Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (18 page)

Three young women came down the steps and joined them. She smiled at Hilda and Marguerite, suppressing a groan at Nelda’s presence. Faith introduced Rosemary, noticing that her former classmates greeted her friend with the same warmth they’d have used if she were a leper.

Nelda moved to Faith’s side. “I saw you and Mr. Baxter a couple of weeks ago riding in from the country in a covered buggy. He’s going to ruin your reputation if you’re not careful.” Her pale lashes blinked rapidly. “As your friend, I feel it’s my duty to warn you, since you have no mother.”

“Nelda. Come over here.” A buxom woman wearing an overabundance of ruffles waved from across the lawn.

Faith watched as Nelda scuttled toward Mrs. Raines. Perhaps there were worse things than not having a mother—having one like Mrs. Raines, for instance.

Marguerite winked at her. “Nelda can’t get over Royal Baxter favoring you. She’s swooned over him since before the war. Tell me, what’s your secret?”

Pretty and vivacious, Marguerite had always been the girl most sought after at dances and other social events. Faith couldn’t prevent a smile from crossing her face at the thought of her former classmate asking
her
for advice. She chuckled. “It’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Rosemary stepped next to her. “Maybe it’s Faith’s kind nature.”

“No doubt.” Marguerite’s voice turned chilly when she spoke to Rosemary. “She does tend to welcome the oddest people.”

Her rudeness gave Faith another reason to wish she could leave Noble Springs. How could she ever have envied girls like Marguerite?

She took Rosemary’s arm. “Let’s find your brother. It’s time we left.”

Faith rolled her shoulders to loosen tight muscles. Across the counter, Curt scribbled names and amounts into a notebook. He flipped to a new page and stopped. “What’s this?”

She leaned over and followed his pointing finger.
20327
. “I don’t know—I’ve run across those numbers a few times in this ledger too. I hoped you’d have an answer.”

“Doesn’t mean anything to me.” He rubbed his temple. “You know how your grandfather can be forgetful. Maybe these numbers jumped into his mind and he wrote them down, like he does his stories.”

Faith doubted the explanation. Grandpa’s stories were random. This set of numbers was consistent.

Curt straightened. “Maybe they’re a combination for a lock. Does he keep a money box at home?”

“I’ve never seen one.” A draft blew across her feet. The burlap curtain that concealed the entrance to the storeroom slid forward, then dropped back. She glanced at the front door, but it remained closed. A prickle of alarm marched up her spine. “Did you feel that?” she asked Curt in a whisper.

“What?”

“Cool air, like someone opened a door.” She kept her voice low. “You don’t suppose Grandpa followed us, do you?”

“It’s late. He’s probably fast asleep.”

A floorboard creaked.

Curt’s eyes widened. He tugged off his boots and laid them down without making a sound, then slid from his chair and crept toward the storeroom.

Faith gripped the edge of the counter, listening to the thrum of her heart. Her grandfather would never sneak up on them. She wished she’d listened when he suggested she keep a revolver under the cash drawer.

With a swift movement, Curt flung open the curtain. She hoped he had enough light from the lamp overhead to see into the room. Boots thudded. Another burst of outside air lifted the burlap. She heard crates being shoved aside as Curt pushed his way to the alley door. Then the bolt slid into place and he padded back to the circle of light.

“Couldn’t see a face. Might’ve been another one in the alley.” He pinned her with a stern glance. “Why wasn’t that door bolted?”

“I leave it open during the day so Grandpa can come and go.” She fought to control the quiver in her voice. “I just forgot to secure it when we left today.”

He gathered her hands in his. “You’ve got to be more careful. You’ve been robbed once, and it looks to me like whoever it was came back for more.” The expression on his face conveyed a depth to his feelings she hadn’t seen before.

She swallowed the flutter in her throat at the sensation of his large hands enclosing hers.
What would it be like—?

Stop it
, she told herself.
He’s only worried about a robbery.
Drawing away, she lifted a pencil. “Maybe we should see if we can finish this tonight.”

Curt’s face flushed. He took his boots from the countertop and slid his feet into them. “I’d rather look around outside. We’ll finish another time.” He closed the ledger he’d been using. “Stay here. I’ll walk you home in a few minutes.”

After he left, she leaned forward and rested her head on her arms. Her whole body trembled.
Thank you, Lord, that Curt was here
.

T
wo evenings later, Faith and Curt stood in the mercantile beaming at each other. “We did it.” She held up the list of uncollected debts. Names covered two pages, including those who had the mysterious numbers below their purchases. She turned and paced toward empty shelves. “We’ll soon be able to replace our stocks.”

