Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (12 page)

Faith closed the double doors of the mercantile and pulled the shades down. As soon as she tallied the day’s receipts and swept the floor, she’d be ready to leave. She ran her finger down the ledger entries, adding as she went. The sale to the Potters raised the total higher than it had been since she began operating the business for Grandpa.

She emptied the cash drawer and counted the coins. Potters had paid with bank notes. She’d have to take the paper currency to Noble Springs National Bank first thing tomorrow for deposit. One never knew these days. After dropping the money into a canvas bag, she closed the empty drawer and tucked the bag into her carryall. Grandpa would be pleased to know they’d had such a profitable day.

When she left the mercantile, she noticed two men sitting on one of the benches along the covered boardwalk.

Faith strode past the courthouse, walking faster than normal. A buggy rattled by and she jumped, then laughed at herself. People sat on those benches all the time. She didn’t need to be afraid.

When she turned onto High Street and saw Curt walking toward her, she relaxed. She’d be safe in his company. “How is Grandpa?” she called as he drew near.

“He didn’t answer the door. I thought he’d gone to be with you.”

F
aith’s breath caught in her throat. “I haven’t seen Grandpa all afternoon.” She lifted her skirt above her shoe tops and broke into a run toward their house.

Curt pounded past her. “I’ll let myself in,” he called over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, knowing he was already too far ahead to hear.

The front door stood open when she panted up the steps. She heard Curt’s voice upstairs, calling Grandpa’s name. She dashed toward the rear of the house and peered into the kitchen, then into the small bedroom at the end of the hallway.

Curt clattered down and met her in the entryway. He shook his head.

Faith dropped her carryall and slumped against the wall. “We have to find him.”

“We will.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the parlor. “Sit for a moment and tell me what brought this change in your granddad. He seemed in good spirits at church.”

She dropped onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands. When she looked up, Curt’s image blurred through her tears. “After church . . .” She swallowed. “You know we rode home with the man who sat with us. Royal Baxter.”

Curt’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

She explained Royal’s connection to her father and brother, without mentioning the dance. “When he told us my father had a bandaged arm at the time he saw him, Grandpa got upset. He thinks Papa wouldn’t have been killed if he’d been in an infirmary having his arm tended to.”

Curt’s hand strayed to his neck. His eyes hardened. “Unlikely a sore arm would have made any difference. Men went into battle with worse wounds.”

“When we find Grandpa, you can tell him that.”

“I’m going by myself. You need to stay here in case he just went walking and comes back. He’d be worried if you weren’t home. It’s past suppertime.”

“He’s my grandfather. I’m going.”

He put both hands on her upper arms, holding her in place. “No. I’ll take a horse from the stable and ride out a ways. I have an idea where he might be. You want something to do, pray.”

Faith bit her lip. How many times over these past years had she waited and prayed, often to no avail? She followed Curt to the door and stood gazing after his retreating figure.

“Help him,” she whispered. “Help me.”

Curt saddled his favorite of Ripley’s horses, a roan mare. Rip wouldn’t mind him taking the animal when he explained why. It would be dark within an hour. There wasn’t time for him to go home and saddle Moses.

He rode north on Spring Street and soon left the outskirts of town. The rolling terrain was lush with spring growth on oaks, chokecherries, and hickory trees. Swampy lowland reflected the coral color of sunset from the black water. He swerved right and followed a broad track to the top of a cleared knob.

Inside an iron fence, headstones and crosses dotted the daisy-strewn knoll. Beyond the crest, a bent figure moved among the markers. Curt slipped from the saddle, tied the horse to one of the fence posts, and opened the gate. Not wishing to intrude on someone’s private grief, he moved quietly to the top of the rise.

Judge Lindberg sat atop a low brick wall enclosing a section that appeared to be ten feet square. Honeysuckle tumbled over the sides. When Curt drew near, he read the name “Clara Lindberg” carved into one limestone obelisk and “Helena Lindberg” on its twin.

The older man stood and faced him. Defiance showed in the set of his mouth. “I know Sebastian and Maxwell aren’t here. They’re in the ground in Westport.” He gestured toward the markers. “I had this wall built after my Clara died. Then Helena . . .” Tears shone on his cheeks. “She was Sebastian’s wife, Faith and Maxwell’s mother. She passed when Faith was a girl. I intended this ground for all of us when our time came. I wanted to keep my family together.”

He swayed and Curt strode to his side, clasping him under one arm. “It’s getting late. Faith has supper waiting. Can you ride?”

“Course I can. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

Trudging back to his horse, Curt mentally prepared for a long walk to town. He turned, surveying again the markers spread over the knoll. His vision changed to the sight of battlefield graves—rows of crude wooden crosses jammed in ravaged ground to mark the final rest of so many brave men.

Yet he’d been spared. Reverend French assured him God had a plan for his life. He wished he knew what it was.

Faith paced the hallway from kitchen to front entrance. The sun had set long ago. The roads weren’t safe after dark. Too many stragglers. Some were in search of a new place to settle, others looked for an opportunity to rob a lone traveler. She twisted her hands in her apron, maintaining a silent prayer as she walked. Why hadn’t she insisted on taking Grandpa with her this afternoon? She’d never leave him alone again.

