Will grabbed a saw screw and forced himself to walk out of earshot. He’d never sold as many things to Lynville as Eliza had stacked on the counter. Surely men wouldn’t continue to buy more than they needed because of some lady clerk. They’d run out of money eventually.
And once a wedding ring appeared on her finger, the excitement would die down.
“You seem preoccupied with that girl.” Mr. Grant leaned against the counter and glanced at his watch.
“Just checking on her. I haven’t trained her yet.” He put the licorice bag and screw in the man’s box.
“Doesn’t look like she needs training.”
Will forced himself to attend to his sums instead of looking at her again. “I think I have to agree.”
“So where’d she come from, and why’s she working for you?”
Will rubbed his lower eyelid and hemmed. “She was robbed on the train and needed work.” He didn’t know why he skirted telling the truth, except for some reason he hoped Axel wouldn’t like her.
Even so, Axel and Eliza should share the news, not him.
“You always were a sucker for pity cases.” Mr. Grant counted his coins and slid them over. “Much obliged.”
Will drummed his fingers on the counter, watching Lynville’s hands as he reached above Eliza to get a hat off a shelf, leaning more than necessary. He caught Lynville’s eye and glowered.
The man just smirked.
Before he could march over to assist with the hat and send Eliza to the back room for a good half hour, she pointed to the hat he ought to purchase, brought it back to his pile, and tallied his bill.
And what a pile of things she’d sold to the rascal.
Once his old classmate left the store, Will leaned against the counter. “I hope Lynville Tate didn’t pester you too much.”
She wiped her hands with a bandanna. “I bet he bought more today than ever before.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and Will almost laughed at the comical exaggeration. Lynville deserved the pocket cleaning she’d given him for his outright boldness.
“He’ll be disappointed when he finds out Axel sent off for you.”
“You make me sound like something you order from a catalog.”
“Or a newspaper ad.” Will clamped his mouth shut—her bald-faced honesty was rubbing off on him.
She blinked a couple of times. “I suppose that’s right. But since I no longer come with the money advertised, he might just send me back.”
Would Axel be that shallow? A possibility. Maybe he ought to mention her penniless state as soon as Axel returned. Then his friend would form no attachment, and Eliza would be free to entertain other suitors—
No. His thinking was going haywire, almost immoral—definitely unethical. Will ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve got to leave for a bit. Do you want to run the store, or shall I close?”
“Me?” She paused on the lowest rung of the ladder she’d just stepped onto. “You trust me already?”
More than he trusted Axel to work hard when no one watched. “Sure.” He forced himself to turn around and grab his hat rather than soak in the beaming smile brightening her face. “I’ll leave keys in case I don’t return quickly. Close whenever you wish.”
Her hand grabbed his arm. He tensed, yet she kept a firm hold.
“You’ve got another gun to fix, and you told that one man you’d have his purchases ready by five.”
“I have plenty of time to finish the gun.” He extricated himself and found the customer’s shopping list. “Nothing unusual you can’t find.”
She stared at the paper with a stern tilt to her lips. “This isn’t exactly a good way to do business.”
“That’s right—it’s not.” And being fascinated by an unattainable, frumpy co-worker was definitely not good for business either. “Your fiancé should be here helping. I’m going to go find him.”
He’d find Axel and drag him back before nightfall.
Chapter 5
If Silas Jonesey hadn’t been sitting on the porch of his tiny cabin watching him approach, Will would have turned around in defeat. This was the last place he could think of to check for Axel, but his gelding wasn’t tied here either.
Will surveyed his friend’s impressive spread. At only twenty-six years old, Silas had cultivated his fields and improved his buildings more than some who’d owned property twice as long.
“What’re you doing up my way?” Silas called from his rocker, where he was busily sharpening a knife on a whetstone.
“Looking for Axel Langston.” Will slid off his saddle and led his horse to the thick green grass under the hackberry tree. “Has he been by lately?”
