Bending Toward the Sun (7 page)

“You have to draw from the boneyard.” Mattie wiggled in the armed chair. “I’m going to win you like Maggie did.” Her green eyes sparkling, she glanced at her twin sister.

Quaid wagged his finger in front of her. “Not so fast, fair lass. I’ve not given up the game yet.” He studied the maze of dominoes stretched across the table, following each of its legs to the foot.

Was that what was going on with Mr. Heinrich? Was Emilie’s father waiting for him to make the next move? To call his bluff? He’d much prefer to do that than what his heart told him was the right thing.

But his friendship with Emilie was not a game.

He studied the soapstone game pieces. It was bad enough that one seven-year-old sister had beat him. He couldn’t let it happen again. When he found his opening, he set his piece at the end of a spotted leg and leaned against the chair.

Mattie
tsk
ed, her smile gone.

Maggie squealed. “I knew he was going to do that. That’s what I’d do.”

“Don’t tell him how to play.”

“It took me awhile,” Quaid said, “but I found it on my own.”

Maggie hugged his neck. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He patted her hand. “You’re happy to have someone around you can beat at dominoes?”

Both sisters bounced red curls in boisterous nods. When he feigned a frown, their giggles filled the room.

Father ambled in with Mother close behind him. “Me son must be losing again.”

“I’ve taught me daughters well.” A sly smile tipped Mother’s mouth. “ ’Twas what we did to pass the time while you were gone.”

“You couldn’t mention my disadvantage before I agreed to a tournament?”

Father laughed and wrapped his arm about Mother’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m a blessed man, Missus McFarland.”

“Indeed you are, Mister. Best you keep that memory close.” She tapped him on the nose.

Quaid felt pangs of longing. He wanted a wife to hold and a houseful of children. Only one woman came to mind. One whose brown eyes sparkled with delight at the sight of a child’s dollhouse.

Eight

E
milie awakened early to work on her Shakespeare presentation. Due to her overactive imagination, she hadn’t made much progress on her speech the previous night. PaPa had suggested she take the day off from the store to attend to her studies. But she had no intention of doing so if there was a chance the merchandise order would arrive. This time she wouldn’t make a fuss over the dollhouses. This time she’d not fly from her father’s presence, or from Quaid’s.

She’d chosen her nicer day dress—a peach colored calico with flouncing at the waist and a touch of cream lace at the neckline. She’d also given extra attention to piling her hair this morning. Now all she needed was for Quaid to arrive in time to admire it … before she left her desk to stock and sweep.

Owen Rengler set a dutch oven on the counter in front of PaPa, ushering in the memory of overhearing the woman who had referred to her husband as
Dumpling
.

My little peach?
Is that what Quaid would call her?

She shook her head. No. If Quaid were ever to assign her a pet name, it’d more likely be
my little bean spiller
. First, Quaid would need to see her as someone who had set aside childish enthusiasm for dollhouses and truly grown into a woman worthy of his consideration.

Time to focus on the stack of vouchers tucked in the ledger.

PaPa walked toward the desk, his thumb hooked in his storekeeper’s apron. “Do you have a listing for the eggs Owen’s missus brought in?”

“I do.” She flipped to Owen Rengler’s page in the ledger. “It was ninety-eight cents, a total of three dollars and five cents.”

Owen adjusted the bowler on his head. “Figured I better take Nelda something special seeing as how I’ve been gone the entire week, and it’s her birthday.”

Emilie didn’t know how much the man’s wife would appreciate a gift bought with her grocery money, but it wasn’t her place to say so.

PaPa wrapped the dutch oven in butcher paper. “You want to use the credit then?”

“Nah. I best not touch Nelda’s credit, lest I find myself eating stone soup for dinner every night this week.”

Smart man
. Emilie alphabetized the vouchers PaPa had taken in yesterday and started recording them in the ledger.

“No time for checkers today, Johann, but I’ll be back later in the week, ready for the challenge.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Disappointment etched PaPa’s thin voice.

She looked up. PaPa was moving slowly today, seemed extra tired lately.

Mr. Rengler had barely cleared the front door when PaPa strolled to the desk and handed her the sales receipt and cash. “Those ovens are fast becoming a bestseller.”

“Good thing I ordered a few more. Should be in this week.”

PaPa removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “You think you can handle the store for a spell?”

“Sure.” She glanced at the mantel clock on her desk. “Maren will come up to work in less than an hour. You going out?”

“I was going upstairs. But if you need something in town—”

“No rush. I can go to the bank this afternoon.”

“Very well then.” He removed his apron. “You need me, take the broomstick to the ceiling over the pickle barrels. I’ll come down.”

The ceiling below his bedchamber. Was he feeling sick again? His slow steps and slumped shoulders did nothing to reassure her. “PaPa?”

He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m fine, Em. Just in need of a little peace and quiet.”

She nodded, fighting the impulse to fetch Dr. Stumberg. PaPa would call it a waste of time and money. The last time the doctor said he was suffering exhaustion. She should be relieved he acknowledged he was tired and was willing to go rest.

An hour later, Emilie had finished her bookwork and Maren was seeing to a customer. Given the freight boats’ schedules, deliveries were usually made midday. She should go check on PaPa, but if he was resting, she didn’t want to disturb him. Instead she walked to Maren at the yard-goods table and whispered, “I’m going to make sure the storeroom is ready for the next delivery.”