She opened the door for the dozenth time, peering out into the starlit night. The slow plop of a horse’s hooves on the dusty street sounded from somewhere along the road. She leaned outside, straining to see through the darkness. Two shapes appeared, one on horseback, one on foot. Grabbing a lamp from the entry table, she dashed out to the boardwalk.

Yellow light illuminated Curt’s features as he tied the reins to the hitching rail and helped her grandfather dismount.
Thank you, Lord!
Faith sagged against the rail, knees weak with relief.

Curt took the lamp from her hand. “The way you’re shaking, you’re going to drop this.”

“Thank you.” Her voice wavered. She reached for him, then let her hand fall. “I was so frightened.”

Grandpa stepped next to her. “I knew where I was. No need to be upset.” He marched into the house.

“But I didn’t know,” she said to his back.

“He was up at the cemetery.” Curt’s hand rested on her shoulder.

She shuddered. “That place terrifies me. Grandpa tries to make me visit our family plot, but I refuse.” Forgetting propriety, she leaned against him, drawing comfort from his solid presence. “How did you know to search in that direction?”

“I didn’t
know
. Just had a feeling.”

Warmth from his arm flowed through her. “I’m thankful you’re my friend. I don’t know what I’d have done without you tonight.”

“You’d have found someone else.” His voice sounded gruff. He stepped to one side and handed her the lamp.

She glanced up, surprised at his change in attitude. If a more inconsistent man existed, she had yet to meet him. Matching his impersonal tone, she said, “Please join us for some hot soup. I know you must be hungry.”

“I’d best get on home. Rosemary will be worried.”

“She worries about you? Why?” The moment she asked the question, Faith wished she could retract her words. Her question was far too personal.

Curt’s face turned stony. “Guess because I’m her brother.”

“Well, I know that, but—”

“Stop by the livery in the morning and tell me how your granddad’s feeling, would you?” He walked to the hitching rail. While he untied the roan, a rider on a tall black stallion approached.

Faith’s palms moistened. She didn’t need to hold up the lamp to know it was Royal. His timing couldn’t have been worse. She shot a glance at Curt, hoping Royal wouldn’t assume he too had come to call.

Swallowing flutters, she approached the two men. Courtesy dictated that she introduce them. “This is a surprise, Royal. Have you met Curt Saxon?”

“Only at the stable,” he said, dismounting. “How d’you do, Saxon?” He stuck out his hand. “Royal Baxter.”

Curt gave Royal’s hand a brief shake. “Pleasure.”

From what Faith could see of Curt’s expression, the meeting was anything but a pleasure. He swung into the saddle and kicked his horse into a trot.

Royal joined her on the boardwalk. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I’d hoped to have time to talk more with you and your grandfather.”

Flattered at his continued interest, Faith glanced between Royal and the open door. Grandpa waited inside, no doubt hungry and most likely exhausted. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. We’ve had an unsettling evening. Perhaps another time?”

“I hope that Saxon fellow wasn’t the cause of your distress. I can discourage his visits if you say the word.”

“Oh, my heavens, no! Quite the contrary. He’s . . . a good friend.” She took a step toward the house.

Royal moved closer. “Truth be told, I wanted to see you again.” His warm gaze caressed her face. “Would you accompany me on a buggy ride Sunday afternoon?”

“That sounds splendid.” A pulse ticked in her throat.

When he left, she floated into the house. As long as she could prevent him from upsetting her grandfather, everything would be fine.

When Faith answered the door the following morning, Rosemary stood on the porch. “Curt told me about your grandfather’s . . . troubles. How can I help?”

Tears blurred Faith’s vision. “You’re an answer to prayer,” she said, seizing her friend in a hug. “I didn’t know how I could leave him here and operate the store. I can’t expect your brother to run up here all the time to check on him.” Faith knew she was talking too fast. Taking a deep breath, she led the way across the parlor rug, patting a space beside her on the sofa. “Could you please open for me today? I’ll be there as soon as I can convince Grandpa to come with me to town.”

Rosemary’s eyes shone above her gentle smile. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I stay here with him?”

“But you said you don’t want to be a nurse.”

“You don’t need a nurse, just a companion. D’you think he’d mind having me here?”

“If you’re talking about me, the answer is no, I wouldn’t mind.” Grandpa stood in the doorway. “Can you play chess?”

“Curt’s been teaching me, but I have a ways to go before I can beat him.”

Grandpa rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. I’ll go get the board.”

Chuckling, Rosemary stood. “One other thing.”

“What?”

“Would you let my dog come in with us?” She glanced between Faith and her grandfather. “He’s no trouble.”

“Don’t see why not.” His cane tapped on the wooden stair treads as he climbed to his room.

Weak with relief, Faith leaned back on the sofa and blew out a deep breath. When Curt left last evening, she hadn’t known whether he’d want to continue their relationship. She’d thanked him for his help and he’d withdrawn. Then to have Royal arrive—but why should Curt care? All he wanted was friendship, on his terms.