“Naw, told him I didn’t want his company if he only came to drink.” Silas crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Those fancy pills of yours didn’t help, by the way.”
Will shook his head and tried not to sigh too loudly. “I told you they wouldn’t, but you insisted on trying something.”
“Well, if Dr. Forsythe’s medicine turned me back into a drunk, then some other medicine ought to fix it.”
A pill for everything? That’d be nice. Then he wouldn’t have to go to school; he’d just consult a list and cure the world. “I’m sure Dr. Forsythe didn’t intend for you to drink like a fish.”
Silas drew his dark eyebrows together. “It was supposed to cure melancholia but didn’t do a lick of good.”
“Potions and magic won’t cure you.” Will tromped up the stairs and slid onto the porch rail. “You have to face the fact that your wife is gone and work through those feelings with God’s help—not medicine. When Nancy left me for—”
“Don’t go comparing your girl calling things off to my wife leaving. You have family and can get married anytime you want.”
Will scanned the horizon, too pink for him to stay much longer. “I don’t know about that—the pickings are slim.”
“Just don’t choose a mail-order bride,” he spat.
Will kept the smile off his face. “Not all mail-order brides are bad—I’m sure Everett and Carl would vouch for them.”
“Not Axel’s father, not the man who married the German woman, and not me.”
Will rubbed his jaw, his stubble as scratchy as Silas’s personality lately. “There’re plenty of unhappy couples without the brides being ordered by mail.”
“At least they’re unhappy together.” Silas thunked his legs onto the railing.
Will pulled a mint from his pocket. “Try taking one of these a day.”
Silas caught the candy and frowned.
“It’ll sweeten your disposition.”
Silas chucked the mint back at Will.
He pocketed it and wiped off his grin. “I still wait outside church in case you show up.”
“Isn’t it enough I got off that tonic?” Silas stared at his hands as he rubbed them together.
“God wants you back, Silas. You. As you are.”
He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “He doesn’t want me angry.”
“You’re only angry because you want to be.” The man knew exactly what he ought to do yet refused. “Anger has gotten you nothing but years of gut ache. Give it up.”
“So what if it’s turned me sour? It’s fueled me into getting my back forty under control and then some. I’ve got more wheat growing than any other homesteader in the area. An orchard even. Lucinda wouldn’t complain now that I’m better off than almost anyone around these parts.”
Will took in the man’s pristine acreage. “Treasures that rot.”
“I don’t recall asking for a sermon,” Silas muttered. “Actually, I don’t recall asking you over at all.”
“What’s stuck in your craw today?”
“Today I’ve been alone again for six years.” Silas played with a cracked fingernail. “Seven months of having someone to call my own wasn’t enough.”
Will laid a hand on Silas’s stiff back. No use in any more talk. The man had probably used his vocal cords more in t
he last five minutes than the last five weeks—though his isolation was more Silas’s own fault than anyone else’s. Silas had been dealt a bad hand, though. Will couldn’t imagine the life of an orphan, let alone how an orphan would feel upon being abandoned a second time by the person who mattered most in his life.
Maybe one day Silas would return to God and lay down his anger. In the meantime, Will couldn’t do much besides pray. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then. Got any idea where I might find Axel? No one’s seen him at any of the saloons.”
“Have you asked his pa?”
“His parents’ is the only place I haven’t checked.” He’d hoped to avoid them—he just couldn’t imagine Axel willingly staying home for more than two days. And learning of his absence would only aggravate his father’s normal irritability.
Forcing her sleepy eyes to stay open during a jaw-dropping yawn, Eliza followed her nose to the dining room table. The baked sugar smell that had woken her turned out to be a stack of muffins. Enough for ten people, not just two women.
Irena Lightfoot pushed through the kitchen door with a plate of scrambled eggs in one hand and a pitcher in the other. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Though a fancy white-and-blue scarf obscured her face, her low-hanging brows suggested a frown.
