Courting Trouble (6 page)

If his conscience would let him, he’d write a list of all she offered and all she didn’t. But that would be too cold. Too mercenary. Too unforgiving, by half.

He could hear Essie in the back throwing out a bucket of cleaning water. Humming to herself off key. He had perfect pitch and tuned the church organ by ear every Sunday before services. He could not abide an instrument that was so much as an eighth of a step off. Essie was a full half step off.

Maybe he should make a trip up to the wholesalers in Dallas. Get away for a few days. Think through exactly what he wanted to do.

‘‘Hamilton?’’

He turned. She might have been tidy earlier, but she was a mess now. Her blond hair stuck out in tufts, her hands were red from scrubbing, her apron was filthy, her face was smudged.

‘‘Guess it’s time we call it a day,’’ he said.

She clasped her hands in front of her. Waiting. For something. He racked his mind. It wasn’t payday. Wasn’t . . . anything.

‘‘Did you want something?’’ he asked.

She licked her lips. ‘‘Did you?’’

‘‘No. Not that I can think of.’’

‘‘Oh.’’ She shifted her weight. ‘‘I cleaned up all the top shelves and half of the middle ones.’’

‘‘Excellent.’’

‘‘I guess I’ll finish the rest of them tomorrow.’’

‘‘That’ll be fine.’’

Still she stood there.

He adjusted his glasses. ‘‘Well. Good night, then.’’

She sighed. ‘‘Good night, Hamilton. I’ll see you in the morning.’’

————

Back home in front of the mirror, she pulled the pins from her disheveled hair. The candle on her vanity guttered in the breeze from the open window.

She was losing him. She could feel his hesitation. His doubt. His second-guessing. She had to do something. Fast.

She said her prayers, then climbed into bed. Was it because she got sick? Because she beat Mr. Owen at checkers? Was Hamilton still sore about that bearskin?

Whatever it was, she knew the quickest way to his heart was through his store. She must do something drastic. Something that would bring the town to his store in droves.

chapter FOUR

MORNING DEW DECORATED the lawns of Essie’s neighborhood. Dappled sunlight from the eastern sky splashed onto the shimmering blades butted together like an endless green carpet.

She kept to the road, her strides long and brisk as she headed to the Slap Out, beseeching the Lord to give her a revelation. Some idea, some inspiration that would cultivate customers as numerous as the grass in these yards.

The screams of a child jerked her out of her reverie. Scanning the area, she spotted a young boy and girl in the vacant lot toward the end of the street.

The boy, who couldn’t be more than six or seven, had placed himself between the girl and whatever was frightening them. Arms spread in a protective gesture, he stumbled back. The girl continued to scream and peer around his shoulder.

Lifting her skirts, Essie sprinted to them. As she approached, she recognized Emily Wedick, one of the many Wedick girls, and Harley North, an orphan who lived in the state’s facility just outside of town.

‘‘What is it?’’ Essie gasped. ‘‘What has happened?’’

Harley, brown eyes wide with terror, pointed to a large, flat rock surrounded by weeds. Napping on top of its smooth surface was one of the most gorgeous prairie king snakes she had ever seen.

‘‘Hush!’’ she whispered, laying a hand on Emily’s shoulder. ‘‘You must hush at once.’’

The screams subsided into whimpers.

‘‘Quickly, run next door and ask Mrs. Pennington for a gunnysack. Hurry.’’

The freckled girl darted away to do Essie’s bidding, her long red braids flapping behind her.

‘‘Is it poisonous?’’ Harley asked, his bare feet sticking out of trousers a good three inches too short.

‘‘No, no. On the contrary, it is one of the finest snakes you’ll ever see.’’

During her snake-collecting days, she and Papa had invented a rating system. The yellow-bellied water snake ranked higher than the ribbon snake. The hognose above the water. The rat above the hognose. The speckled king above the rat. And the prairie king above them all.

This snake was an exceptional specimen, with the smooth, dry scales of a recently shed skin. As it glistened in the morning light, she noted spots of chocolate brown speckling its beautiful tan hide, and its small head wore brown lightning bolts.

The girl finally returned and handed an empty flour sack to Essie.

Holding a finger to her lips, she silenced the children. With slow, quiet steps, she advanced, loosening her hold on the flour sack until it gaped open, then, with her free hand, snatched the three-and-a-half-foot reptile from the rock.

Emily screamed. The snake writhed and twisted in Essie’s hand, spraying her with musk, but never attempted to bite her.

