Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (16 page)

“Are you ill?” Rosemary crossed the room. Her customer followed, holding a wood-framed tin washboard.

“No.” Faith glanced at the shopper and sent her what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Please don’t let me interrupt you.” She moved aside so Rosemary could open the cash drawer.

When the customer left, Rosemary crossed her arms over her middle and turned to Faith. “What happened at the bank? Obviously it wasn’t good news.”

She rested a hand on the closed book. “Grandpa’s been neglecting the bookkeeping for some time, apparently. There’s little money left in our account at the bank. I can’t make heads nor tails of these entries.” She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “I don’t know what to do. It appears people owe us money, and heaven knows, we can use it. Should I ask Grandpa?”

“You can ask, but you don’t want to upset him.”

“I know.”

The two women were silent for a moment, then Rosemary said, “Would you mind if I told Curt? He’s a—he’s very good with numbers.”

A stableman, good with numbers? Faith shrugged. “If you think he can help, please do.”

On Sunday afternoon, Faith cast a glance out the kitchen window at rainclouds clustered overhead. She hoped she and Royal would still go on their picnic. She hadn’t seen him since last Sunday’s ride to Pioneer Lake. But he’d said two o’clock, so she’d be ready. The promise of an afternoon with him made the week’s events fade for the moment.

She tucked a napkin-wrapped plate filled with slices of yesterday’s Dolly Varden cake next to a flask of ginger water in the picnic basket, then dashed to the springhouse for the ham salad she’d prepared early that morning. A drop of moisture splashed on her arm. “Oh, go away!” she said. “Come back tonight.”

The cool interior smelled of moist earth. Before removing the cloth-covered bowl from a shelf, Faith paused to listen to the friendly murmur of water bubbling from a gap in the ground. After a moment she realized that some of the watery music was coming from the roof of the springhouse. She tried to swallow her disappointment.

Hugging the crockery bowl close to her middle, she dashed into the kitchen and tucked the salad into the basket. She’d waited all week for this day. Maybe the clouds would blow over.

By two o’clock Faith had changed into a sprigged muslin dress with blue forget-me-nots printed on the fabric and settled in the parlor to wait for Royal. At five minutes past, a covered buggy stopped beside the hitching rail. She jumped to her feet and opened the door before he knocked. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

His gaze took in her clothing and the blue shawl draped over her arm. “Do you always dress to go out just in case someone drops by?” His grin teased. “In any case, I keep my promises. The rain’s a nuisance, but we’re going to have a picnic.”

“I hoped you’d feel that way.” She settled her loosely woven wool shawl over her shoulders, then lifted the basket from the entry table.

He took it from her, hefting it as though weighing the contents. “Feels like quite a feast. Would your grandfather like to join us?”

“How kind of you to ask. He’s spending the afternoon with friends.” Mentally, she thanked Rosemary for her offer, and wondered whether she’d told her brother about their financial dilemma. If she had, Faith hoped Curt wouldn’t question Grandpa during the visit. She cringed at the idea of what might happen if her grandfather became agitated again.

Royal tucked his free hand under her elbow. “Then we’d better leave right away. Wouldn’t want your neighbors to gossip about you entertaining a male caller without your grandfather present.”

The columbines next to the steps resembled fairy flowers in the misty rain. Faith held her skirt above the toes of her boots as they walked to the buggy, conscious of Royal’s firm grip with every step. He certainly knew how to make a girl feel protected.

At Pioneer Lake, Royal stopped in a sheltered spot under the sprawling branches of a white oak. Rain dripped on the canvas buggy cover, a sound almost as musical as the spring bubbling behind her house. A few towhees splashed in a puddle nearby, the white in their tail feathers flashing in the gray light.

Faith arranged the basket on the floor of the buggy between them and filled a plate for Royal, then served herself.

He took a bite of the salad. “Delicious, as I’m sure everything is.”

“Thank you. These are my mother’s recipes.” She picked at her meal, taking tiny bites of the cake between a couple of forkfuls of ham. Hard as she tried to prevent the intrusion, she couldn’t help but worry about finances at the mercantile. They ate in silence for several minutes.

“You’re quiet. Is it too cold out here for you? We can always leave.” Royal rested his empty plate on top of the basket. “I want you to be comfortable.”

She reminded herself that he didn’t like to talk about unpleasant subjects. If she wanted to keep him interested, she needed to be bright and amusing. “I’m fine. Just a bit preoccupied.”

“Can I help?”

If she’d been at all cold, his gaze would have warmed her. His interest seemed genuine.

“I talked to Mr. Paulson at the bank yesterday. It seems the store’s finances are in sad condition—temporarily.” She tried to sound positive. “We’ve been quite busy lately. Customers are outfitting for the wagon train that’s leaving in a couple of weeks, so we’ll soon be fine.” A lump formed in her throat at the idea of the company heading west without her.

Royal shook his head, a sympathetic expression in his eyes. “You’re a woman. You shouldn’t be working in a store anyway. It would be best if you sold the mercantile. That way you and the old man would be set.”

