Courting Miss Amsel (5 page)

Chapter
FIVE

Joel reached over his head to the highest mercantile shelf and caught the curved handle of the lone oversized kettle. He pulled, but the kettle didn’t budge.

Small hands tugged at his pant leg. “Uncle Joel, can we have some licorice now?”

Robert – always wanting candy when they came to town for their Saturday shopping.

“I . . . already told you . . .” Joel grunted with the effort of removing the kettle from the shelf. Was it caught on something? “If you and Johnny are good the whole time we’re here, then you can each choose a licorice whip. But not . . . until . . . we’re done.”

He gave one more yank and the kettle finally slid from the shelf. The weight took him by surprise, and he lost his grip on it. Robert jumped back as the kettle clattered onto the floor. The lid rolled away, and sand spilled across Joel’s feet.

At the fabric table, Miz Jenkins and her daughter, Maribelle, released surprised squawks. Joel offered a slight shrug and half smile in apology.

The mercantile owner raced around the corner. “What’s – ?” He came to a halt when the toes of his boots encountered the sand. “Joel, where’d that come from?”

Robert pointed to the dented kettle, which now lay on its side. “It all come out of that, Mr. Scheebeck.”

Joel crouched down and began to scoop the sand back into the kettle. “Now I know why the thing was so all-fired heavy. Must’ve been twenty pounds of sand in there.”

Wally Scheebeck scowled. His right foot tapped the wood floor. Then he cupped his hands beside his mouth and bellowed, “Lewis, you get down here!”

Robert dove behind Joel. Scuffles sounded overhead, then feet clattered on stairs. Lewis careened around the corner. He skidded to a stop in front of his father. When he looked down at the sand, he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “Y-yes, Pa?”

Wally pointed to the remaining sand on the floor. “You know anything about this?”

Lewis’s gaze skittered from Joel to the kettle and then to his pa. “I didn’t do it.”

Joel stood, the kettle in his arms. Robert clung to his uncle’s leg, peering out with wide eyes.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Wally caught the back of Lewis’s shirt and gave him a shake. “Do you know how all that sand got in the kettle?”

Lewis fidgeted. “Y-yes, sir. William Sholes done it. He put it in there when he was over last week. Said it’d be a funny joke when someone pulled on it an’ the sand poured down on ’em.”

The boy looked so scared Joel almost felt sorry for him. Almost. If that kettle had come down on his or Robert’s heads, somebody’d be wearing a goose egg. Or worse.

Wally aimed a swat at his son’s rear end, but the boy ducked away. Red-faced, Wally pointed to the back of the store. “Get up to your room an’ stay there!” The boy scuttled off, and Wally turned to Joel. “Don’t know what gets into young’uns sometimes. Fool boys . . .”

Joel handed the damaged kettle to Wally. “They’ll get into mischief, that’s for sure.”

Robert crept out from behind Joel. “William plays lots of jokes. Sometimes they’re mean ones, too.”

Wally harrumphed. “Well, he ain’t gonna be welcome over here anymore. Land-a-mercy, somebody could’ve got hurt!” He shook his head. “Sure am sorry, Joel. You still needin’ a cannin’ kettle? This is the only one I have in stock, and it’s not much use with that big dent in the rim – won’t seal the steam inside. But I can order you a new one from the catalog. Be here in a couple of weeks.”

“That’ll be fine.” Joel had never canned before, but with the boys’ growing appetites, he’d decided it was something he needed to learn. “I figure I can hold off canning my beans, tomatoes, and carrots for another couple of weeks.” He chuckled. “Maybe by then I’ll have all the stalks turned under in my fields and have a little more time for household chores.”

“You still turnin’ them stalks under ’stead of burning ’em off?”

Joel smiled at Wally’s skeptical tone. No one else in Walnut Hill saw the sense of putting those cornstalks back into the soil, but he figured it wouldn’t do any harm and it just might feed the soil something it needed. “Yep. It’s a heap more work than burnin’, I’ll grant you that.”

Wally ambled toward the counter. “Don’t see how you do it, keepin’ up with the farm an’ doin’ all that needs doin’ in the house.”