She lowered the king into the flour sack, knotted the opening, then spoke to it in a soothing voice. ‘‘Hush, now. It’s going to be all right.’’

‘‘Golly, Miss Essie,’’ Harley said, his eyes wide. ‘‘What are you gonna do with it now?’’

The snake hissed and wove around.

‘‘I’m not sure. Are y’all okay?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ he said, though the girl still hovered behind him.

‘‘Why don’t you walk Emily home, Harley? Think you could do that for me?’’

‘‘I reckon.’’

‘‘Go on, then. I’ll take care of the snake.’’ She waved them off, then headed back home. She’d have to bathe after being sprayed, which would make her late for work. But she wasn’t worried. It was no coincidence the Lord had dropped this piece of manna from heaven. She’d prayed for something better than a black bear hide, and she’d gotten reptile royalty.

Everything was going to be fine now. Just fine.

————

Essie set the flour sack, snake and all, just outside the back door of the Slap Out.

‘‘Sorry I’m late,’’ she said, entering the storage room.

Hamilton hoisted a bag of grain onto his shoulder, then turned. ‘‘Is everything all right? You’re not sick again, are you?’’

‘‘Good heavens, no. I hardly ever get sick.’’ She tied her apron on. ‘‘I figured I’d go ahead and start on the rest of these shelves. You think you could mind the store without me for a while?’’

He nodded. ‘‘So long as Miss Lizzie doesn’t want any more fabric, I can. But if it gets busy, then come on out front with me.’’

‘‘Will do.’’

The entry door jingled and he strode through the partition. As soon as he cleared the curtain, she grabbed a peach crate, wiped it down and laid a bed of newspaper in the bottom. Rummaging through the shelves, she found a small bowl, an empty cracker box, and a piece of poultry netting.

Outside, she scoured around for a limb, cleaned it and returned to organize the king’s crate. Once all was in readiness, she opened the bag and poured the lightly floured snake into the crate.

He coiled immediately, lifting his head high and furiously buzzing his tail.

Essie smiled. ‘‘You don’t fool me. I’ve known the difference between a rattler and a prairie king since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.’’

The reptile whirred in reverse, darting inside the open-ended cracker box, buzzing away. The front door jingled again.

Essie placed the mesh screen across the opening, weighing it down with a couple of rocks.

‘‘You hungry? Well, you better stop your fussing, then. I have no intention of feeding you anything until you settle down. You hear?’’

The quivering tail rat-a-tat-tatted against the wall of the box.

————

Essie’s stomach growled and she glanced at the clock behind the counter. Almost noon. They’d been unusually busy for a Tuesday. Neither she nor Hamilton had had time to do anything other than wait on customers and it still hadn’t slowed. A couple of women were perusing Hamilton’s selection of garden teas, and old Mr. Mapey was just walking in.

‘‘Hmmm,’’ Mrs. Lockhart said, spinning the catalog toward Essie. ‘‘What about this one?’’

Essie looked at the title Mrs. Lockhart pointed to with her crooked, wrinkled finger. She’d finished reading
Clarabel’s Love Story
in one day and wanted another of Mrs. Clay’s novels.

‘‘Beyond Pardon,’’
Essie read. ‘‘I’m not so sure. Sounds a bit, um, questionable, don’t you think?’’

The woman’s face wilted in disappointment.

Essie absorbed her surprise at Mrs. Lockhart’s tendency toward such silly books. She should undertake a more improved course of reading. ‘‘What about
Ivanhoe
by Sir Walter Scott?’’

Mrs. Lockhart crinkled her nose and squinted at the catalog through her spectacles. ‘‘What about
Only One Sin
?’’

Good heavens. ‘‘Well. I suppose everyone’s sinned at least once.’’

The elderly woman straightened, a triumphant look upon her face. ‘‘Perhaps even twice!’’

Essie nodded. ‘‘Shall I order—’’

A crash, a scream, and a shocking curse from the back room brought everyone to a standstill. The curtained door swished open. Hamilton stood at its entrance, face flushed, eyes snapping with violent anger.

His gaze found Essie at once. ‘‘Get back here.’’

She stood frozen to the spot.

‘‘Now!’’

She jumped. ‘‘Would you excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Lockhart?’’

The woman’s regard bounced between Essie and Hamilton, her eyebrows going up. ‘‘Of course, dear. I’ll just look over the book list a little while longer. You’d best go on, though.’’