“But Mr. Paulson said this would be a bad time to sell.”

“Bosh. A business in distress is bound to look like a bargain.” He arched an eyebrow. “Anyway, a pretty gal like you is sure to get married. Maybe sooner than you think.”

She flushed at the implication in his words. Was he suggesting—? Disquieted, she placed her dish next to Royal’s on top of the basket. She didn’t know if she could be happy with giving up her dream and staying in Noble Springs as his wife. Something she thought she’d wanted for so long now seemed less desirable than going to Oregon.

He lifted her hand and stroked each finger, then kissed her palm.

Fire raced up her arm. He cupped her head and drew her toward him. His lips touched hers, as gentle as a wisp of smoke.

For a moment she lost herself in the fulfillment of the fantasy she’d carried since she was sixteen. Then she jerked away. “We’d best leave,” she said in a firm voice.

“I apologize. It won’t happen again—unless you want it to.” He winked at her and jumped out of the buggy, untying the reins from a branch while she returned their plates to the picnic basket.

The clouds separated for a few seconds, and sunlight poured over Royal. Was the Lord sending her a message? She hugged her shawl closer, wishing she knew.

On the way back to town, they approached a buggy filled with girls she’d known in her class at the academy. Royal’s head tilted in their direction as he tipped his hat.

Nelda Raines leaned forward and stared.

C
urt stood to one side while Faith’s grandfather opened the door and entered his house. Faith met them in the entry hall, her cheeks pink. He suspected she’d spent time with Royal Baxter. Working at the livery gave him the opportunity to see who rented carriages, and Rip had assigned the covered buggy to Baxter for the weekend.

Jealousy seared across his chest. From all he’d heard, Baxter was a ladies’ man. Faith deserved someone better. Looking at her flushed face and sparkling eyes, he groaned inwardly. If only he could trust himself to be rid of the visions that blasted to the front of his brain when he least expected them, he’d ask for her hand tomorrow. In the meantime, he was welcome in her home. That would have to be enough for now.

Judge Lindberg crossed to Faith and kissed her cheek. “Too bad it rained. Did you cancel your picnic?”

Curt’s ears perked up. Maybe she’d been alone after all.

“No, Royal said we’d go anyway, so we did.” Her flush deepened when she glanced at Curt.

He willed himself not to frown. What Faith did was no concern of his. Not at all. None.

She turned to him. “I baked a Dolly Varden cake yesterday. I’d be pleased if you’d join us for an evening treat.” An expectant expression filled her face.

When she looked at him like that, he couldn’t refuse. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

“Glad you and Baxter didn’t eat it all,” her grandfather said, moving toward the dining table. “Cut me a big slice.”

Curt fell in beside Faith as she entered the kitchen. “Can I help?”

She blinked as though his question surprised her. “Yes, if you want to.” She lifted a cover from the cake and removed three small plates from a cupboard.

His mouth watered at the sight of the four-layer dessert, light and dark layers alternated with garnet red jelly spread between them. “I remember you served this the first time I visited your grandfather.” He shook his head. “Never tasted anything better. Wish you’d give Rosemary the recipe.”

She tipped slices onto plates. “I’d be happy to. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll write it up tonight. You can take it home with you.”

“Be glad to wait,” he said, pleased to have a reason to linger.

Once Faith’s grandfather finished his cake, he went to the parlor and settled in his wing chair by the fire. Curt cleared the table, then sat while Faith copied the recipe from a stained brown cookbook.

After a few moments, she laid the pencil aside. “Did Rosemary tell you about our . . . financial problems?” Worry lines etched her forehead.

Surprised at the switch in topics from cake to finances, he nodded.

“Did you say anything to Grandpa?”

“No. Rosemary cautioned me that you don’t want him upset.”

A relieved sigh escaped her lips, but the worry lines remained. “I don’t know what to do. I stayed awake half the night pondering the situation. There’s a demand for supplies from people outfitting for the trail, yet we can’t order new stock.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Do you think I should try to sell the store, no matter what Grandpa and Mr. Paulson say?”

He wished he could kiss the tears from the corners of her eyes and promise everything would be all right. Instead, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Why don’t you let me look over the ledgers before you decide? Perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“Would you?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow right after you close.”

She swallowed. “Not tomorrow. Mr. Baxter has asked to see me home.”

Curt stamped up the steps and slammed into the living room of the house he shared with Rosemary.

She looked up from the open book on her lap. “Hush. You’ll wake the Haddons.”

He thrust a folded piece of paper at her. “This is from Faith. It’s a recipe.”

“Oh, good.” She unfolded the sheet and glanced at the heading. “Dolly Varden cake. I’ll thank her tomorrow.” She placed the note between pages and closed her book. “Now, tell me why you’re in such a black mood.”

“That Baxter fellow. Faith seems smitten with him.”

“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”

“Hardly. I offered to help her with the ledgers tomorrow evening, but she can’t spare the time. Baxter’s coming to see her home.”

Rosemary stood and placed a hand on his arm. “Did you offer to go on Tuesday?”

“No.”

