Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (25 page)

“One thing we can count on,” Faith whispered to Curt. “Mayor Hayes will treat us to a long speech.”

Several more entries passed by, including a small boy driving a dog cart and waving a flag. The Saint Bernard that pulled him had a red bow around his neck and flags flying from makeshift saddlebags slung over his back.

The home militia unit concluded the parade. As the crowd began to disperse, the soldiers halted, pointed their rifles into the air, and fired three volleys.

Curt froze.

Reacting without thinking, Faith clasped one of his fisted hands between hers. “You’re here with me. You’re home. You’re safe.”

Slowly his hand relaxed. His fingers wrapped around hers. He closed his eyes, breathing in short gasps.

In front of them, the leader of the militia led his men in a brief close order drill, then formed them up to march forward. As they moved down the street, the smell of gunpowder lingered in the air. Curt removed his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I didn’t expect that, or I wouldn’t have come.”

Rosemary hurried over to them. A worried frown creased her forehead. “Are you all right?” she asked Curt.

“Yes. Faith here kept me from embarrassing myself.”

“The Lord helped you. I was just in the neighborhood.” Faith disengaged her hand from his.

“Why don’t we get comfortable? We can listen to the mayor speak and enjoy our picnic at the same time.” Rosemary pointed to their quilt in the shade of a maple tree. Amy sat next to the baby carriage, her dress a pool of black engulfing her slight figure.

“I’m ready to get out of the sun.” Faith exchanged a smile with Rosemary, then turned—and stopped short.

Sheriff Cooper stood near the tree watching them, arms folded over his chest. He tipped his hat. “Morning, folks. Fine parade, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed it was, Sheriff.” Faith’s mind went to the day their store had been robbed. Most of the townsfolk had been gathered near the railroad tracks then too. “But shouldn’t you be uptown keeping an eye on things?”

“Can’t be everywhere at once. Heard there might be a disturbance down here between Rebs and Union men. War’s not over for some, seems like.” His gaze flicked in Curt’s direction and then returned to Faith.

Feeling a surge of protectiveness, she stepped between the sheriff and Curt. “Any progress on finding the thieves who stole our merchandise?” She hoped he noticed the sharpness in her voice.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea who it was.” He tipped his hat again and ambled past them.

“He probably never gives it a thought unless I prod him,” Faith muttered under her breath.

Mayor Hayes concluded his lengthy speech at the same moment Faith rose to gather the picnic leftovers and stow them in baskets. Once the man’s strident oration ceased, sounds of voices raised in argument drifted from beyond the bandstand. Undisturbed, Grandpa dozed, slouched forward on the camp stool Curt had provided for his comfort.

She turned, noticing Curt and Rosemary strolling under the trees with Amy, who pushed Sophia’s carriage over the uneven ground. Faith stared after them. Judging from Curt’s attentiveness, it wouldn’t be long before he courted Amy in earnest. Why else would he continue to call at the house now that they’d concluded their work on the mercantile’s ledgers? A shadow of jealousy stole some of the luster from the afternoon.

Faith picked her way across the grass toward their wagon with a filled basket in each hand. As soon as her friends returned, she’d suggest that Curt take them home. Her grandfather looked ready to tip over in the afternoon heat.

“Look out! They’ve got knives.”

Startled, she pivoted to locate the source of the alarm. A woman pointed in Grandpa’s direction. Behind his slumped figure, a blade flashed in the sunlight.

Two men circled one another, coming closer to Rosemary’s quilt and paying no attention to anything but their dispute. One of the men staggered, his weapon coming within inches of the stool on which her grandfather napped. Didn’t they see him?

Fear coursed over her body. How could he sleep through their grunts and muttered curses? She tore past picnickers, running straight at the two men. Part of her mind recognized that she still carried the baskets. She flung them aside without pausing.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” She waved her arms to attract their attention. A few more yards and she’d be able to thrust herself between the brawlers and her grandfather.

Her right foot sank into a soft mound of earth, twisting her ankle with an explosion of pain. Momentum carried her forward and she sprawled on the ground.

F
aith struggled to her knees, gasping for breath, pain a blazing pitchfork in her ankle. Her bonnet had come loose and dangled in front of her eyes. She flung it aside. Where was Grandpa? Had he been hurt?

Through a haze of tears she saw Curt sprinting toward her. He dropped to one knee at her side. “What happened?”

“I . . . I stepped in a gopher hole. My ankle. I think it’s broken.” Speech left her breathless. “Grandpa . . .”

