Courting Trouble (11 page)

Mr. Baumgartner set the brake lever and gave a command in Yiddish. The border collie sailed off the wagon and into the circle of boys. They chased the dog, then laughed as the dog chased them. After a while, Shadrach collapsed at his master’s feet, panting, back legs extended, tongue hanging out like a bell pull.

‘‘Whatcha got in yer wagon this time?’’ Jeremy asked.

Mr. Baumgartner opened up the back of his wagon, pushing aside brooms and tinware and a whole tub of shoes. ‘‘I have a hunting knife with a seven-inch clip blade,’’ he said, handing the knife to Jeremy.

The teener held it reverently, touching his thumb to its tip, and a drop of blood instantly appeared. ‘‘She’s a beauty.’’

He gave it back to the peddler without even asking the price, for whatever it was would be too much.

‘‘What about me?’’ Harley asked.

Mr. Baumgartner handed him a china dog no bigger than his little finger.

‘‘It’s Shadrach!’’ Harley exclaimed, showing the treasure to the rest of them. ‘‘You ought to get your pa to buy this, Lawrence. He could buy you whatever you want.’’

Lawrence frowned. ‘‘He don’t like buying from the peddler man.’’

Jeremy nudged him.

‘‘What?’’ Lawrence asked. ‘‘What’d I do?’’

‘‘Nothing, boy,’’ Mr. Baumgartner said, ruffling his hair. ‘‘You’ve not done a thing. But you’ve also not asked about Miss Spreckelmeyer. Don’t you think she might like to see what I have in this wagon?’’

Harley wrinkled his nose. ‘‘Oh, don’t start showing your ribbons and stuff or we’ll be here all day.’’

‘‘Ah, but Miss Spreckelmeyer is special. It’s not the ribbons that catch her eye. Only the goods that promise excitement or adventure will intrigue our fine German
shiksa
.’’

The boys peered into the covered wagon, and Essie felt herself respond to his teasing. ‘‘Did you bring me some excitement and adventure, Mr. Baumgartner?’’

He bowed. ‘‘For you, I bring the world.’’

Harley snorted. ‘‘That won’t fit in yer wagon!’’

Mr. Baumgartner’s black eyes lit with mischief before he disappeared inside the canvas bonnet. They heard him shifting trunks and goods, murmuring to himself in a language they didn’t understand but loved to hear.

Finally he jumped down from the bed. ‘‘I have something especial for you.’’

Essie took the bulky offering and examined it. The block of wood looked to be eight inches in length and five inches wide. It had leather straps with buckles across the top and a long rope on each side. Also attached to the sides were four wheels made of boxwood—two on each side.

‘‘What is it?’’ she asked.

‘‘Wheeled feet,’’ he answered.

‘‘What?’’

He drew out another block of wood exactly like the one she held. ‘‘You strap them onto your shoes. Like a bicycle, except for the feet.’’

Essie stifled a giggle. ‘‘Truly? That’s truly what they are for?’’

‘‘Try them.’’

‘‘But how do you pedal?’’

‘‘You don’t. You just . . . go.’’

She looked between him and the wheeled contraption, tempted beyond belief. They were still outside of town and no one but these boys would see her.

‘‘You must all swear to secrecy,’’ she said.

Jeremy grinned. Lawrence made an
X
over his lips. Harley saluted.

She looked at Mr. Baumgartner. ‘‘I’m going to break my neck.’’

‘‘That’s what you said about the bicycle.’’ He patted the wagon bed. ‘‘Here. I’ll help you put them on.’’

Jeremy made a stirrup with his hands and boosted her up onto the wagon. Mr. Baumgartner placed one of the blocks of wood against his thigh, guided her booted foot on the block, then strapped her in.

When all was ready, Mr. Baumgartner handed her the ropes that were attached to each block. ‘‘Hold on to these.’’

He and Jeremy set her on the ground and held on to her elbows.

She lifted up the ropes of one block like a marionette. ‘‘That can’t be right,’’ she said.

Mr. Baumgartner scratched his beard. ‘‘Perhaps we use the ropes to pull you.’’

‘‘You’ve never seen them used?’’ she squealed.

‘‘Who needs to see them used? They have wheels. You strap them on and go.’’

She arched a brow. ‘‘How?’’

‘‘Give me the ropes. I’ll be the horse. You be the cart.’’

‘‘Absolutely not. You’ll pull my feet right out from under me.’’

‘‘Then bend your knees and lean forward. Jeremy? You get behind her and push. Give me the ropes, shiksa.’’

She handed him the ropes. Jeremy grabbed her waist.

‘‘You ready?’’ Baumgartner asked.

Essie bit her lower lip. ‘‘Giddy-up!’’

