Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel

by Ann Shorey

  “Thought I’d take my share and go sit in my office so’s you two can visit.” Crumbs danced on Mr. Ripley’s beard while he spoke. He winked.

  The afternoon was going from bad to worse. She should have waited until tomorrow and left the cookies when she and Grandpa walked to the mercantile. Faith looked at Mr. Saxon, the flush on her cheeks hotter than ever. “I mustn’t keep you from your work.”

  “Can’t think of a more pleasant interruption. Matter of fact, I was planning to call on you and Judge Lindberg tomorrow.” He shifted the basket from one hand to the other. “Can I offer you a ride to church on Sunday?” The scar on his neck flared. “It’s a long walk clean across town. Might tire your granddad, being so far and all.”

  Faith drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She’d already wondered if they should miss church until Grandpa was steadier on his feet. Mr. Saxon’s suggestion would be a solution, as long as he realized she agreed only for her grandfather’s sake.

  “I’ll tell Grandpa of your kind offer. I’m sure it will be most welcome.” She extended her hand as though confirming a business arrangement. “Until Sunday, then.”

  After Faith left, Curt could still feel the daintiness of her fingers against his palm. Such small hands were better suited to cooking than commerce. Her blue dress fluttered in the wind as she hurried away.

  She acted like she couldn’t wait to escape him. It had to be his scar. He could come up with a dozen ways to impress her, but he’d never overcome the way his skin puckered around the place on his neck where an enemy saber had sliced down to the muscle.

  A wave of fear washed over him. He dropped the basket and whirled, staring at the underbrush growing behind the stable. Sweat prickled his forehead. Where was his rifle? Not again. He’d forgotten the first rule of combat. Don’t leave your tent without your rifle.

  Ducking, he ran into an empty stall for cover and threw himself flat on the straw. If he didn’t move, they’d pass by without seeing him. As soon as darkness fell, he’d find his unit.

  “Saxon!”

  Curt shuddered. How could the Rebs know his name?

  The door of the stall swung open and Curt sprang into a crouch, ready to fight with his bare hands.

  A short man with a full beard squatted in front of him. “Take it easy, son. It’s Rip.” He placed his hand on Curt’s shoulder, near the scar. “War’s over. You made it back safe.”

  The darkness inside Curt’s head vanished. Rip. The livery. Noble Springs. He took a deep breath, head falling forward as he exhaled. “Happened again, didn’t it? Sorry, Rip. I keep hoping each time will be the last.”

  Rip grabbed Curt under the arms and helped him to his feet. “Been a long while since the last one. Takes time. I wasn’t worth much for a couple years after Mexico.” He slapped him on the back. “Want to quit early? Go get some supper?”

  “Are you buying?” Curt managed a shaky grin.

  “Why not? Jake West owes me for a horse rental. We’ll see what he’s got at the restaurant today.”

  Curt’s sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body. He took a bandana from his pocket and mopped his forehead. It was too soon to think about courting a girl.

  6

  On Sunday morning, Faith spent extra time trying to decide what to wear to church. If indeed she’d seen Royal Baxter on Tuesday, he might be among the worshipers today. She wanted to look her best.

  She slipped a flower-sprigged purple chintz garment over her head and fastened the cloth-covered buttons. Given her unfashionably stocky frame, the trim lines of the bodice made it the most flattering of her dresses. Gathering her shawl and bonnet, she descended the stairs. Mr. Saxon would arrive any moment to take them to church, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting.

  Grandpa bent over a table in the parlor, writing. Sheets of paper were strewn across the green and blue patterned upholstery on the sofa. He looked up when she entered. “That your new dress?”

  “Not completely new. I finished it a month ago. I haven’t worn it yet.”

  “I see.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Well, I won’t tell Saxon it’s new, then.”

  “Grandpa! You don’t have to tell him anything at all. What does he care about girls’ dresses?”

  He wiped the nib clean and set his pen aside. “If he doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll be telling him he’s late.”