“He’s coming.” Curt slipped his arms around her waist and with a gentle motion turned her to a sitting position.

She leaned against him, fighting nausea. “It hurts so much.”

Several people gathered around. Her grandfather pushed his way past them. “I woke up just as you fell. Why in heaven’s name were you running in this heat? Was someone chasing you?” He brandished his cane. “You should have called me.”

Faith covered her mouth, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “There were two men fighting. Behind you. They had knives.”

“She’s right,” someone said, pointing toward Court Street. “Sheriff’s got ’em now.”

The two men, hands in the air, were being prodded by Sheriff Cooper in a quick step toward the jailhouse. From the set of his right shoulder, Faith assumed the sheriff had his revolver pointed at their backs. She breathed a silent apology to him for doubting his reason for attending the festivities. Thank goodness he’d been there to stop the fight before anyone, particularly her grandfather, had been injured.

Curt’s voice rumbled in her ear. “What did you think you could do against men with knives?” He drew her closer. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“She is hurt.” Rosemary appeared at her brother’s side. “Please carry her to our quilt so I can see what’s wrong. Be careful.”

Faith drew a sharp breath when Curt lifted her in his arms. The agony in her leg intensified as he stepped across the ground and settled her in the shade of the maple tree. She gritted her teeth to keep from moaning.

Rosemary knelt beside her. Her soft palm stroked Faith’s forehead. “Tell me where the pain is the worst.”

“My right leg.”

Mortified, Faith closed her eyes when Rosemary drew her skirt up. She hoped Curt couldn’t see her exposed limb. Her friend slowly unwound the laces on Faith’s boots, each motion a fresh burst of agony.

Faith caught her lip between her teeth while Rosemary’s fingers probed the ankle area.

“Is it broken?”

“Just sprained. We’ll get you home and soak it in a basin of cold water.”

“So I can go to the mercantile tomorrow?”

“Not so soon—”

“What’s happening here? I heard someone was injured.” Dr. Greeley stepped next to Grandpa and peered down at Faith.

Rosemary sat back on her heels. “Faith caught her foot in a gopher hole and turned her ankle. It’s just a sprain.”

His white goatee seemed to bristle. “I’ll thank you to allow a professional to make the diagnosis.” He turned to Grandpa. “Can you transport her to my office for a proper examination?”

Grandpa looked at Curt, a question in his eyes.

Curt nodded. “I’ll bring the wagon over here. We can meet you at your office, but I don’t think it’s necessary. My sister is perfectly qualified to care for an ankle sprain.”

Rosemary stood, her cheeks redder than the bunting draped over the bandstand. “Let it go,” she said to her brother. “I’ll see you at home.” She stalked away.

“Rosemary.” Faith tried to stand, only to crumple to the ground. Anger at the doctor burned in her throat. “Dr. Greeley, Miss Saxon was a nurse during the conflict. She’s no doubt treated worse injuries than my ankle.”

“She treated them, perhaps, but not before they were diagnosed.”

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Faith avoided the doctor’s eyes by tracking Curt’s path to the wagon. He paused to speak to Amy for a moment, then crossed the street and unhitched Moses.

Amy gathered the discarded picnic baskets and held them in one hand while pushing Sophia’s carriage toward the edge of the grass. When Curt brought the wagon around, she lifted the baby into her arms. He placed the carriage in the wagon bed, then swung Amy up to the front seat.

Faith stifled a jolt of jealousy. Whatever Curt decided to do with his life was his own concern.

“Please stretch out flat.” The doctor lifted one corner of Rosemary’s quilt. “We’ll wrap this around you before placing you in the wagon.”

Her eyes widened at the thought of being transported through town like a stack of lumber. “Why can’t I sit next to Grandpa?”

“We need to keep your leg elevated. From what I could see, it’s quite swollen.” He tucked the corner of the quilt under her hip.

Faith winced at the motion. Perhaps Dr. Greeley was right. She tried to ignore the stares of several small boys who’d gathered nearby while he bundled the quilt from her waist to beyond her toes.

One of the lads stepped forward. “Excuse me, miss, did you drop this?” He held a shiny object toward her. “After that man covered you up, it was sitting in the grass right there.” He pointed to a crushed area where the quilt had rested. “I never stole it, honest.”

With a thrill of recognition, she clasped her fingers around the smooth silver case. “Thank you. I know you didn’t steal it.”

But someone had. It was one of the pocket watches that had been on display in the mercantile.

