Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (30 page)

He half-smiled. At least Judge Lindberg wasn’t making it easy. He still hadn’t signed the sale papers for the mercantile.

After bathing, Curt dressed in his Sunday trousers and a crisp white shirt with a fold-down collar. Wearing a jacket was out of the question on such a sweltering afternoon. He brushed his hat until it looked new, then settled it on his damp hair.

He covered the blocks between his home and the academy with a brisk stride. A park-like setting at the north edge of town gave the three buildings on campus a dignified appearance. He could almost imagine himself in St. Louis, teaching mathematics in his former classroom at Spencerhill.

Steady,
Saxon
, he warned himself.
It’s been a long time.

Choosing the largest of the brick structures, he mounted the steps and entered the building. Several open doors lined the hallway. Curt walked through the first one and found himself in a library. He drew a deep breath, savoring the fragrance of dusty volumes.

A rail-thin man rose from behind a table near the door. “Are you looking for someone in particular, or did you drop in to browse our collection? We have some lovely editions of the classics.” His hair fuzzed out around his head like sheep’s wool.

“I was told to ask for Malcolm Robbinette.”

“That would be me.”

Curt extended his hand. “My name’s Alexander Curtis Saxon. Reverend French encouraged me to see you.”

Mr. Robbinette pumped his hand with enthusiasm. “There used to be an excellent instructor at Spencerhill by that name. He was the talk of the academic world in St. Louis before the war.” He cocked his head. “You wouldn’t be the same man, would you?”

Muscles twitched up and down Curt’s spine. He lifted his shirt collar to cover his scar. “I’m . . . I’m what’s left of him.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He looked as though he meant it. “Come back to my office so we can talk.”

Their boot heels echoed on the stone floor as Curt followed the taller man to a room at the end of the hall. Afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, brushing the grain of a substantial oaken desk with amber strokes. Framed diplomas lined wall space above shelves filled with books. Rather than seat himself behind his desk, Mr. Robbinette slid two ladder-back chairs away from the wall, arranging them so that they faced each other.

“Tell me what brings you here,” he said, settling onto one of the chairs. “I hope you’re offering to join our humble faculty. We desperately need a mathematics instructor, but I never dreamed we’d get one of your caliber.” He shook his head. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Sorry. Habit of mine.”

“Reverend French prepared a letter of recommendation for me.” Curt took the folded paper from his pocket and passed it to the other man.

“Looks like it had a rough journey,” Mr. Robbinette said, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth as he scanned the wrinkled missive.

Curt nodded. “I had some hesitation about coming here. I haven’t taught students since before the war. I’m not altogether sure I’m up to it.” He allowed his collar to drop in order to reveal his scar. “This puts some people off. Figure you should know what you’re getting.”

“I’m pretty sure of what we’d be getting to have you teach here. It would be a privilege.”

“Sometimes I have . . . memories. They sneak up on me.”

“Like what happened to your neck?”

He flinched at the man’s boldness but felt relief at the same time. Might as well lay everything on the table. “That was my own fault. Heard a noise outside our tent and stepped out with no weapon. Couple inches closer and he’d have slit my throat. Good thing another trooper heard the struggle.”

“You’re not the only one returning troubled with soldier’s heart. My younger brother’s never been the same, but he carries on with his family and his job.”

At the mention of family, Curt’s throat tightened. To have Faith—and regain his former profession—would be all he could ever ask. He’d have to settle for part of his dream. “So, you’ll take me on?”

“Without hesitation. Come back at the end of August for orientation. In fact, come anytime so we can get acquainted. School year starts mid-September. That’s probably later than you’re used to, but many of our students need to help on the family farm through harvest.”

Mid-September. He’d be able to work at the livery until Rip found a new stablehand. Curt leaned forward. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

After Mr. Robbinette’s effusive farewell, Curt stepped out into the oppressive evening heat, stunned. The interview had seemed too easy.

Thunderheads climbed over each other in the southwestern sky. Illuminated by the sun’s orange rays, they looked like pillars of fire. Awed at the sight, he paused and stared upward, wondering if they were a sign of divine favor.

When he turned his attention to the road in front of him, he noticed a rider galloping south on a tall black stallion.

Curt tightened his jaw.

What Baxter did was none of his affair.

F
aith peered out the front window of the mercantile at the sight of Mr. Bingham’s shabby buggy stopping in front of the boardwalk. “Here she comes again.”

“I hope she brought Cassie with her this time,” Rosemary said. She snapped her fingers at Bodie and pointed to the woodstove. “Down.”

The dog trotted to a folded blanket and turned around three times, then flopped on his belly. “Good boy.” She rubbed his head. “Cassie’s mother acts like Bodie’s going to tear her throat out every time she shops here. Poor old boy wouldn’t hurt anyone, even a sour pickle like her.”