  Faith glanced at the mantel clock. They should have been on their way by now if they were walking. She bit her lip. Morning clouds promised a shower or two—not the best day to wear her prettiest dress.

  She pushed the parlor curtains aside at the moment a covered buggy came to a stop in front of the house. To her surprise, Rosemary Saxon, rather than her brother, descended. She wrapped the horse’s reins around a hitching rail and walked up the path.

  Before she could knock, Faith swung the door open. “Good morning.” She peeked around Rosemary’s shoulder and didn’t see Mr. Saxon on the buggy seat. How curious. “When your brother offered to take us to church, I assumed he’d be driving. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”

  “Not at all. Curt had a restless night and awakened with an acute headache. He asks your pardon.”

  Grandpa stepped next to Faith’s elbow. “It’s not every day I attend church with two pretty girls. What is your name, young lady?”

  Faith flushed at her lack of manners and made introductions while they walked to the buggy.

  “Rosemary Saxon. Hmm.” Grandpa rubbed his moustache. “Heard that name somewhere before.”

  Rosemary’s mouth tightened. “I’m the nurse everyone’s talking about.”

  “That’s it. I remember now. Good for you, miss. If you ask me, this town needs more helpers and fewer talkers.”

  Proud of him, Faith took Grandpa’s free hand and squeezed it.

  Bells pealed from the white steeple on the square brick church as the three of them entered the vestibule. Reverend French greeted them inside the door. “Judge Lindberg, Miss Faith. I see you’re acquainted with Miss Rosemary. Excellent.” He beamed at them.

  Turning penetrating gray eyes on Rosemary, he asked, “Where’s your brother this morning? I’ll miss his fine bass voice during the hymn singing.”

  “He didn’t rest well last night.”

  A meaningful look passed between them. “Ah. Please let him know I’ll call on him this afternoon.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Sunshine flooded through the row of rectangular windows on Faith’s right, bathing the oak pews with buttery light and spreading to a vase of dogwood blossoms in front of the pulpit. At the piano, Reverend French’s wife, Clarissa, moved her fingers over the keys in a gentle medley of hymns.

  Faith followed Grandpa up the center aisle, smiling as he responded to greetings from townsfolk. She didn’t see Royal Baxter anywhere in the congregation. When she thought about it, she’d never seen him in church before the war. Feeling foolish, she ran her hands over the crisp fabric of the dress she’d spent so much time selecting. Next Sunday she’d know better.

  Questions about Mr. Saxon drove Royal Baxter from her mind. Whatever kept him at home today apparently was well known to Reverend French. She wished she could ask Rosemary for details, but they didn’t know each other well enough for personal questions.

  When Clarissa struck the first notes of “And Can It Be,” Faith rose with the congregation. All other thoughts fled as she poured her heart into her favorite hymn.

  That evening after supper, Faith pushed the soiled dishes aside and faced Grandpa across their polished mahogany dining table. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Last time someone said that, he wanted me to run for county judge.”

  “Which you did, and served with honor.” She lifted her water glass with a trembling hand and moistened dry lips. She couldn’t wait any longer. “I think we should join the pioneers going to Oregon.”

  Grandpa’s astonished expression told her all she needed to know. She hurried on with her proposal. “
Noble Springs is full of reminders of the past. Papa’s gone, Maxwell’s gone, Grandma Clara and my mama—all gone. Your plans for Lindberg’s Mercantile to be handed from father to son will never happen now. Companies are forming to go west over the next month or two. Why should we stay? We can make a start in a new territory.”

  He held up a finger to stop her. “I’m not a youngster anymore, and you’re a female. A rugged journey like that is best done by men in their prime.”

  “We can do it. I know how to handle a team.”

  “A team of horses. Those heavy wagons require oxen—there’s no comparison.”

  “We could hire a teamster.”

  He reached across the table and took her hands. “You need to stop reading those pioneer guides. They make it sound easy.”