“I couldn’t sleep any longer.” She took the pitcher from Irena’s knobby hands and filled their glasses. “I’m famished.”
“You should’ve come home last night for dinner.” Irena didn’t look at her. She likely disapproved of her being out so late but kept her opinions to herself. A good trait for someone running a boardinghouse.
But Eliza had nothing to be ashamed of. She sat and grabbed a muffin. “I didn’t want to leave the store until the displays were just right, and then I had to clean up.”
“Was William helping you?” A faint hint of censure colored her voice.
“He left to look for Axel around three. That’s another reason I stayed late. I wanted to be there when Axel returned.” She picked the nuts off the top of her muffin. “But William didn’t find him.”
Irena only hummed, as if she’d expected that answer.
Was no one else concerned about her missing fiancé? Why was William the only one trying to locate him? What if Axel was dead?
Her hostess finished setting the table and said a brief word of prayer, but didn’t mention Axel’s disappearance to the Lord.
Eliza took a bite, but even the sugary muffin wasn’t sweet enough to make her feel better. Did Mrs. Lightfoot know anything about her future husband?
Irena leaned over the table, letting her scarf swing forward so she could get a forkful of eggs to her mouth.
“This may be rude of me, but why don’t you remove your scarf to eat?”
Irena held up a finger, probably indicating she hadn’t finished chewing. “I’ve found it easier for my guests.”
“But not easier for you.”
“Well, no.” She chuckled. “However, my job is to make you comfortable.”
“Does it bother you if people stare?”
“Oh no, honey. I used to accept money so people could stare at me. I’m quite over that.”
“Then, if you don’t mind my saying so, I’m uncomfortable staying with you for nothing yet physically inconveniencing you. If you’d like to take off your scarf, I’d probably stare for a bit. I’ve never seen a bearded lady, but I’m sure the oddity will wear off and then I’ll think nothing of it.”
“Well, that was honest.” Irena laughed. “I’ll tell you what, as long as you stay honest, I’ll take the scarf off. If you find you can’t get past the distraction, let me know. I’d much rather have company than eat with ease.”
“All right.” Eliza touched the bandage swathing her whole head for a two-inch gash. She hadn’t taken it off because the stitches looked even worse. “I do believe I’ve been given a taste of what you must feel. I get lots of second glances as I walk down the road. Makes you sensitive to the rest of your appearance—though I’ve never been one to care about fashion and the like.”
Irena fiddled with her scarf’s knot tucked behind a pile of salt-and-pepper curls. “You do dress rather . . . dowdy.”
“I don’t think anyone’s come right out and said that to me before.”
“I figure if you’re going to be forthright, I’d make this a completely honest relationship.” She finished untying her scarf but didn’t drop it. “Ready to commence staring?”
Eliza cupped her hands under her chin like a child eager to see something spectacular. “Ready.” She winked.
Irena wound her scarf around her hand but cut eye contact. Her beard was grayer than her hair, close-cropped and neat, yet sparse.
“My former fiancé cut his beard much like that, but my brother lets his grow scraggly. Half the time his mustache hangs in his mouth.” Eliza shuddered. “Yours looks so much better.”
Irena looked up and swallowed hard. “Thanks, I guess.”
Eliza shrugged and picked up her fork to spear some eggs. “So if we can be honest with each other, and I ask a question, can I expect a truthful answer?”
Irena laced her fingers atop the table. “I believe I’m about to regret this honesty thing already, but at my age, I’m afflicted with tell-the-truth disease anyway. You young’uns need lots of help, though you hardly listen.”
“I do want advice though.” She set her silverware down. “Why do I get the impression something is wrong with Axel?”
Irena scratched at a sideburn. “In what way?”
“No one’s worried or surprised that he’s disappeared.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know Axel personally.” She rubbed her nose. “I’ve heard a bit about him, but I avoid believing or spreading prattle. The gossips will tell you I turn into a wolf at night or that I became this way by consorting with the devil.” She gave a weak smile. “You’ve written to him and talked with William, so you know more than I do from better sources, and nothing I’ve heard has been too alarming.”