Hamilton’s shoulders rose and fell like a bellows breathing a flame to life. He clenched the curtain open with a balled fist, then released it as she slipped by him, cutting them off from curious stares.

Grabbing her arm none too gently, he propelled her around some fallen buckets and toward the peach crate. ‘‘Just what the blazes is that?’’ he hissed.

‘‘A snake?’’

He swore. ‘‘I know what it is, Essie. I meant what is it doing here?’’

She touched her stomach. ‘‘Hamilton! You mustn’t curse.’’

His eyes narrowed. ‘‘Essie Spreckelmeyer, I will commit a much more grievous sin than that if you do not explain yourself immediately.’’

She knelt beside the crate and lifted the top just a crack so he could glimpse the speckled treasure within. ‘‘That’s our bearskin.’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’

‘‘When everyone hears what we have, they’ll come from all over to see it.’’

‘‘You expect me to put that thing out there where my customers are? Woman, are you demented or just plain stupid?’’

She sucked in her breath. ‘‘There is no need to get testy, Hamilton. This is an excellent plan.’’ She snapped the crate lid shut. ‘‘Why, it’s even an answer to prayer.’’

‘‘An answer to prayer?
Satan
uses snakes, Essie, not God.’’

She rose to her full height and brushed the dust from her skirts. ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. God made it and He gave it to me.’’

‘‘Then you can jolly well take it back home with you. I’ll not risk injuring one of my customers.’’

‘‘No, no,’’ she said, clasping her hands in an effort to remain patient. ‘‘It’s not a rattlesnake. It’s not poisonous at all. It’s a prairie king snake. They’re quite harmless and not nearly as irritable as other kinds of snakes.’’

They stood facing each other, the only sound that of the snake’s tail buzzing inside the cracker box.

‘‘Then why is it rattling?’’ he asked.

‘‘It’s only shaking its tail, trying to scare off its enemies. You would, too, if you’d been living in the wild all this time and suddenly found yourself confined to a cracker box. It will settle down.’’

‘‘And what if it doesn’t?’’ he said, his voice rising.

‘‘Hush,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Someone will hear you.’’

‘‘I want that snake out of here.’’

She grabbed his shirt-sleeve. ‘‘Don’t you see? It’s perfect. Most snakes have scars from encounters with their enemies. But this one— this one has no bobbed tail, puckered wound, healed sore or anything. It’s as if God had been protecting it all this time just for us. Why, never have I caught such an exquisite specimen.’’

‘‘
You
caught that thing?’’

She cocked her head. ‘‘Well, of course. Where do you think I got it? The Flour, Feed and Liquor Store?’’

He yanked his arm free. ‘‘It will scare more customers away than it will bring in.’’

‘‘I don’t think so. Especially if we have a snake-naming contest.’’

He crossed his arms.

‘‘Everyone can submit names for the snake,’’ she explained, ‘‘and then we can put it to a vote and whoever wins can receive a prize from the store.’’ She tapped her fingernail against her apron. ‘‘But it must be a big prize. Something that will generate excitement . . . and sales, of course.’’

‘‘A prize? Like what?’’

‘‘Oh, I don’t know. A pocket watch or a brooch or a . . . a camera!

That would be perfect. It would appeal to men, women, and children alike.’’

‘‘A camera? That’s way too much money. I’m not giving away a camera.’’

‘‘I’m not talking about a new order. I’m talking about overstock. Why, you have a Hawkeye Junior up on the shelf right there. Never been opened. I found it when I cleaned up yesterday.’’

He scanned the shelves, then grabbed a large rectangular box. ‘‘This thing costs seven dollars and twenty cents.’’

‘‘Well, yes, but to keep using it, the customer will have to buy glass plates, which cost ninety cents each, or a roll of film, which is fifty-five. Besides, you have two Hawkeyes out in the store going nowhere.’’

He glanced down at the peach crate and scratched the back of his head. ‘‘I don’t know, Essie.’’

‘‘I do. We’ll get the whole community involved. We can take nominations for names this week, give everyone the following week to cast their vote, and announce the winner of the prize the Saturday after that. Townsfolk will talk about the contest in their parlors, at their dinner tables, and at their social club meetings. And if for no other reason than curiosity, they’ll come in to see the snake.’’

She held her breath. She knew it would work. She’d make sure of it.

Handing her the camera, he sighed. ‘‘All right, but you’re in charge of that serpent. I’m not cleaning its cage or feeding it or running this contest. You’ll have to do it all. And if it upsets my customers, it goes. Is that understood?’’