  “Hundred of families go every year. Mr. Hastings’ book says the Willamette Valley in Oregon is beautiful, well watered, productive—”

  “Southern Missouri is beautiful and well watered. We don’t need to leave. Besides, you know we’d have to sell the mercantile, and who’d want a struggling business?”

  Faith sensed she was losing the debate. “What if it weren’t struggling? I have lots of ideas to increase trade.”

  Grandpa set his jaw. “You’re just like your mother. Once she got an idea in her head, she wouldn’t give up.” He lifted his cane and leaned on it when he stood. “First we’ll see what you can do with the mercantile, then I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Don’t thank me. I said I’d think about it.”

  During their walk to town the following morning, Faith’s mind raced with plans to attract customers to the mercantile.

  “I’d like to add more kitchen items to interest the ladies.” She slowed her pace to stay in step with Grandpa.

  “You’re in charge now. Use what’s in the till when salesmen call.”

  When they passed the livery, she glanced over to see if Mr. Saxon had recovered. She thought she saw him at the far end of the adjoining corral, but couldn’t be sure. This evening she’d stop and inquire about his welfare.

  Once past the courthouse, Grandpa proceeded beyond the drugstore and turned left into the alley that bisected the block. He opened the shed door. “I’ll be inside, working on my notes,” he said, placing his manuscript sheets on the sawhorse table. “Come and get me if you need help.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly capable.”

  “Faith—”

  She jingled the keys. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  The mercantile smelled stale after being locked for a week. She left the door propped open, pulse hammering with excitement at the opportunity to see her dream come closer to reality.

  So much to do. First, she’d need to find someone who could build racks on the wall at the rear of the store. She’d move the hoes, pitchforks, and shovels there, then add shelves near the front to hold bolts of fabric. For now, she could take the bin Grandpa had piled with buttons of all sizes and shapes and sort them by color into individual trays. The ribbons and laces needed to be removed from drawers where they were hidden and displayed with the fabrics.

  Faith gazed around the interior. Grandpa had stocked the building with everything a farmer might need, but hadn’t given much thought to farmers’ wives or daughters. It was a testimony to how well he was liked that any women shopped here at all.

  She rolled up her sleeves and tied the clean apron she’d brought from home over her blue calico skirt. Today she’d start by moving the chairs that were next to the stove into the storeroom. The checker players would have to find someplace else to spend their days.

  “Where was you all last week, Miss Faith? Heard your grandpap was poorly.”

  She plunked a chair on the floor and turned to see Mr. Grisbee, one of the woodstove regulars, come through the open door. He shuffled toward her, carrying a tin container. Several days’ growth of gray whiskers sprouted from his cheeks.

  “Grandpa took a little tumble last Monday. Dr. Greeley thought it best if he stayed home to recover.”

  “So, where is he now? I need some coal oil.”

  “I can get that for you. How much do you need?”

  He looked her up and down. “Wouldn’t want you to dirty your hands, miss. I got enough to get by a few more days. I’ll wait for your grandpap.”

  Faith drew herself up to her full five feet. “Grandpa turned the mercantile over to me while he works on . . . another project.”

  “No offense, but it ain’t proper for a young lady to be runnin’ a store. Tell Nate I’ll be back when he’s behind the counter.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll be sitting in the dark for a long time if you wait for Grandpa.” She held out her hand for the container. “Please, allow me.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Nope. Ain’t proper. I’ll git my boy to take me to Hartfield.”

  Dejected, Faith followed his progress as he shuffled from the store. Maybe there’d be no need to put the chairs away.

  She dragged the heavy oak chair back to its original position beside the stove. No sense alienating possible customers. She brushed dust from the surface of the wooden checkerboard and then arranged the checkers for a game.

  Absorbed in her task, she started when something pressed against the back of her leg. Game pieces clattered to the floor as she whirled to face her attacker.

  A sable and white collie stood panting in front of her, its feathery tail swishing back and forth.