She swung around and faced Curt. “I can’t thank you enough. I’d never have been able to do this without you.”

A pleased smile crossed his face. “Now you need to remember to keep track like I showed you, so you’ll always know how much you have in the bank.”

“I will.” She thought again how handsome he looked when his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You may not be able to collect from everyone.”

Deflated, she eyed him. “Why not?”

“These are hard times. Some folks won’t have the money. That’s why they ran up a debt in the first place.”

She rattled the list in front of him. “There are customers on here who come in every week. They just need a reminder. I’ll start first thing tomorrow with Mrs. Wylie. She’s had her eye on that glass caster set over there, and she said she’d be in Friday to buy it.”

He gave her an indulgent look. “I hope everything goes as smoothly as you think it will.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” She shook her head. Curt could be so gloomy at times.

Faith turned to Rosemary when she saw Mrs. Wylie approach the front doors. “She’s the first person I plan to ask about paying up old accounts. Grandpa said not to give her credit, but he didn’t tell me about their back debts. I know they have the money.”

Rosemary raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I should talk to her. Let her be angry with me, rather than you.”

“My grandfather got us into this. It’s up to me to get us out.”

“Then I’ll be in the back praying.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “Call me if I can help.”

Faith turned toward the door when the bell chimed, arranging her face in her brightest smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Wylie. Are you here for the caster set?”

“I want to take one more look before I decide.” She swept past in a cloud of lavender scent. After fingering one of the pressed glass cruets, she turned. “This set will do nicely. You’ll have it delivered?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. It’s too small an item to warrant hiring a horse.” Faith held her breath. They needed this sale.

The yellow flowers on Mrs. Wylie’s bonnet quivered. “I wish your grandfather was here. He’s a more accommodating person.”

Faith lifted the caster set by its silver handle and carried it to a counter where she kept a stack of newsprint. Placing one of the cruets on a sheet, she tucked the edges under and rolled the paper tight. “I wish he were still interested too, but he’s placed me in charge.” She set the wrapped piece aside and picked up the next one, her hands busy while she talked. “Speaking of my grandfather, he allowed your husband credit for a selection of woodworking tools last fall. When you settle for the caster set, I’d appreciate it if you could clear that debt from our books.”

Mrs. Wylie’s face turned the color of a boiled crawdad. “Mr. Wylie gives me money for the household. He’ll have to settle his own accounts.”

Faith felt perspiration tickle under her bodice. She opened the cash drawer. “There’s also the matter of a toiletry set, a perfume vial, and a porcelain doll. These would be your purchases, I assume?”

“We made our arrangements with Judge Lindberg. You have no right . . .” She sputtered to a stop.

“Yes I do, Mrs. Wylie. We depend on the mercantile for our livelihood.” She held her voice steady, praying that the quaking she felt inside wasn’t visible to her customer.

The woman’s eyes darted between the wrapped caster set and the open cash drawer. With her mouth set in a grim line, she opened her reticule and handed Faith three five-dollar gold pieces. “This should be sufficient.” Her voice could have frozen a July day.

Faith checked her list. “I’m afraid not. If you would ask your husband to drop by, I’ll go over the balance with him.”

When Mrs. Wylie left with her purchase bulging the sides of her carryall, Faith’s knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from sinking to the floor. This was nowhere as easy as she thought it would be. There were two pages of people who owed money to the mercantile. She couldn’t afford to make that many enemies.

Bodie padded over to her and bumped his nose against her leg. Faith reached down and stroked his head. “At least you’re not angry with me, are you?”

“That’s why I like having a dog. They always love you,” Rosemary said, making her way toward the front. She made a “tsk” sound with her tongue. “I could hear Mrs. Wylie clear back in the storeroom.”

“At least she paid part of their bill.” She subtracted the woman’s payment from the amount due. “I don’t look forward to speaking with her husband, though, provided she gives him the message.”

“Why are you putting yourself through this?”

Faith massaged her temples. “Right now, I’m not sure. I wanted to have the shelves fully stocked before asking Grandpa again if he’d agree to sell the business. Royal thinks we should take what we can get right now.”

“Why is this his concern? I know you’ve been seeing a lot of him, but still . . . Has he spoken of his intentions?”

“Not directly. He’s hinted a bit, though.”