“Good idea.” Maren’s dimpled grin spoke volumes. Her friend knew she was hoping to have a few minutes with Quaid before her father interfered.

Emilie had just lifted the broom to sweep when wagon wheels sloshed in the melting snow outside. She stood the broom in the corner, smoothed her skirt, and opened the door. A blast of cold air whipped her lace collar against her neck.

“Good day, Miss Heinrich.” Quaid’s father touched the brim of his battered derby and climbed off the seat. A smooth-faced young man, not yet of shaving age, hopped from the wagon.

Emilie wouldn’t see Quaid today either. She swallowed her bitter disappointment—and a niggling feeling that her father had something to do with Quaid’s absence. Working hard to muster a smile, she stepped off the stoop. “Thank you, Mr. McFarland. And a good day to you. I hope you’re well.”

“Yes ma’am.” He met the young man at the tailgate. “Brought help today. This here’s Jimmie McFarland, me nephew, come to town from Saint Louis.”

“Mr. Jimmie.” She gave him a polite nod, wishing he was Quaid.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” The nephew started hauling crates inside. Real strong for a wiry fellow.

Emilie regarded the elder Mr. McFarland. “Your family, are they well?”

“They’re well, yes. Thank ye for asking. Me twins have me smack in the middle of their little palms. The eldest and his wife will soon give me a grandchild. Me missus is still over-the-moon happy to have her son home.” He glanced toward the door. “But you’re really asking after Quaid, I suppose?”

“Yes sir.”

“He said you two had renewed your friendship upon his return.”

“We did.” Quaid had talked to his family about her?

“He is well. Gone with his brother on deliveries to Saint Peters, and then Frenchtown on their return.”

Mr. McFarland probably preferred to stay close to run the business. Disappointment still stalked her, but it eased her heart a bit that Quaid had a good reason for not making the store delivery himself—his brother needed his help with out-of-town deliveries.

At least it was business, not her father, who had kept Quaid away.

The storm had let up about midnight. Although it had dropped four inches of snow, the sun was now shining, so Quaid carried on with his plans to go out of town. But he hated not seeing Emilie, and doing the right thing had yet to make him feel any better about it.

His brother drove the delivery wagon up Salt River Road toward Saint Peters. Brady had returned from war a year earlier than Quaid and married his school sweetheart who adored him, and now he and Siobhan were starting a family of their own. That’s what Quaid wanted. Instead, he was living in his father’s home, forbidden to see the one lass who had stirred his heart. Shifting on the seat, he caught sight of a hawk perched on a limb looking like a king while he waited for his next meal.

If only he were so patient. It’s not that he begrudged Brady the life he had; it just all seemed so easy for his brother.

Because Brady fell for an Irish girl, whose family couldn’t be happier
.

Quaid hadn’t darkened the doors of a church in more than four years, but he still knew the teachings. Envy was a mortal sin. So now he would have at least two transgressions to confess. Right now, his primary mortal sin of anger toward Johann Heinrich topped an ever-growing list. The man was Emilie’s father. His elder, and someone Emilie loved. He saw no choice but to honor Johann Heinrich’s wishes. He’d found himself asking God to change Mr. Heinrich’s mind toward him. At the least, cause the man to give up on trying to keep them apart.

Perhaps confession would be a better place to restart his prayer life.

“Brother.”

Quaid met Brady’s gaze.

“You got woman troubles?”

“That obvious, is it?”

“Like the nose on your face.”

“That’s pretty obvious, all right.” Quaid pulled his coat tight against the cold that was raging inside and out. “It’s actually father-of-the-young-woman troubles, I have.”

“I figured that’s why you were with me rather than making the delivery to Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery.”

“Yes. Between you and me?”

“I’ve kept your secret about cutting stitches on the bean sack all these years, haven’t I?”

“So ye have.” Quaid rubbed his leather gloves together to warm his hands. “I like Emilie Heinrich.”

A smirk brightened his brother’s green eyes. “If that’s the part I’m supposed to keep secret, I’m afraid you’ve already spilled those beans.”

Quaid nodded. “I told Mr. Heinrich me and Emilie are merely friends.”

“’Tis true?”

“I thought it was.”

Brady’s expression grew serious. “What’d he say?”

“That Emilie is trying to complete her education and I shouldn’t encourage her affections. He asked me to stay away from her, to avoid her.”

“And you’re tryin’ to oblige him.”

“May be a lost cause.”

“And Emilie? Does she see you as a mere friend?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. She seems to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy hers.” And she wasn’t one to put on pretense like an overcoat. Her childlike openness was intoxicating.
“I’d hoped to see you here today.”
Her easy laughter. Her glee when she saw the dollhouse. She was comfortable around him. But that could also be the behavior of a good friend, and nothing more.

Regardless of the depth of her feelings for him, he didn’t wish to stir trouble between Emilie and her father.

Emilie signed the delivery receipt and handed it to Mr. McFarland.

“Thank you, Miss Emilie. Greet your father for me, will you?”

“Yes sir. I’ll do that.”

He quirked a bushy eyebrow. “And I’ll pass your greetings on to me son.”

“Thank you.”

When the McFarland Freight Company wagon rolled away from the store, she closed the door behind her and climbed the stairs to the home she shared with PaPa. He still hadn’t come down. He may not appreciate her checking on him, but it wasn’t like him to spend time upstairs during store hours. Especially on a day she was here and Quaid may have come with a delivery.