  Faith stroked the top of its head, rubbing the warm silky fur. “You frightened me, puppy. Where’s your owner?”

  “Bodie! Come here!” Rosemary dashed into the store. “I’m so sorry. He’s supposed to stay with me when we walk, but today he had his own agenda. Did he hurt you?”

  Faith dropped into one of the chairs and pointed to the one next to her for Rosemary. “No, of course not. Scared me out of my wits, though. I thought I was being attacked.” She chuckled. “If I’d been paying attention, I’d have heard his nails clicking across the floor.”

  Bodie made a circle of the room, then settled at Rosemary’s feet. She looked down at the scattered checkers and grinned. “You were playing a game by yourself?”

  “I might as well be. Grandpa believes I can manage the store, but I’m afraid his customers don’t take me seriously. The gentleman who was just here refused to let me sell him coal oil.” She slid down in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “He said he’d rather go someplace else.”

  “Why?”

  “ ‘It ain’t proper for a lady to be running a store.’ ” Faith mimicked Mr. Grisbee’s growl.

  “Don’t let him discourage you. You were doing just fine last time I was here. Carry on and don’t pay attention to anyone who says you can’t do it.” Rosemary’s warm gaze touched Faith’s heart. “You should have heard all of the ‘it ain’t propers’ from our neighbors when I volunteered as a nurse.” She rose. “I’ll help you gather the checkers, then you can show me some buttons to match the dress goods I bought last week.”

  Faith smiled. “Funny you should ask about buttons. Want to do some sorting?”

  Faith stepped into the quiet house. She hadn’t seen Grandpa since they shared the contents of their dinner pails at noon. She prayed he’d gone home and hadn’t wandered off. “Grandpa?”

  “In here,” he called from the dining room.

  Mr. Saxon stood when she entered. “Miss Faith.”

  Astonished, she gazed at the chess game arranged between him and her grandfather. “Mr. Saxon. I trust you’re fully recovered from the ailment that kept you home on Sunday.”

  “I am. Thank you. My sister brewed one of her healing teas.”

  “Sit,” Grandpa told him. To Faith, he said, “I asked our guest to stay to supper. We won’t be much longer here. He doesn’t know it, but he’s about to be checkmated.”

  A broad grin spread over Mr. Saxon’s face. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Faith slippe
d an arm around Grandpa’s shoulders, tears stinging her eyes. “I’m happy to see you playing chess. It’s been a long time.”

  “Curt here mentioned it this afternoon. You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

  Mr. Saxon must have been divinely inspired to mention chess to her grandfather. Nothing she’d been able to do since her father died had tempted Grandpa to set out the carved pieces that had been so much a part of their lives.

  In the kitchen, Faith tossed chunks of wood onto the coals in the stove and considered her original plan for supper. Sausage stew wasn’t very fancy for a guest, but the simple meal would have to do. She peeled several potatoes and added them to a pot along with sliced sausage and onions. When the mixture came to a boil, she removed a jar of pickles and one of catsup from the pantry shelf and placed them on a tray with plates and utensils. Last night’s leftover Dolly Varden cake would be a fine dessert.

  When she carried the tray to the dining room, the two men were engrossed in their game. While Mr. Saxon’s attention focused on the board, she studied him without his knowledge. Dark brown hair curled at the back of his neck, falling forward over his scar. The ropy muscles along his forearms rippled when he reached forward to move a chessman. Looking at him, she had the impression of power held under tight control. An involuntary quiver crossed her body. She believed Grandpa to be a good judge of character, but still . . .

  “Supper’s ready.” She kept her voice bright. “If you’ll move the board to the end of the table, I’ll serve the meal.”

  Mr. Saxon jumped to his feet. “I hope you didn’t trouble yourself.” He reached for the tray. “Let me help.”

  She smiled to herself at the sight of the lanky stableman laying out their place settings. Maybe there was more to him than she thought.

  7

  Faith closed the cash drawer. “Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. I trust you’ll be happy with your new baking tins.”