Rosemary put a hand on her arm. “Congratulations. From what I hear, it’s a feather in your cap to have captured his interest.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m not sure how I feel about him. His attention is flattering, but I disagree with his opinion about selling. Not that I’m attached to the mercantile, but Grandpa has poured his life into this store. To just let it go in this state seems . . . disrespectful.”

The bell over the door chimed. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” Rosemary said, turning to greet their customer.

What was the right thing? Faith wished she knew. Without Grandpa’s permission, she couldn’t put the mercantile up for sale even if she could collect all the back debts. She slipped down the aisle between the stoves and the wall where the firearms had been displayed. The empty case that had held watches looked sad and dusty. She tightened her jaw. Lindberg’s Mercantile had been a leading business in the community for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t let it die now.

Thunderclouds bruised the sky to the southwest. Faith kept her arm tucked under her grandfather’s as they walked home through the humid June evening. When they approached Ripley’s Livery, she craned her neck to see if Curt might be inside. She had something important to ask him, if she could leave Grandpa for a moment.

“You looking for your young man?” he asked.

Faith drew a quick breath. “He’s not my young man. We’re friends.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me, with all the evenings he’s called to take you out for a stroll. You could do worse, you know. Like that Baxter fellow. Told you before, I don’t think he’s been honest with us.”

She bit her lower lip. “You’re not being fair. Once you get to know Royal, you’ll like him.”

“Bet he can’t play chess.”

“Evening, Judge, Faith,” Mr. Ripley called from the entrance to the stable. He wiggled his eyebrows at Faith. “Reckon you’re looking for Curt. He’s already gone home. I’ll tell him you was here, though.”

“Thank you.” She glanced between him and Grandpa. Let them think what they wanted. “Would you ask him to stop by the store tomorrow sometime if it’s convenient?”

His eyes twinkled. “Sure thing. I don’t mind playing Cupid.”

She opened her mouth to object, then closed it. The more she protested, the less convincing she sounded.

An arrow of lightning zigzagged from one of the clouds, followed by a rumble of thunder. Grateful for the distraction, Faith tugged at Grandpa’s arm. “We’d better get in before this hits.”

When they reached their front walk, a wagon rumbled to a stop next to the hitching rail. A fleshy man wearing canvas pants and a rumpled plaid shirt jumped down and poked a finger in Grandpa’s chest. “My poor wife come home sore upset today, thanks to this gal right here.”

Faith cringed. This could only be Mr. Wylie. As far as she knew, she hadn’t offended anyone else’s wife.

Grandpa confirmed her suspicions when he said, “Calm down, Wylie. Come in and tell me what’s bothering you.” He used his authoritative Judge Lindberg voice.

“Nope. Ain’t got time. Just wanted to give you this.” He handed Grandpa a bank draft. “You can close your books on us. We’ll go to Hartfield from now on.” The irate man stomped back to his wagon and rattled away.

Once inside, Grandpa peered at the draft. “Eighteen dollars.” His forehead wrinkled. “What in the name of heaven did you do to Mrs. Wylie?”

Faith removed her shawl and hung it on the hall tree, stalling for time while she thought of a way to tell him about collecting their debts. She’d hoped she’d be able to order new stock without Grandpa learning about their lack of finances. A look at his confused expression told her it was too late.

“The Wylies owed us more than thirty dollars. This morning I asked Mrs. Wylie for the money.”

“Thirty dollars! How’d you come up with that?”

“Let’s sit in the kitchen and I’ll tell you.”

He stalked ahead of her, his cane rapping on the floor. “This better be good. I’ve known Cletus Wylie for a number of years. Never saw him so angry.”

As Faith explained her encounter with the banker and her subsequent investigation of the ledgers, Grandpa looked stricken. She was careful not to mention Curt’s involvement. The idea had been hers.

She concluded, “So I made a list of debts, and plan to collect them. We can’t get new merchandise unless we pay cash.”

He leaned toward her, both of his hands clasped over the top of his cane. “You be mighty careful when you talk to folks. I won’t have you raising a ruckus all over town.”

“Mr. Wylie raised the ruckus. I didn’t. Not everyone will be so touchy.” She prayed she was right.

Curt grinned at his employer. “She asked for me?”

“Sure did. Looked disappointed you wasn’t here too.” Rip cut open a bag of oats and scooped some into a bucket. “You want to run down there right now?”

“Might as well.” Curt attempted to sound casual. “Shouldn’t be gone long.”

When he passed the courthouse, Sheriff Cooper hailed him from the jail building across the street. “Got a couple questions for you, Saxon.”