Jeremy pushed, the peddler man pulled and Essie screamed, landing with a
thunk
on her backside, skirts tangled.

Baumgartner let out a string of Yiddish, clearly chastising Jeremy for dropping her.

She raised her hands in the air. ‘‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Help me up.’’

They helped her up.

‘‘You pull, Jeremy,’’ Baumgartner said, grabbing her waist tightly. ‘‘Hold on to me, Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’

Essie locked on to his wrists. ‘‘Go!’’

Jeremy pulled, Mr. Baumgartner steadied, and they rolled about a foot before her skirts became tangled in the wheels and both she and the peddler ended up in the dirt.

‘‘Botheration!’’ Essie said. ‘‘I need my bicycle skirt. Here, help me up.’’

They did. She wadded up one side of her skirts and handed them to Harley. The other side she handed to Lawrence, instructing the boys to keep her hem away from the wheels.

They tried again but as soon as Jeremy increased his speed, he jerked her feet forward and they all went tumbling.

Mr. Baumgartner whistled for his dog and positioned him in front of Essie. ‘‘Here, Jeremy. Give Miss Spreckelmeyer the ropes and take my place behind her. Shiksa, hold on to Shadrach’s tail. He will pull you more smoothly, I think.’’

‘‘Won’t that hurt him?’’

‘‘No, no. Won’t hurt him at all. Boys, grab on to her skirts.’’

When all was in readiness, Mr. Baumgartner gave Shadrach the command to go and off they went. This time they made it almost six yards before falling.

‘‘Yes! Yes!’’ Mr. Baumgartner said. ‘‘You have it. Now, again without me. I am going after my wagon.’’

By the time they reached the edge of town, Essie could travel almost twenty yards without falling.

‘‘We’re going to have to stop now, boys, or our secret will be out,’’ she said, breathing heavily.

‘‘Oh, one more time, Miss Essie!’’ Jeremy said. ‘‘Nobody can see us from here. Please?’’

‘‘All right. But after this, we really must stop.’’

It was their best run yet. Shadrach got to going so fast, Essie let go of his tail, Jeremy let go of her waist, and the boys let go of her skirt. Freedom. Blessed freedom. Just before reality struck.

‘‘I don’t know how to stop!’’ she said, rounding a bend in the road. ‘‘Look out!’’ she screamed.

But it was too late. She’d barreled right into Adam Currington, knocking him clear to kingdom come.

chapter EIGHT

ESSIE LAY FACEDOWN in the dirt—her scraped chin throbbing, her palms embedded with gravel, a tear in the elbow of her shirtwaist. But her pride suffered a worse blow than all those put together.

Shadrach reached her first, sniffing and whining. Jeremy, Lawrence, and Harley arrived fast on the dog’s heels.

‘‘Are you all right, Miss Essie?’’

‘‘Bee’s knees, you were goin’ fast!’’

‘‘Do you think Mr. Bum will let me give ’em a try?’’

Essie planted her hands beside her shoulders and pushed up. She hadn’t risen very far when strong hands clasped her waist and lifted her to her feet.

Her legs wobbled and Adam drew her up against his side. ‘‘Woman, what the fiery furnace are you doin’?’’

She pushed a hunk of hair out of her eyes. ‘‘I’m so terribly sorry, Mr. Currington. Are you all right?’’

Chuckling, he smoothed the rest of the hair away from her face. ‘‘Well, Miss Essie, I must admit, you shore know how to sweep a man clean off his feet.’’

The sparkle in his blue-green eyes conveyed genuine teasing rather than the patronizing tolerance townsfolk usually showed her.

She felt herself smiling in response. ‘‘I assure you, that was not my intention.’’

He touched a finger to her chin. ‘‘You look like you been fightin’ a bobcat in a briar patch.’’

‘‘I’m fine, thank you. You can let go now.’’

He continued to hold her. ‘‘What are those things you’re wearin’?’’

‘‘Wheeled feet, I’m afraid.’’

‘‘You shoulda seen her, mister,’’ Harley said. ‘‘Shadrach was pullin’ her and—’’

Jeremy shoved him. ‘‘Hush up. Yer sworn to secrecy.’’

Harley slapped a hand over his mouth and gave Essie an apologetic glance.

Adam quirked an eyebrow, a slow smile creating deep grooves on either side of his mouth. ‘‘Well, now, I like a woman with a few secrets.’’ Leaning over to better see her shoes, he grabbed a handful of skirts and started to lift.

She swatted him.

‘‘Now, Miss Essie,’’ he said, snatching his hand back. ‘‘You throwed me so high I could’ve said my prayers before I hit. Surely yer not gonna keep me from seeing these wheeled feet, are ya?’’

‘‘I’m not entirely sure it would be proper, Mr. Currington.’’

