Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (7 page)

Faith forced a smile. “Like these dirty dishes.”

She wished it were as easy to scrub Royal from her mind as it was to clean the dinner plates.

W
hen the Lindbergs were ready to leave, Curt stood next to the front door, arms folded across his chest. “Please allow me to drive you home.”

Faith’s grandfather frowned at him. “I’ve traveled these streets for many a year. I’m perfectly capable.” He removed his hat from a peg.

“Yes, sir, but it’s going on full dark. You and Miss Faith would be safer in the buggy.”

Faith put a hand on her grandfather’s arm. “You’ve been quite content to accept rides to church. The distance is almost the same.”

“It won’t take long to hitch the horse,” Curt said. He took a few steps toward the rear of the house, then paused, waiting for the judge’s response.

“Well, Faith is probably tired. Might be good for her to ride.” Judge Lindberg dropped his hat over his bald spot and leaned on his cane.

Faith’s blue eyes met Curt’s. “Thank you. I appreciate your kind offer.”

He dared a smile in her direction. “No trouble.”

Once they settled in the buggy and started across town, Judge Lindberg’s head drooped forward. A sideways glance told Curt that he’d fallen asleep.

Faith’s soft voice reached him through the darkness. “Grandpa rises at daylight. It’s a struggle for him to stay awake much past seven.”

“I noticed he looked worn out.” He kept his attention on the reins. For some reason, the surrounding darkness untied his tongue. “Has he had more trouble with his memory since his fall?”

“Little things. Now that he’s not busy with the mercantile, the changes aren’t so apparent.” She sighed.

Curt guided his horse around the courthouse square and angled left on High Street. Lightning bugs flashed under the spreading limbs of a cherry tree in front of the Bennetts’ house.

“Your granddad told me he’s writing a memoir. Is that a fact?”

Her skirt rustled as she turned toward him. “Indeed he is.” Her voice carried an edge of impatience. “It’s good that he’s keeping busy, but I wish—”

“Wish what?” Faith’s grandfather sat up straight.

“That you had someone else to read your pages. I can’t pay proper attention when I’m busy in the store.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I won’t bother you anymore.”

Curt heard the anger in the judge’s response. “Well, here we are,” he said with false cheer. He reined the horse to a stop in front of the Lindbergs’ home, then hurried to assist his passengers from the buggy.

When Faith took his hand, a surge of warmth traveled up his arm. She was so small and helpless-looking. He wished he could stand between her and all danger, but how could he? He couldn’t control his own memories.

Curt carried a lantern to light his way from the stable to the back porch. Through the kitchen window he saw Rosemary seated at the table with a covered teapot in front of her. She smiled when he entered.

“I brewed some chamomile tea. Thought you might like something to help you sleep.” Two teacups rested in matching saucers next to the pot.

“Sounds good. Thanks.” Curt sank into a chair, heat from Faith’s hand fresh in his senses.

Rosemary filled their cups. “It was kind of you to take them home. I could see Judge Lindberg sinking by the end of the evening.” She grinned at him. “It saved the old gentleman’s pride to pretend it was Faith who was tired.”

“He wasn’t pretending. Didn’t you notice her yawning?” Curt stirred honey into his cup, watching the sweet threads dissolve in the hot brew. “Wish I could spend more time with him. Miss Faith said something tonight that made me think she needs more help with her granddad than she lets on.”

“Why don’t we have a picnic on Sunday and invite the two of them?” Rosemary regarded him with a knowing look in her eyes. “You can’t go on claiming the judge is the only reason you spend time at their house.”

He tapped her shoulder. “Don’t start matchmaking. I’m better off single. Miss Faith wouldn’t want me if she knew about my . . . spells.”

Rosemary stood, hands on hips. “You’re certainly not the only man suffering from soldier’s heart. Others are struggling too, and many of them have wives. Faith is the dearest person I’ve ever met. She’d not be one to turn away from difficulties.”

“She’s your friend. If you want to ask them on a picnic, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to start wooing her.” He rose and drained his cup. “It’s late. Good night.”

On tiptoes, Rosemary kissed his cheek. “Sleep well. I’ll go to the mercantile tomorrow and extend our invitation.”

Shaking his head, Curt left the warm kitchen and climbed the stairs. Once Rosemary settled on an idea, there was no stopping her.

Using a broom, Faith pushed oiled sawdust toward the rear of the store, rolling yesterday’s dust away. As she passed the boot display, she stopped to straighten the disorder left by Royal Baxter’s cronies.

Given enough time, maybe she’d stop cringing at the memory of the blank look on Royal’s face when she introduced herself.