Faith snickered. “Miss Saxon. How unkind.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. After all I did for her—”

“Good morning, ladies. I see you’re not particularly busy. Perhaps you can assist me.” Mrs. Haddon, now Mrs. Bingham, swished into the building.

“Of course.” Faith smiled when she saw Cassie. “How nice to see you. We were hoping you’d join your mother on her trips to town.”

Mrs. Bingham sniffed. “I’m the one who needs supplies, not Cassie. It seems Mr. Bingham misrepresented the extent of his holdings. Just getting him to buy a new blanket is an effort. Never mind china, or any fripperies.”

That explained her frequent visits to the mercantile for one item at a time. Faith folded her hands. “What can I show you today?”

“The wash basin in our bedroom is in shameful condition. It’s a wonder the cracked thing holds water at all. I hope you have something suitable as a replacement.”

Faith led the way to the shelves where she displayed pottery. “I have a blue and white transferware set.” She placed a curved bowl and an elegant matching pitcher on the countertop.

The woman’s forehead wrinkled as she studied the pieces. “Perhaps this is a little dear. I’m hoping to have enough left to buy a new hat. Is there anything else?”

“This would be serviceable.” Faith placed an unadorned brown pitcher and basin next to the transferware.

Mrs. Bingham darted a glance at the price, then smiled. “Perfect.” She dug in her bag and handed Faith two silver quarters. “Here you are. Mr. Bingham will come for us in an hour. Please have this wrapped for travel.” She turned toward the entrance. “Could you direct me to a milliner?”

Pointing north, Faith said, “Across King’s Highway, next to the bank. Miss Lytle does lovely work.”

“That remains to be seen. Are you coming, Cassie?”

“I’d rather wait here.”

“As you wish. Don’t wander off.” She swept onto the boardwalk and moved up the street like a ship under full sail.

Cassie untied the lavender ribbons on her bonnet and settled into one of the chairs near Bodie’s blanket. “I’m so happy I got to come to town today. It’s terribly lonely on the farm.”

“I wondered how you were faring,” Faith said, her hands busy cushioning the bowl and pitcher in brown paper. She couldn’t imagine being in Cassie’s position.

Cassie fanned herself. “Mr. Bingham was certainly less than forthcoming when Mother met him in St. Louis. His farm appears to have been neglected for years. He told her he had servants, but there’s no one there but an old man who sleeps most of the day. He’s a dreadful cook too.”

“I imagine you’re quite busy cleaning,” Rosemary said.

“Heavens, no.” Cassie stared at her with wide eyes. “Ladies don’t clean. Servants do that.”

“Ah. Then how do you pass the time?”

“Needlework. Reading. I’ve been taking walks around the property. There’s a little trail where things aren’t too overgrown.” She leaned forward. “That reminds me. I saw something curious on one of my walks last week. I must have wandered off the trail. I found a big tent, like soldiers use. No one was around, so I peeked inside.”

“That was dangerous,” Faith said. “There are lots of squatters living in the woods.”

Cassie shuddered. “Believe me, I won’t go near there again. The tent was full of guns, boots, shirts. Everything looked new and shiny, like someone was outfitting an army.”

Faith’s fingertips tingled. “Where was this exactly?” The question came out sharper than she intended.

“Up in the woods near Mr. Bingham’s farm.”

“Could you find the spot again?”

“I think so. Why?”

Rosemary crossed the room to Faith. “Don’t get your hopes up. There could be a logical explanation.”

“I can’t think of one.” She tied the paper-wrapped pottery with string and set the pieces aside, then turned to Cassie.

“Come with me, please. We’re going to see the sheriff. I want you to tell him what you saw.”

Cassie paled. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all. We were robbed the day the train derailed. I think you’ve found the thief.”

At Cassie’s incredulous expression, Faith described what had been stolen and the subsequent theft of her reticule. She added the information about the man Mr. Grisbee had chased away in July.

“I think you’re brave to stay here at all,” Cassie said. “I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know what you can do until you try.” Faith opened the door. “Let’s go. You too, Rosemary. We’ll leave Bodie here to guard the store, since my watchmen are late today.”

“I’ll be glad to see Curt’s name cleared.”

Faith patted Rosemary’s hand. “So will I.” She missed Curt. This news would give her a reason to visit with him, even if it was over the fence at the livery.

After fastening the lock on the front doors, Faith led the two women across Court Street to the jailhouse.

Sheriff Cooper looked up when they entered and hastily covered a salmon-colored dime novel with a wanted poster. “Good morning, ladies. Are you taking up a collection for some worthy cause?” He shoved a hand in his pocket.

“Miss Haddon here has something interesting to tell you,” Faith said.

He nodded in her direction. “I’m listening.”