She released his arm and put her hands on her hips. “You may be my older brother, but sometimes I could shake you. She’s not promised to Royal Baxter. If you’re interested, why don’t you ask her to go for a buggy ride? Or a walk on one of these spring evenings?”

“You know I can’t risk it.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

He turned toward the door. “I’m going out for a while. Don’t wait up.”

“I’ll tell her you’ll be there Tuesday evening.”

Faith perched on a stool next to Curt, who stood behind a counter flipping through last year’s ledger. After several moments, during which the only sound was the whisper of pages turning, he snapped the book closed. “Challenging, to say the least.”

“Can you make sense of any of it?” Her voice squeaked with apprehension.

He slid the current ledger in front of him, opened to Saturday’s page. “Is this the way he taught you to make entries?”

“Yes. Write the name and the amount sold, or what I paid out for supplies.” What had she been doing wrong?

“Where are the weekly totals? The monthly accounting? How do you know whether you’re losing money or making a profit?”

She twisted her hands together. “Grandpa said he’d take care of that part.”

“Faith.” He rubbed his end-of-the-day whiskers while drawing a deep breath. “Even though you know he’s . . . confused sometimes, you still thought he was keeping track? Why?”

She slid off the stool and faced him, hands thrust against her hips. “You make it sound like I’m brainless. If you can’t help me, just go away.” At the stunned expression on his face, her anger deflated. “Forgive me.” She ducked her head and spoke in a strangled voice. “I never had to pay attention to money. It was always there when we needed anything. I honestly didn’t know there was more to do than take deposits to the bank.” Her face burned. She
was
brainless.

Curt took her hands in his. “Let me take last year’s ledger home with me. I’ll make a list of names and amounts owed by the people he gave credit to. We’ll start there.” He released her hands and tucked the book under one arm.

“You said ‘we.’ You mean you’ll teach me?” Her pulse quickened at the thought of his steady presence helping her make sense of their finances. If he told her what to do, she knew she could learn.

He nodded. “We’ll have to find a way to work together without your grandfather knowing what we’re doing. He may take it as criticism.”

Grandpa’s voice sounded from the entrance to the storeroom. “Take what as criticism?”

Faith jumped. She’d hoped he’d stay busy in his makeshift office until time to go home.

He marched across the room, his cane thudding. “You’re not going behind my back to sell the store again, are you?”

“No. Curt is helping me understand . . . bookkeeping.” She flinched inwardly at the half-truth. Once the accounts were corrected, she did hope to sell the mercantile before it was too late in the season to make the journey west. Then there was the matter of finding a driver . . .

“I’ve seen that look on your mother’s face.” Grandpa chucked her under the chin. “There’s more to the story.” He turned to Curt. “I’d rather have you hanging about than Baxter, but I don’t see what business you have poking into my ledgers.”

Curt’s face reddened. “I need them to show her how to balance the accounts.” He stammered out his reply.

“Find a textbook. Leave my ledgers alone.”

Faith stood at her bedroom window in her nightdress, watching ragged clouds scatter the stars. She knew she should have been asleep hours ago. Curt promised to teach her how to total the ledgers, but how could he when Grandpa insisted the books remain in the store?

Maybe Curt could stop in during the noon hour. She shook her head. No. She and her grandfather ate dinner together every noon.

She could copy pages and send them home with Rosemary. No again. It would take forever to duplicate every entry made for the past year and a half.

Her eyelids drooped. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d had some sleep, her thoughts might be clearer. She stumbled to bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. There had to be a way.

When she unlocked the store the following morning, she still had no ideas. As she rolled up the shades, the woodstove regulars marched through the doorway and took their places on both sides of the checkerboard.

“Big doings today, Miss Faith,” Mr. Slocum said, sounding like an announcer at an auction.

“What would that be?” She paused on her way to collect a feather duster from the storeroom.

“Going to get that engine back on the tracks. Horse teams will be here this morning. Railroad company sent a locomotive yesterday. It’s sittin’ next to the station, pretty as you please. Once the engine’s upright, they’ll tow it back to St. Louis.”

Mr. Grisbee inclined his head in her direction. “You going to watch? Everybody will be there.”

She remembered the last time most of the town gathered at the depot. Someone had stayed behind to rob the store. “Probably not. Grandpa would enjoy the excitement, though.”

“We was planning to fetch him out of his hidey-hole.” Mr. Grisbee arranged the game pieces on the board. “Got time for me to whup you before we go?” he asked Mr. Slocum.

“We’ll see about that.” He pushed a black checker forward.

Chuckling, Faith continued to the storeroom. Once the damaged engine had been moved, stranded passengers would be able to continue their journeys. She’d miss the extra activity in the mercantile, even though most of the visitors made no purchases.

She brushed the duster along shelves and countertops, half-listening to the regulars’ good-natured bickering, when the sound of jangling harnesses and pounding hooves carried through the open door.

“Here they are!” Mr. Slocum hopped to his feet. “I’ll go for Nate. Be right back.” He zipped out the door, followed by Mr. Grisbee doing his fastest shuffle.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” he asked.