Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel (9 page)

“What if it is?” She glared at him. “Going west will get us away from old memories.”

“Your memories will follow you.” The scar on his neck reddened. “I know.”

Rosemary crossed to her brother. “Curt. This is none of our concern.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, Miss Lindberg.” He shrugged Rosemary’s hand off his shoulder and stalked from the room.

Faith stared. She’d gone from being Faith to Miss Lindberg in the space of a few minutes. The man was as changeable as a Missouri spring—warm one minute and biting the next.

By Friday morning, Faith had dismissed Curt’s moodiness from her mind. That evening, she’d be attending a dance with Royal Baxter. For once the lack of customers seemed a blessing rather than a curse. She could close the mercantile promptly at five, cook Grandpa’s supper, and still have time to bathe and dress for the festivities.

At half past four, Faith hurried to the storeroom, tucked a feather duster under her apron strings, and grabbed a clean rag. Starting in the farthest corner, she flicked dust from shelves and countertops, working her way toward the front door. Halfway there, she surveyed the unsold lusterware dinner set while she polished a matching soup tureen. Maybe if she moved the dishes to a glass case they’d be more likely to catch a customer’s eye. With a little rearranging—

The bell over the door chimed. Startled, Faith whirled to see who’d entered, then heard a clink. The handle of the duster connected with one of the stacked teacups and knocked the delicate china piece into its mates. Like dominoes, cups tipped and crashed to the floor.

“No-o-o!” Faith lunged forward to protect the bowls, at the same time losing her grip on the tureen, which shattered on top of several dinner plates. She sagged against a counter, aghast. She didn’t know which was worse—destroying a set of expensive dishes, or staying to clean the mess, knowing she wouldn’t be ready when Royal arrived at seven.

“Miss Faith?”

She looked up to see Mr. Grisbee holding a tin container.

“I need me some coal oil. Decided not to go to Hartfield.”

F
aith caught a section of her hair between heated tongs and rolled a curl. Her stomach flipped with anxiety as she listened to Royal and her grandfather’s voices coming from the parlor. Of all the days to be late.

She held the tongs over an oil lamp and waited while they reheated. Precious minutes slipped by while she arranged her thick hair into a fashionable cascade of curls at the back of her head. Dipping her fingers into a bowl of sugar water, she smoothed the sides of her coiffure to control any stray locks, then stepped into her purple chintz dress.

The clock chimed half past the hour as she skimmed down the stairs and arrived, breathless, at the parlor door. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Did Grandpa explain that I was detained at the mercantile late this afternoon?”

“Indeed he did.” Royal’s face creased in a broad smile. “And I must say, you’re worth waiting for.” His dark brown eyes glinted approval.

Using his cane, Grandpa levered himself to his feet. “We’ve been having an interesting discussion. Seems Major Baxter thinks he might have met Sebastian and Maxwell during his time with the Federal militia.”

Faith’s heart contracted at the mention of her father and brother’s names. “You saw them? Where?”

“I can’t be sure.” He pointed at the oil painting hanging over the fireplace. “But I know I’ve seen their faces.”

She looked at the portrait of her parents with herself and Maxwell. “That was painted years ago. Maxwell looked quite different as a boy.”

“The resemblance remains.” Royal nodded at her grandfather. “I’ll search my memory. We’ll talk again next time I call on Miss Faith.”

Next time.
Faith couldn’t keep a pleased smile from her lips.

Buggies lined the front of the Lafayette Hotel when Royal turned the carriage onto Spring Street. He rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to tie up in front of the depot. Would you like me to help you down here first?”

Although the entrance to the hotel was well-lit, the remainder of the area lay hidden in dusky shadows. Faith had heard enough rumors about vagrants loitering near the railroad depot to be uncomfortable near the tracks after sundown. “It’s not far. I don’t mind a short walk.”

The horse ambled along the street as though making its own search for a stopping place. Suddenly it whinnied and sidestepped. A dark shape stood in the center of the road, swinging its head back and forth.

“Whoa!” Royal fought the reins to control the horse.

Faith clutched his arm, feeling the strength of taut muscles through his coat. “What on earth is that?”

He stood and peered into the dusk beyond the reach of the buggy lamp. “Looks like a cow. Good thing the horse saw her. She’s black as midnight.”

“A cow.” Faith chuckled over the thrum of her slowing heartbeat. “I thought it was a bear.”

“You’d have been safe.” He patted her hand, then reached under the seat and brought out a rifle. “This here Spencer repeater saved my skin more than once during the war.”

She stared at the polished stock gleaming in the lamplight. “Is it loaded?”

“Always. If it’s not, I might as well carry a stick.” He shoved the weapon out of sight and handed her the reins. “Hold the horse. I’ll run old Bessie back across the tracks.” Royal vaulted to the ground and sprinted toward the cow, waving his arms.

The animal bellowed and backed away.

“Keep going! Hoo yah!” He chased her until they were both out of sight.

Faith clutched the reins, thankful he hadn’t fired at the animal before identifying it.

Royal huffed back to the carriage and climbed in. “She’s on her way home. Hope she stays there.” Taking the reins from Faith’s hands, he directed the horse to a hitching rail in front of the depot.