Sometimes Joel wondered how he managed, too, but with the good Lord’s help, he and the boys muddled through. He glanced at Miz Jenkins and her daughter, who admired a length of pink calico, unaware of his scrutiny. Most men had wives to share the burden of work. It sure would make his life easier if he had a helpmeet. Of course, if he ever married, the woman would have to love his nephews as much as he did – and not see them as an intrusion.

With a grunt, Wally plopped the kettle onto the counter and reached for a broom. While Wally swept up the leftover sand, Joel selected the other items on his list and Robert eyeballed the glass jar holding the long whips of black licorice. Joel ignored Robert’s deep sighs of longing and continued shopping until he’d made a considerable pile on the counter.

Wally put the broom in the corner. “That it?”

“Yep.”

Wally swished his palms together and then retrieved a pad of paper and pencil stub from beneath the high counter. He bent over the pad and began figuring the tab.

Robert licked his lips, his fingertips grazing the jar’s round belly. Joel watched the boy in amusement. The boys had been good all week – behaved themselves in school, did their chores without too much fussing . . . and unlike another boy they knew, never pulled pranks like filling kettles with sand. They deserved a treat.

Joel uncorked the licorice jar and withdrew three whips. “Add this in, Wally.” Robert’s face lit with joy. Joel handed one whip to Robert, stuffed one in his shirt pocket for Johnny, and lifted the third to his mouth. Robert took a mighty chomp, and Joel imitated him.

“You want this on your account?” Wally reached for the black leather-bound book where he recorded amounts owed and paid.

“That’d be fine. I’ll be in the first of the month, like always, to pay it off.” Joel signed his name beside the amount due and closed the book. He turned to lean against the counter, and the little bell above the door clanged. Johnny entered, holding the new schoolmarm by the hand, and headed straight for Joel.

“Uncle Joel, this here is Miss Amsel.”

Miz Jenkins and her daughter aimed curious looks in their direction.

“Hey, Miss Amsel!” Robert waved his candy, his grin revealing black-coated teeth.

The teacher laughed. “It appears you’ve been enjoying something good.”

Robert thrust the limp licorice whip at his teacher’s chin. “Lick’rish. Want some?”

Another laugh rippled. “It’s very kind of you to share, but no thank you.” She lifted her gaze to meet Joel’s. “Mr. Townsend? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He should’ve greeted her first. Joel swallowed the lump of candy in his mouth and swiped his lips with the back of his hand. He hoped his teeth didn’t look like Robert’s. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Miss Amsel’s eyes, a tawny brown with green flecks, crinkled in the corners. The town council had said she was a brand-new teacher, so Joel had expected her to be young – maybe nineteen or twenty. But looking at her up close he could see she was older. Not as old as him – probably not yet thirty – but certainly in her upper twenties. And just why was he worrying about her age anyway?

The women at the table tittered, and he turned his back to them. “I hope Johnny didn’t take you away from anything important.”

She glanced down at Johnny. The tender smile she aimed at the boy made Joel’s heart roll over. “Oh no. He was leaving Mrs. Jeffers’s house as I was walking by. When he said he was heading to the mercantile, I asked if I could accompany him.”

“She’s mailin’ a letter.” Johnny’s skinny chest puffed out importantly. He pointed to the corner of the mercantile, where a windowed partition bore a sign that read
POST OFFICE
. “Want me to put it in the box for you?”

“Thank you, but I still need to purchase a stamp.”

Johnny’s face fell, and Miss Amsel touched his shoulder. “But you could check Mrs. Kinsley’s mail cubby – you know how to read her name, don’t you? – and retrieve her mail for me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Johnny raced for the corner where mail cubbies lined the wall. Robert pounded after him. Her gaze followed the boys, a fond smile curving her lips. Joel remembered his own mother looking at him that way.

“That was real nice of you.” Joel didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she turned her head sharply and looked at him. He added, “The boys like you a lot – talk about you at home all the time.”

A blush formed on her cheeks. “I like them, too. They’re fine boys.”

“Yep, they are.” Joel held the half-eaten licorice whip behind his back. He wished he could throw it away. “But if they ever misbehave, I hope you’ll tell me. They know if they get in trouble at school, there’ll be trouble at home.”

