need one.”
“Then call it a referral. I want something besides my word to prove I’m who I say I am.”
“Your reputation will speak for itself.”
“It’s been more than four years. Reputations are like bread—they’re only good when they’re fresh.”
Reverend French rubbed his upper lip. “Malcolm Robbinette’s the man you want to see. I’ll write the letter now if you want to wait.”
“Thanks, Reverend. I appreciate the boost.”
He opened a drawer and placed a single sheet of paper on top of his spotless desk. After fitting a nib to his penholder, he favored Curt with a warm gaze. “I’ll write this on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Stop calling me Reverend. My name’s Ethan.”
With Ethan’s letter folded in his shirt pocket, Curt strode at top speed across town to the livery stable. Rip had given him permission to arrive after nine, but he didn’t want to abuse the man’s good nature, especially since Rip didn’t yet know he planned to seek another job.
When he reached the livery, his employer burst out of the open double doors. “Of all the days for you to be late. Thought you’d never get here.”
“I’m not late. I asked yesterday—”
“That’s right. You did. Sorry.” Rip tugged at his beard. “I got some bad news this morning. I need you to run things here for a few weeks.”
Curt struggled to frame a response. The letter in his pocket whispered its promises to him. Now that he was ready, he didn’t want to postpone his decision for several weeks.
As the silence between them lengthened, the other man’s eyes grew moist. “It’s my brother in Arkansas,” he said in a choked voice. “His wife telegraphed. He’s dying.”
Ashamed of his selfish reaction, Curt rested a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “Go. Don’t worry about the livery. I’ll take care of everything.”
26
Faith’s ankle throbbed as she swung her legs over the side of the cot. She shouldn’t be lying about in bed. She needed to tell Sheriff Cooper about the watch while the two men were still in jail. Then she had to see the banker about selling the mercantile.
Propelled by a sense of urgency, Faith pushed herself to a standing position, teetering on one foot. Her crutches were propped against the wall just out of reach. Flapping her elbows for balance, she hopped to the wall and grabbed at a crutch, gripping the hand piece while she tried to fit the second one under her left arm. After two wobbly tries, she gave up and hopped back to the cot.
Amy poked her head around the open door. “Did I hear you up and around?”
“Trying to be. I can’t seem to manage those sticks.” She swallowed, hating to ask for more assistance from the already overworked girl.
Amy’s eyes flicked from Faith to the crutches. “Are you sure you’re ready to walk?”
“You heard what Rosemary said. Twenty-four hours.”
“She meant the hot and cold soaks.”
“I’m better now. I know I can walk if you’ll help me get started.”
“We’ll see.” Amy handed Faith her wrapper and waited while she slipped her arms into the soft flannel garment. “Now, hang onto me and stand on your good leg. I’ll give you the crutches one at a time.”
Chafing at Amy’s slow pace, Faith fitted the wooden devices under each arm.
As soon as she rested her weight on her left leg, Amy stepped away. “Now, move both crutches ahead a little bit, then put your weight on them and swing your good leg forward.”
Faith took a tiny step and stopped. “What now?”
“Do it again.”
Another tiny step. Pain pounded through her ankle. Dismayed, she saw she’d moved only a dozen inches closer to the bedroom door. How would she get to town at this rate?
A slight smile tugged at Amy’s mouth while she watched her. “D’you think you can make it to the table? Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Of course I can.” She sucked in a breath. “How do you know so much about crutches?”
Amy lifted her skirt, revealing shiny scars covering her left leg. She touched a finger to her disfigured skin and said in a soft voice, “When I was twelve, sparks set my dress afire. Mama threw water on me, but this leg was burned bad. My papa made me some sticks and taught me to use them.”
“Oh, Amy. I’m sorry.” Faith berated herself for her impatience with Amy’s slowness. If only she’d known. She lurched another step forward. “At this rate,
it looks like I’ll be at home for another day or two. Why don’t you spend some extra time with Sophia? Grandpa and I will be fine.”
“Thank you. I’d love that. I’ll take her for a long ride in her carriage after we eat.”
Faith smiled after her when Amy returned to the kitchen. If Curt’s attraction blossomed into love, Amy’s life would take a glorious turn. A man with his qualities would make any woman a perfect husband.
That evening, Faith showed the silver watch to Rosemary while the two of them sat on the sofa in the parlor. Grandpa had retired early, and Amy was up in her room with a book from their shelves, so Faith could enjoy Rosemary’s company uninterrupted. A breeze from the open window bore the fragrance of the climbing roses her friend had planted that spring.
Faith’s right leg rested on the green brocade ottoman that matched her grandfather’s wing chair. She wiggled her toes inside her white silk stocking. “See why I can’t take the watch to the sheriff? It’ll be days before I can walk all the way to town.”
“More like weeks.”
“Worse yet. There’s no time to lose. What if he lets those men go?”
“Let me show it to him. I’ll explain how it came to light.”
“I can’t ask that of you. You’re already spending your days at the mercantile. Besides, Sheriff Cooper doesn’t seem too friendly to the Saxon family. If you have the watch, he’ll say Curt stole it.”
Rosemary bit her lower lip. “That didn’t occur to me, but you’re probably right.” She stared at the ceiling.
Faith waited, knowing from her friend’s expression that she was formulating a solution.
After several silent moments, Rosemary walked to the window and gazed into the dusk, hands clasped behind her. “Would you have any objection to Sheriff Cooper coming here to talk to you?” She spoke with her back to Faith.
“Do you think he would?”