She put the incident out of her mind when they entered the hotel ballroom, determined to enjoy the evening. Swags of white muslin, anchored with crossed dogwood boughs, festooned the walls. The fresh-cut branches gave the square room the look and fragrance of a forest glade. For a moment, Faith’s mind slipped to the previous Sunday’s picnic with Curt and Rosemary. As quickly, she returned to the present with Royal. Lean and handsome in his black frock coat, he drew admiring stares from girls clustered at the edges of the dance floor.

Couples circled to a lively polka, scraped from the bows of two fiddlers. As was the case with every social event since the war, women outnumbered the men. Those not dancing rested on chairs grouped along the sides of the room.

Royal guided her to a seat and whispered in her ear. “You won’t mind if I leave you with the other ladies for a moment, will you? I’d like to make a donation to the cause.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll be fine.”

He gave a half bow and skirted the room, heading for a decorated booth near the musicians’ platform.

“Faith?”

Faith suppressed a groan when she saw Nelda Raines mincing toward her with exaggerated daintiness. Trapped. During her years at Noble Springs Academy, Nelda was one girl she’d learned to avoid. No one took more pleasure in spreading bad news, whether or not it was true.

Nelda sank into an empty chair. “Did I see you come in with that Royal Baxter? Calls himself a major?” She fanned herself. “My dear, haven’t you heard about him?”

“What is it you think I should know?” She glanced across the room, hoping for rescue, but Royal stood at the donation booth, chatting with a gray-haired lady wearing mourning clothes.

“Well,” Nelda leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s fickle
.
One lady friend after another. Leads them on, then drops them. You’d best be careful.” She batted her blonde lashes, looking like a nearsighted mouse. “I thought you should hear the news from a friend—for your own good, of course.”

“How on earth would you know that? Unless you . . .”

Nelda’s cheeks turned a mottled red. “Me? Of course not! But a man like that—dashing, handsome—what do you think he’s been doing during the years he’s been away?”

“Since he was in the militia, I assumed he was fighting a war.” Blood pounded in Faith’s ears. “When did he become your business, Nelda?”

The music stopped, and the other woman’s response sounded loud over the shuffle of dancers moving toward their seats. “He’s not. I just felt—as your friend—”

Curious glances came their way.

Faith stood. “I’m sure I’ve taken enough of your time. Your companions must be wondering where you’ve gone.” She turned and walked away, not caring where she went. What difference did it make what Royal had done before they met? She bit her lip.

All the difference in the world.

At the entrance, she paused, inhaling the sweet aroma of forsythia from sprays arched around the doorway. As her pulse slowed, Faith acknowledged her foolishness. Twelve days ago Royal hadn’t known who she was. She had no claim on him other than as a dance partner for one evening. Raising her chin, she searched the room and smiled when he strode her way.

“Are you ready for a waltz?” He placed his hand over hers. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Her heart skittered when he drew her to him. “So have I.”

For a few moments, she lost herself in the intoxicating pleasure of gliding over the floor following Royal’s lead. When she glanced up, his eyes met hers.

“You’re a quiet one.”

She chuckled. “Not always. In fact, I was about to ask you what brought you back to Noble Springs. I can’t remember whether you have family here.”

“My family is in Jefferson City. We’re estranged.”

The tone of his voice told her not to ask why.

He pivoted, swinging her around before gliding forward. “As to what I’m doing here, I took my former job at Allen’s Cooperage—not that barrel-making is going to be my life’s work.”

“What do you see as your life’s work?”

Instead of answering, he led her through a complicated series of steps that ended with him closing the space between them. His fingers pressed into the small of her back. When the music ended, he held her hand as he escorted her from the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nelda looking in their direction and whispering to her companion. Faith wondered how much she embellished her story about Royal each time she repeated the tale.

“I haven’t forgotten my question,” she said as he drew a chair out for her and turned his own so that they faced each other. “What do you see as your life’s work?”

He threw his shoulders back. “I plan to enlist in the regular Army, at my battlefield rank. A man of my experience will be an asset with the Indian troubles out west.”

“I’d think you would have had enough of fighting.” She shuddered. “You were blessed to survive.”

“Enough fighting? Perhaps. But not enough of commanding troops. Beats arching staves for a living. As for survival, it’s a matter of skill and luck. I don’t know about blessed.”

Faith thought of her father and brother. Was he implying they lacked skill? Or were simply unlucky?

“You were blessed. In God’s providence, there’s no such thing as luck.”

“If you say so.” His mouth quirked in a smile. “Let’s dance instead of debating.”

Faith awoke the following morning with waltz music echoing through her thoughts. Her feet ached from dancing all evening. After their disagreement about survival, Royal had kept the conversation light, entertaining her with jokes and stories about his coworkers at the cooperage. Closing her eyes, she pictured him in officer’s dress. If he were successful with his goal, he could leave Noble Springs at any time. But while he was here, she’d enjoy his company.

“How was your evening with Major Baxter?” Grandpa asked when she put breakfast on the table.

“Very nice. He’s a splendid dancer.” She decided not to mention Nelda’s gossip.

“I hope he comes to call again. I want to hear about his time with Sebastian and Maxwell.” He cut his fried eggs into square bits and pushed the pieces around his plate.

“He wasn’t sure, Grandpa. Don’t expect too much.”

He gripped the edge of the table. “He’s got to remember. I want to know.”

Faith rested a calming hand on his shoulder. “Now, now. Don’t get upset.”

“I’m not upset.” His fork clanked against the plate. “Please, bring me my hat. It’s time to go. Saturdays are busy at the store.”