Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (10 page)

Sensing his agitation, she decided not to remind him that he hadn’t helped in the mercantile for weeks. Instead, she went to the entryway and fetched his hat and her shawl. “As soon as I wash these plates, we’ll leave.”

He paced between the kitchen and the front door while she hurried through her task. Maybe seeing Royal again would be a mistake. It might be better if Grandpa forgot about the man’s promise to tell him about his son and grandson.

She threw the damp dishtowel over a drying rack and joined her grandfather.

“About time.” He opened the door and was ready to leave when she noticed a ribbon-tied spray of forsythia branches on the top step.

“How sweet of Royal to leave flowers.” Faith gathered the aromatic bundle in her arms.

Grandpa tapped a white envelope with his cane. “There’s a note.”

“I’ll just take a moment to put these in water, then I’ll read what he said.” While she arranged the bright yellow sprigs in a tall opal ware vase, her mind buzzed with what Royal may have written in his message. What a gentleman. Perhaps seeing more of him wouldn’t be a mistake after all.

She slit the envelope open as they walked toward town.

Miss Faith,

Please forgive my outburst last Monday. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your friendship with my sister. Perhaps you’d also allow me to be numbered among those you count as friends.

Yours in sincerity,
Curt

F
aith read the note again before tucking it into her carryall. How unusual to have a man ask to be her friend. She thought of Curt as Rosemary’s unpredictable brother. No doubt Grandpa was fond of him, and for his sake she could overlook Curt’s flashes of irritability and long silences.

When they reached the livery, Curt leaned over the corral fence. “Morning, Faith. Judge.” Uncertainty filled his eyes as they sought Faith’s. “Hope the flowers weren’t wilted.”

“They’re lovely. Thank you. Apology accepted.” She sent him her brightest smile.

“Good.” Flushing, he kicked at a post. “Well . . . better get to work.” He loped toward the gate at the rear of the corral.

“He reminds me of your father,” Grandpa said as they walked on.

Surprised, Faith glanced at him. “How? They don’t look a thing alike. Papa’s hair was the same color as mine, and he was short and stocky. Curt’s tall and kind of thin.”

“Not his looks. His behavior. I watched Sebastian when he courted your mother. It’s a wonder she ever said yes, he was so tongue-tied.”

“Grandpa! Curt’s not courting me. You read the note. He’s asking to be friends.”

“That’s what he said. I wonder what he meant.”

She shook her head at Grandpa’s fancy. If Curt were interested in courting her, why hadn’t he asked her to the dance?

Inside the mercantile, Faith studied what was left of the lusterware. Dessert plates, butter plates, soup bowls, demitasse cups. A few of each. Not enough of any one item to sell as a set. She picked a shard she’d missed off the floor and turned to open the doors.

“Right on time,” Rosemary said, entering with Bodie at her heels. She stopped when she saw the meager stack of dishes on a countertop. “Oh, gracious! What happened?”

Faith pressed her lips together. “I had a little . . . mishap Friday afternoon. This is what’s left of my expensive folly.” She described how she’d bumped one thing and dropped another. “It seemed like they just kept falling and falling.” A giggle bubbled up. “You should have seen the mess. Looked like a tornado went through.”

Faith snorted, then leaned against the counter, laughing. “It’s not a bit funny,” she said, gasping for breath, “but have you ever been angry enough to throw a plate against a wall? Don’t. You’ll just have to clean it up.”

Rosemary tipped her head back and joined in the laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After a few moments they sobered, patting tears from the corners of their eyes. “The question is, what are you going to do with what’s left?” Rosemary asked.

“I have an idea.”

The bell over the door jingled.

“I’ll tell you later.” Faith said, then turned to greet an older couple who entered. “Can I help you find something?”

“Guess you’ll have to,” the man said. “I’m lookin’ for a new ax handle. You’ve moved things around so much I cain’t find my way.” He pointed to the woman with him. “The wife here wants some thread, ain’t that right?”

She nodded.

Faith gestured in Rosemary’s direction. “Miss Saxon will get the thread, while I show you our fine hickory handles.”

The woman sidled next to her husband and whispered in his ear. His eyes widened as he scrutinized Rosemary. “It’s askin’ enough for me to do business with you ’stead of your grandpap, miss, but I ain’t going to have my wife talkin’ to such as that woman yonder.”

Rosemary’s eyes snapped fire. “I’ll be in the storeroom unpacking the . . .” She waved a hand. “Unpacking something.” She stalked past the couple, her chin in the air.

Faith put out a hand to stop her. “Wait.” She faced their customers. “Miss Saxon will be helping me as long as we own Lindberg’s Mercantile. Her past is to be admired, not condemned. If you don’t wish to trade here, I’m told Hartfield has a fine mercantile. It’s only a couple of hours away.”

The man looked like he’d swallowed mustard paste. Red-faced, he mumbled, “I don’t have a couple extry hours. Guess you could show me them handles. Becca, you let that gal git your thread. We got work waitin’ to home.”

After they left, Rosemary turned to Faith. “Thank you. You’d think I’d be used to reactions like that, but they still make me angry.”

“Want to throw something?” Faith offered her a dessert plate.