Eliza frowned but let the topic drop. She’d not push Irena to gossip just for honesty’s sake.
Yet if Irena had heard positive hearsay, she wouldn’t have evaded the question.
Eliza walked into the Hampden Mercantile even though she was rather late for work. The muffins she’d consumed—and she’d eaten quite a few after Irena refused to divulge anything about Axel’s reputation—rolled around like lead shot in her gut.
She was crazy, just like Ruth had said, except her friend back home had only worried Axel would be gap-toothed and pockmarked. Not some irresponsible wastrel who flitted in and out of town without breathing a word to anyone.
A gap-toothed man, if responsible, would be the better option.
Surely a convenient marriage couldn’t be worse than choosing from the Pennsylvanian men who’d come courting after her fiancé jilted her. But none of those had any interest in her business ideas, and Axel had. He’d promised her a store, offered her exactly what she’d wanted her whole life.
Yet what if the man was something worse than ugly?
She stopped midstride. What if he didn’t return because he’d died? She would be stranded in Salt Flatts with no store and no husband.
Kathleen walked out of the back room with a stack of bolted fabrics.
“Here, let me help you.” Eliza rushed over to take several bolts off the top.
“Thanks.” Kathleen smiled but then frowned when Eliza pulled off the rest. “Just because I’m in a family way doesn’t mean I can’t handle the inventory.”
Eliza gave her friend’s overly large abdomen a pointed glare. “No need to tax yourself.”
“You’re as bad as Carl.”
“Then at least Mr. Hampden’s got his head on straight.”
Kathleen pshawed. “Acting like an invalid won’t get things done around here.” Her waddling steps made the boards creak beneath her. “Say, what are you doing here anyway? It’s past nine.”
Eliza dropped the bolts on
to the fabric table and began to place them with like colors, keeping her gaze on her sorting task. “I had a talk with Mrs. Lightfoot about . . . Axel, and well, I didn’t get any real answers and thought maybe you might have some, but then . . .” She looked up and scanned the store’s few customers. “Maybe I should come back later.”
Kathleen leaned heavily upon the table. “Well, if you’re wanting to ease my burden, what better way to make Carl do everything than keep me busy talking?” She smiled mischievously, but Eliza couldn’t smile back.
“Do you think I could find a job in Salt Flatts if I don’t . . . end up marrying?”
Kathleen’s face sobered. “I don’t know. You already think you’re incompatible? How long has Axel been back in town?”
“He’s still not here.” She picked at some loose threads on a bolt of gingham.
“Then how can you be certain—”
“Surely if anyone in this town could understand how hard it is to marry someone you’ve never met, it’s you.” She leaned closer and whispered. “William mentioned you were a mail-order bride like me.”
Kathleen grinned. “No need to whisper. There’s more than one woman in this town who’s come that way. And not many ended up with who they were intended for.”
“They didn’t?”
“No. Let’s see. . . . Me, of course, and well, the man I jilted, Everett Cline, was jilted by more than me. I think maybe three? Perhaps more. Kind of a town joke.”
“Three? Poor man.” How sad to be rejected so many times by desperate strangers.
“Ah, but he got one that stuck.” She smiled. “And I think Axel’s mother was a mail-order bride too, or tried to be—wanted to marry William’s pa.”
“So I’d not be the only one to jilt a man who brought me here through a mail-order bride service?” The heaviness clotting her breath broke up, allowing her lungs to draw in more air than she’d managed all morning.
“No, but why would you? I thought you wanted a store. No other single men around here own one. Well, except for William, but it’s more Axel’s store than his.”
Then there was William. She’d known he’d held an interest in the store, but how much sway did he truly have? He didn’t want to move the counter, didn’t greet the customers, created sales off the cuff . . .
A Bride in Store Page 5