Cassie’s hands trembled. Faith moved behind her and whispered, “Don’t be nervous. Just tell him what you saw.”

“My mother is married to Mr. Bingham.”

“Heard that. You here to complain about the state of his property?”

“No. Last week I saw something in the woods that Faith thinks is important.” Her voice gained strength. She explained how she’d happened upon the tent, and what she’d seen inside.

The sheriff placed his palms flat on the desktop. “I’ll look into this soon as I can. No law against a man having firearms and extra clothes. If I rousted every squatter around these hills, I’d have no time for anything else.”

“Don’t you see?” Faith stamped her foot. “If a squatter who’s camped south of here is the thief, you’ll have to stop blaming Mr. Saxon.”

“Not necessarily. They could be in cahoots.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell Amy how hard you’re trying to protect our town.”

He flushed. “No need to be hasty.” He flipped the wanted poster over and dipped a pen in a bottle of ink. “Now, exactly where was this tent?”

When they left the sheriff’s office, Cassie turned worried eyes on Faith. “Do you think we’ve been gone more than an hour? Mr. Bingham gets very upset if he’s kept waiting.” She hurried ahead of them, but slowed her steps when she reached the corner. Her mother was pacing back and forth in front of the locked doors, her face set in furious lines. Mr. Bingham sat in the buggy with his arms folded across his chest.

“I’m late. He’s already here.” Cassie clutched Faith’s arm. “Please don’t say anything about visiting the sheriff. He hates lawmen.”

“Sooner or later he’s bound to find out. Sheriff Cooper may need to talk to him.”

Cassie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Heaven forbid.”

“Miss Lindberg.” Cassie’s mother strode toward her. “What’s the meaning of this? I step across the street for a moment, and you lock the store. I demand my parcels.”

“I apologize, ma’am. I had urgent business to attend to.”

“If you keep your store locked, you won’t have any business at all.” She huffed out an exasperated breath.

“Yes, ma’am.” Faith opened the doors and grabbed the paper-wrapped items from the counter. “Thank you for your trade.” Over Mrs. Bingham’s shoulder, she met Cassie’s eyes.

“I hope you’ll both return in spite of this inconvenience.”

“I hope so too,” Cassie said.

Faith walked home that evening praying Curt would be at the livery, but it was Mr. Ripley who greeted her when she stepped into the pungent-smelling interior.

“Saxon’s left already. He don’t hang around much in the evenings since—” He cleared his throat. “Guess he’s found better things to do.”

Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him on her walks home for several days. He must be avoiding her.

She forced a smile. “I’ll stop by in the morning. I had some good news I wanted to share.”

Mr. Ripley pulled a straw from a mound of fresh hay next to a stall and stuck it between his teeth. “Just between you and me, I think the good news he’d like to hear is that you’ve called off your wedding. ‘Course he ain’t said nothing to me, but I know him. Wears his heart on his sleeve where you’re concerned.”

“You must be mistaken.” A flush climbed her cheeks. “If you’re thinking of his visits to our house, he’s shown an interest in Amy Dunsmuir, and my grandfather, of course.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Anyway, I’ll tell him you’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Faith’s thoughts whirled as she covered the remaining distance to her home. Surely Mr. Ripley was wrong about Curt’s feelings toward her. Curt saw her as his sister’s friend, someone who needed his help from time to time. He’d never once asked her . . . well, he did invite her to the Independence Day celebration. But Amy and Grandpa were included. They’d never spent any time alone . . . wait. Yes, they had. She touched her forehead where he’d kissed her after she explained the
20327
mystery. A friendly kiss, nothing more.

Grandpa sat in his usual place near the window when Faith drifted into the parlor, her mind still on Curt. Amy held Sophia in her lap and smiled at her over the baby’s head. “I finished basting your dress. After supper I’ll help you with the fitting.”

Her words snapped Faith’s thoughts from Curt to her wedding. Ten more days and she’d be Mrs. Royal Baxter. Soon after, they’d be off for the west. Perspiration dampened her palms.

Grandpa tucked his pen into a holder on the table in front of him. “I made arrangements for Amy today.” He gestured at several papers. “Wrote up a statement giving her possession of the house for as long as she needs it.”

Faith bent and kissed the top of his head, then looked at Amy. “I told you not to worry about where you’d live when we leave.”

“Judge Lindberg. Faith. I don’t know what to say.” Tears trembled on Amy’s lashes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Did it because I wanted to, not because I had to,” Grandpa said in a gruff voice.

Pretending to study the document her grandfather signed, Faith riffled through the other papers on the table. The sale agreement for the mercantile ought to be there too.

“I know what you’re looking for, and it’s not here. I put it somewhere safe until the time is right.”

Her shoulders slumped. Royal had made it clear that they couldn’t leave without the proceeds from the sale. “Time’s growing short, Grandpa.”