Something flickered in her eyes – gratitude, and something else, too. Maybe worry. But then she smiled. “You needn’t be concerned. Johnny and Robert are very well behaved and always polite.”

At that moment, a scuffle broke out from the corner. Hissed whispers reached Joel’s ears – the boys arguing over who would get to carry Miz Kinsley’s mail to the teacher. Seems he’d bought that licorice a little too soon. He grimaced. “They’re
always
polite?”

She laughed. “At school, yes.”

Joel jammed the piece of licorice whip into his back pants pocket as he walked to the post office corner, aware of Miss Amsel on his heels and the amused gazes of the fabric shoppers. The boys were playing tug-of-war with a short stack of envelopes. He caught hold of each boy by his shirt collar. “You’re gonna spoil Miz Kinsley’s letters if you don’t stop fightin’ over them. Robert, let loose.”

Robert puckered his lower lip but let go. Black smudges indicated where his fingers had held tight.

Joel held out his hand. “Give ’em to me, Johnny.”

“But Miss Amsel said – ”

“And
I
said hand ’em over.”

Johnny huffed in displeasure, but he smacked the stack of envelopes into his uncle’s palm. Joel shot each boy a frown before turning to the teacher. “Here you are, ma’am. Sorry they’re all wrinkled. An’ smudged. Hopefully the letters inside will have fared all right in spite of the rough handling.”

Miss Amsel flicked through the stack, as if examining them for damage. The boys watched her, their faces remorseful. She looked up and grinned. “No harm done. And . . .” She raised the stack and sniffed. “Now they smell like licorice.”

Robert beamed.

Wally bustled over. “Your supplies’re in the wagon, Joel. Miss Amsel, did you need somethin’?”

“A penny stamp, please, and some sugar for Mrs. Kinsley.”

He looked toward the Jenkins women. “You two all right for now? I can call down the missus if you’re ready to have a length cut.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Scheebeck,” Miz Jenkins said. The pair dropped the bolt they’d been examining and moved toward the door. “We’re planning a trip into Lincoln Valley early next week. We’ll probably find something there.” The two left the store, their heads together and tongues wagging.

Wally turned to Miss Amsel. “I’ll getcha fixed right up.” He pulled off his merchant apron before slipping behind the partition. When he appeared in the window, he wore a little blue billed cap over his balding head.

Joel swallowed a grin. Wally took his position as postmaster seriously.

Now that the snoopy ladies were gone, Joel wished he could talk more to the boys’ teacher. But what would he say?
You seem to like my boys plenty good. Do you reckon we could take some time an’ get to know each other?
How silly. A well-bred, educated woman like Miss Amsel wouldn’t be interested in a common corn farmer. Hadn’t she turned down every other wifeless farmer in town? “Bye now, Miss Amsel. We’ll . . . we’ll see you in services tomorrow?”

She looked surprised, but then she gave a quick nod. “Oh yes. Certainly.”

Well-bred, but a churchgoing woman. Before his thoughts tumbled out of his mouth, Joel urged the boys out the door.

Edythe watched Mr. Townsend herd Robert and Johnny out of the store. The tail end of a whip of licorice stuck out of his dungaree pocket. She covered her smile with her fingers. A man with a sweet tooth – endearing.

“There you are.” Mr. Scheebeck slid a stamp across the counter. “That’ll be one cent.”

Edythe placed a penny in the man’s hand and used the little bottle of glue on the counter to affix the stamp. She gave the envelope to Mr. Scheebeck, and he whisked it into a leather pouch. “When will the mail go out?” she asked.

“Monday mornin’.” Mr. Scheebeck hung the cap on a nail and retrieved his apron. “Mail stage already come by today – it’s always here around ten – an’ of course it don’t run at all on the Lord’s Day.”

If all went well, her sister would have the letter in hand by the end of next week. Would Missy reply or ignore it? Thinking of her littlest sister made her heart ache. How she’d hated depositing Missy with their brother Justus when she left, but she’d done the right thing. Her hands were full serving as teacher; she had nothing left to offer Missy. Missy was better off with Justus and his new wife. She only hoped by now Missy had forgiven her for leaving her behind.