An hour later, Faith trundled home in the rear of the mercantile’s delivery wagon. An unbidden thought crossed her mind. If she’d said yes to Royal when he first asked, she and Grandpa might already be on their way west and away from the ongoing turmoil stirred up in the wake of the war. Mr. Allen would own the mercantile and its problems.

How foolish she’d been to postpone her decision. She thought of Mr. Allen’s offer. As soon as she could, she’d inform the banker that she was interested. After today’s events, her grandfather was bound to see things her way.

“Are you comfortable?” Curt asked, pushing the curtain aside with one hand while keeping the other on the reins.

She shaped the pillow behind her head into a mound so she could see his face. “This is better than being out in the open with people staring.” Her mouth quirked in a half-smile. “But comfortable? No.”

“After a couple weeks’ rest, your sprained ankle will be as good as new.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to tell Rosemary her diagnosis was correct. Dr. Greeley merely reinforced everything she said.”

Faith had no intention of resting for two weeks, but she didn’t say so. As soon as she could hobble well enough on the crutches the doctor provided, she’d go straight to the sheriff with her find. One of the men he arrested must have been carrying the watch.

She smiled at Curt’s back. Before she and Royal left, she’d have the satisfaction of knowing Curt was no longer suspected of robbing the store. Her smile faded when she imagined herself leaving Noble Springs as Royal’s wife. No more Curt and Rosemary. No more mercantile.

A lump rose in her throat. She forced it down. Grandpa would be happier away from reminders of the war, and so would she. While she waited for Royal’s return from Jefferson City, she’d do all she could to get their affairs in order. He would be pleased.

Curt carried Faith into her house. Her hair tumbled loose, surrounding him with the fragrance of rose oil. He savored the softness of her body against his chest. For a moment, he pretended he was carrying her across a threshold as his wife. Baxter could go hang. Until there was an official engagement, he had an equal chance with Faith.

One day soon, he’d be ready to ask her. All he had to do was give Reverend French the word and the last barrier would be removed.

Amy led the way past the kitchen to the same small bedroom where Faith’s granddad had recuperated from his fall earlier in the year. Curt maneuvered through the hallway with care to avoid striking Faith’s injured foot against the wall.

“While you were with the doctor, I freshened the bedding and moved things so you can see out the window,” Amy said to Faith.

“Thank you.” Her voice wavered.

Curt felt her tremble as he placed her atop a quilt spread over the cot. He folded her hand in his. “Rest now. Amy can help you change your . . . garments. Rosemary said she’d look in on you later.”

Faith nodded, shivering.

Past scenes of men in tent hospitals painted themselves behind his eyelids. He drew a long breath and held it for a moment, then moved to the doorway and motioned Amy to follow him. Once in the hall, he spoke in a low tone. “She’s experiencing delayed shock from the fall. Keep her warm and see if she’ll sleep.”

“I’ll be happy to tend to her. It’s the least I can do after all she’s done for me.”

A pang squeezed his chest at the sight of her earnest young face, so pale above her severe black dress. He hoped the day would come when she’d meet someone who’d be as good to her as Joel had been.

Curt placed a hand on her shoulder. “Faith is blessed to have you here. You’ve been a godsend with her grandfather.”

Amy blushed.

He heard a rustling sound from the bedroom. Glancing back, he saw Faith propped on one elbow watching them, sorrow in her eyes.

The popping of firecrackers greeted Curt when he left the Lindbergs’ house. Flinching at the sound, he supposed he’d have to endure the crackling until long past dark. Little boys hadn’t changed since he was a youth.

He untied his horse from the hitching rail and drove the delivery vehicle toward the alley behind the mercantile, where his own open wagon waited. Moses plodded along at his usual snail’s pace. As they approached the jailhouse, the door opened and two sullen-looking men stumbled onto the boardwalk.

Sheriff Cooper leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. “You two git now. Any more trouble out of either of you boys and you’ll spend a few weeks enjoying my hospitality.”

One of the men turned his skinny neck toward the sheriff as though he planned a retort, then looked away. The other clapped a slouch hat over greasy-looking curls and stomped off toward the train station.

The sheriff angled his head at Curt. “Hope you didn’t steal that wagon. Belongs behind the mercantile.”

Seething, Curt pulled up on the reins. “Were those the brawlers you arrested at the festivities?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“They’re the reason I’m driving the Judge’s wagon. Miss Faith hurt her ankle when she saw them carry their fight too close to her granddad. I just got done taking her home from Doc Greeley’s.”