He pulled her more tightly against him. ‘‘Call me Adam,’’ he whispered in her ear, then placed his arm beneath her knees, scooped her up and sat her on the ground. ‘‘Now, show me.’’

But there was no need to, for the large blocks of wood protruded from beneath her skirts.

Adam pushed aside her hems and turned her foot this way and that. ‘‘Woman, has the heat addled your think box? It’d be safer to walk in quicksand than to wear these things.’’

He began to unbuckle them.

Mr. Baumgartner came around the bend, pulling his wagon to a stop. ‘‘Take your hands off her,’’ he said, jumping to the ground.

Adam stilled and rose slowly to his feet. Shadrach growled.

‘‘It’s all right, Mr. Baumgartner,’’ Essie said. ‘‘Mr. Currington was simply helping me with the buckles.’’

‘‘Jeremy will help you,’’ the peddler said.

Jeremy immediately loosened the straps and handed the wheeled feet to Essie.

She scrambled up, ignoring the soreness in her muscles. ‘‘I plowed over Mr. Currington by accident.’’

‘‘What are you doing way out here?’’ Mr. Baumgartner asked him.

‘‘I was lookin’ for the judge, actually.’’ Adam turned his attention to her. ‘‘I saw you pass by earlier and thought you might know where he is.’’

‘‘He’s not in his office?’’

‘‘No, ma’am.’’

‘‘What’s the matter?’’

‘‘We were drilling and when we got about a thousand feet down, oil started fillin’ the water hole. We tried to seal it off, but it’s runnin’ uphill, and it’ll be deep enough to wash a horse’s withers if we don’t do somethin’ quick.’’

‘‘Good heavens.’’ She handed the wheeled feet to the peddler. ‘‘Can you give us a ride to town?’’

‘‘Ye.’’

‘‘Come on, Mr. Currington.’’ She headed to the back of the wagon, Adam right behind her. ‘‘Jeremy, go tell my mother that Mr. Baumgartner is in town and to set an extra plate for supper,’’ she shouted over her shoulder.

Adam tossed her in the wagon, closed the hatch, then leaped over it, knees and feet together. Never had Essie seen such a graceful vault. It took her a moment before she registered his boots were covered in oil.

She quickly grabbed a dripping pan hanging nearby and set it under his feet to keep him from ruining the wagon. The merchandise stacked around them formed a turreted and private alcove. The wheels of the wagon groaned in protest to the pace the peddler set, dirt forming a cloud in their wake.

Adam braced his hand on the floorboards behind her, his shoulder bumping hers with each sway of the cart. He stared at her, but she looked at her lap, out the back of the wagon, and at the various trunks beside her before finally turning to him.

‘‘I must look a fright,’’ she said.

‘‘I do believe you have the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life.’’

‘‘I do?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am. You surely do.’’

The wagon continued to rock, her skirts inching toward him with each bump of their bodies. There was no room to scoot away, so she corralled her encroaching hem and tucked it tightly beneath her legs to keep it from touching his trousers.

‘‘Who’s the peddler man to you?’’ he asked.

‘‘Excuse me?’’

‘‘Why does he get to sit at your supper table tonight?’’

‘‘Oh, I don’t know,’’ she said. ‘‘Papa has a great deal of respect for God’s chosen people. Mr. Baumgartner always stays with us when he comes through town.’’

‘‘Stays with you? He gets to stay with you, too?’’

‘‘Why, yes.’’

Adam surveyed the interior of the wagon. ‘‘Well, I think I might seriously consider becomin’ a peddlin’ man if it means I would get to sit by you at supper and sleep near you at night.’’

Essie straightened. ‘‘Mr. Currington. You mustn’t say such things.’’

‘‘Now, don’t go gettin’ all stiff with me, Essie. I’m just a mite jealous, is all.’’

Jealous? Of what?
But the wagon pulled to a stop before she could voice the question.

Adam stuck his head out the back. ‘‘I gotta go, sugar.’’

They’d stopped at the field bordering Twelfth Street where the water well was being drilled. Her father, along with several other town leaders, had crowded around it.

Adam started jogging toward them. ‘‘Much obliged for the ride, mister,’’ he said over his shoulder.

Essie began to climb out of the wagon, but Mr. Baumgartner came around back, stopping her. ‘‘You’d best stay put, shiksa. Out there is no place for a woman.’’

‘‘Papa won’t mind.’’

‘‘No, but some of those other
goyim
might.’’

She hesitated, wanting to see for herself what was happening. But perhaps the peddler was right. She’d been the focus of much speculation after Hamilton had come home with his new bride. And her current disheveled state would definitely raise eyebrows. She didn’t savor bringing down any more unfavorable talk.

She’d just have to wait until Papa came home to find out what exactly was going on.