Rosemary chuckled. “Later, perhaps.”

On Sunday morning, Faith settled next to Rosemary in a pew near the center of the church, with Grandpa and Curt on Rosemary’s left. Within moments the two men were involved in a whispered discussion of classic chess moves.

Faith rejoiced that Curt’s comments drew Grandpa out of the melancholy he’d displayed since meeting Royal. She didn’t know whether to hope Royal remembered where he’d seen her father and brother, or to pray he had nothing to tell them. Either way, his words would leave her grandfather disturbed.

As the congregation rose for the opening hymn, Royal ducked into the pew next to her.

“I thought I’d find you here.” His voice was meant for her ears alone.

She stared at him, surprised to see him in church. “You were looking for me?”

Instead of answering, Royal clasped his side of her open hymnal and drew it toward him. His deep bass voice boomed out the words to “On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand,” while he nodded and winked at her.

Curt leaned forward with a questioning expression on his face. When he noticed Royal, his eyes narrowed.

Faith turned her head toward the front and tried to ignore both of them. It wasn’t easy, with Royal’s warmth on her right and Curt’s scowl scorching her from the left. During Reverend French’s sermon, she dared a glance at Grandpa and saw him staring at Royal. She balled her hands into fists until her nails bit into the palms, wishing Royal had waited a few more days.

They left the church as a group, Curt in the lead. At the entrance, the pastor drew him aside. “Would tomorrow evening be satisfactory?” Faith heard him ask as she passed by and descended the stone steps.

Royal took her arm. “May I escort you and your grandfather home?”

“Thank you, but no. We’re with—” Before she could introduce Rosemary and her brother, Grandpa interrupted.

“Course you can. I want to hear what you remember about my son and grandson.”

Curt joined them in time to hear Grandpa’s response. Faith looked at him, hoping he could see the apology in her eyes. “It appears we will travel home with Mr. Baxter.”

“You should be comfortable. He rented our finest carriage.” He tipped his hat and strode away.

“That fellow needs to learn his place,” Royal said. “Rude for a stableman, wouldn’t you say?”

“Curt and his sister are family friends.” Faith raised an eyebrow. “We don’t speak ill of our friends.”

Royal’s jaw tightened. She watched a brief fight for control cross his face before anger gave way to a thin smile. “In that case, my apologies. Now, shall we leave?”

“Tell me what you’ve remembered about my son,” Grandpa said as soon as they were seated in the carriage.

Faith closed her eyes.
Please, Lord, protect Grandpa from pain.

“To my best recollection, we crossed paths in Jeff City. General Price was trying to break our defenses. I was there with the militia. Your son and grandson were part of the Federal Army, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” Grandpa’s knuckles whitened around his cane. “How did they seem?”

“Like the rest of us. Tired. Looking for the war to end. Your son had his left arm bandaged below the shoulder.”

Grandpa sat straighter. “No one told me that. He was hurt? He should’ve been in a hospital. Maybe then he wouldn’t . . .” He shuffled his feet. Swallowed.

Faith tucked her arm around his. “It doesn’t do any good to think about what might have been. We have each other.”

Tears streaked his cheeks. “I had so much more.”

“They were both courageous men,” Royal said. “You can be proud.”

“Proud.” Grandpa spat the word. “Pride’s not much company on lonely evenings.” He pressed Faith’s hand. “Glad we have Curt.”

Royal slapped the reins over the horse’s back, his lips drawn into a thin line.

On Monday evening, Curt perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair in Reverend French’s book-lined study. Every inch of the small room was in perfect order. The older man’s polished desktop contained one sheet of paper and a Bible sprouting numerous bookmarks. He sat behind the desk, hands clasped across his midriff.

“Tell me how you’ve been handling your episodes, as you call them, since we talked.”

“Only had one last week. I forced myself away.” Sweat stung his forehead.

“Good.”

Curt sprang to his feet and paced. “I’m tired of fighting. Thought I’d be done with it when I came home. Now I battle memories. When will I be able to sleep through the night? Go somewhere and not look over my shoulder? Court a woman?”

Reverend French cocked an eyebrow. “Court a woman? You haven’t mentioned that before. Who’s the girl?”

“Blast my mouth. I didn’t mean anything. Just thinking out loud.”

“Maybe it’s time. Nothing like a good woman to settle a man.”

Curt thought of Faith leaving the church with Royal Baxter. Women were attracted to unscarred men—men who had good-paying jobs. She’d accepted his friendship. That would have to be enough.

He placed his hand on the latch. “Thank you for your time.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry. Last time you were here we talked about turning to prayer when you’re tormented by the past. Did you try that last week?”

Curt resumed his seat, remembering the feeling of peace that had accompanied the vanquishing of his ghosts. He felt himself relaxing. “Yes. It felt good. Like handing off a heavy load.”

“That’s exactly what happened. I believe if you continue, you’ll find that your episodes will gradually cease.”

“How long is ‘gradual’?”

“Only God knows.” Reverend French ran his fingers through his graying hair and cleared his throat. “Have you given any more thought to your former profession? We could use a man with your abilities here in Noble Springs.”

“Same thoughts as courting a woman. I don’t dare.”