She brushed sweepings into a dustpan and dumped them in a bin in the alley. While standing in the shade of the mercantile, she peeked at the small building where Grandpa worked on his memoirs. The wounded look on his face when she’d blurted her frustration haunted her.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the path separating them and tapped on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Faith.”

“Thought you were too busy.”

She turned the handle and slipped into the room. Clasping her hands together, she said, “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Anytime you want me to read your writing, don’t hesitate.”

He placed his pen next to the inkwell. “You mean it?”

Faith stepped beside his chair. “Yes.” She kissed his cheek. “Get back to your memoir. I’ll be inside if you want me.”

With light steps, she hurried into the mercantile and hung the broom on a hook. She heard footsteps through the wall separating the storeroom from the front of the building. A deep voice called, “Is anyone here?”

She brushed through the dividing curtain and stopped short, her heart drumming in her throat. Royal Baxter stood inside the open front door. He removed his hat and pressed it against his trouser leg. “Miss Lindberg. I’ve thought of your pretty face ever since yesterday. I don’t know how I could have forgotten our meeting. Will you forgive me?”

Faith stared at him, speechless. Did he mean he remembered her? Or was he merely apologizing for his comments?

He shook his head. “I knew it. My behavior was unpardonable.” He turned toward the entrance. “I won’t bother you again.”

“Wait.” She closed the distance between them. “There’s nothing to forgive. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d remember me after nearly five years.”

“Would you consider getting reacquainted? There’s a dance planned at the hotel for a week from Friday to raise money for war widows. I’d like to ask you to accompany me if you’re agreeable.”

Agreeable? She’d dreamed of such an invitation. But now that he stood in front of her, she hesitated. If all went as she hoped, she and Grandpa would leave in another month or so.

Royal cleared his throat. “You’re a quiet one. Shall I ask again some other time?”

“Yes. I mean, no need. I’d be pleased to go to the dance with you.”

“Good.” He replaced his hat and crossed the threshold.

Faith hurried after him. “Don’t you want to know where I live?”

“I already asked someone.” He strode to a horse tied out front and swung into the saddle. “I’ll call for you at seven next Friday.”

“Yes,” she said to his departing back, then flopped onto a bench next to the entrance. Whatever his motivation, this was an invitation she’d waited years to receive. She had no intention of refusing.

Faith reached far into a barrel and dug through the excelsior for a last plate. A full set of tea leaf–patterned lusterware spread over a shelf to her right. The dishes had come at a high price, nearly a week’s worth of receipts, but she believed they wouldn’t sit long before enticing a buyer.

Rosemary leaned over the counter. “My, those are beautiful.”

Rubbing her back, Faith straightened and smiled. “Aren’t they? I’m hoping they sell quickly.” She wiped perspiration from her forehead with a corner of her apron, then grabbed the empty barrel and rolled it toward the storeroom.

“Let me help you.” Rosemary pushed while Faith steered the bulky wooden container across the floor. Bodie followed them, his tail beating the air.

Faith laughed. “He thinks we’re playing a game.”

“Everything’s a game to Bodie.”

“My father had a hunting dog named Flint. Grandpa gave him away after we got word of Papa’s death.” Faith placed the barrel with other empty ones and faced Rosemary. “I used to hug Flint and pretend he was Papa. I cried when he left with his new owner.” She shrugged. “Silly of me.”

Rosemary’s eyes welled with sympathetic tears. “Not silly. Small losses are nearly as painful as big ones.”

“Yes.” Faith dusted her hands together, dismissing the moment. “I know you didn’t come in today to roll a barrel into the storeroom. What can I get for you?”

“I’m on a mission this morning. Curt and I are going to Pioneer Lake for a picnic Sunday afternoon. We’d like you and your grandfather to join us.”

Two invitations in one day. After the somber war years, she relished the prospect of social activities. “Sounds delightful. We’d be happy to come. I haven’t been to Pioneer Lake for a long time.”

“I have a second reason for being here today.” Rosemary whipped a long apron from her carryall and tied it around her waist. “You need an assistant. The mercantile is too big for one person to handle alone.”

Faith pushed the burlap curtain aside and attempted to visualize her grandfather’s store as it might appear to Rosemary’s eyes. The long rectangular room was filled with merchandise on floor-to-ceiling shelves. Cookstoves, crocks and kettles, and a barrel filled with ax handles formed a row down the center. The fabric display occupied a prominent space near the door. A few bright calico work dresses, purchased from a local seamstress, hung from a rack near the notions.

She clasped Rosemary’s hands in hers. “I’d love to have your company, but are you sure you want to spend time here? Some of our town gossips can be cruel.”

“I can’t hide at home forever. If I’m to make a new start, it might as well be here.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Don’t you want me?”