by Ann Shorey
An idea tickled the back of her mind. She squeezed Amy’s hands. “Let’s go talk to Grandpa. I think I know exactly where you can live.”
Curt and Rosemary. Now Amy. The cords binding her to Noble Springs drew tighter.
29
On Sunday morning, Curt tied Moses to the rail in front of the Lindbergs’ home while Rosemary remained in the buggy. Faith flew out the front door, her eyes darting from his face to the street behind him.
“I wish there’d been some way to tell you sooner,” she said, breathless.
“Tell me what?”
His spirits sank when Faith explained the change in their routine—Royal would take her to church from now on. She hoped Curt would understand.
She looked distractingly beautiful in her dress with the blue flowers that matched her eyes. He swallowed a desire to fling her into his buggy and spirit her away.
It’s better this way, he told himself. The less I see of her, the easier it will be to say good-bye.
While she talked, Judge Lindberg made his way from the porch to the hitching rail. Amy followed, wheeling Sophia in her carriage.
“I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing,” Faith said.
“It wasn’t for nothing.” Her grandfather spoke from behind her. “I’d rather have Curt’s company this morning, and yours too, Miss Rosemary.” He tossed his cane onto the floor at Rosemary’s feet and pulled himself up onto the seat next to her.
Curt arched his eyebrows at Amy. “How about you? There’s room.”
“Thank you, but I’ll walk.” She smiled at him. “Sophia’s enjoying her carriage rides.”
At that moment, Baxter’s horse pranced to a stop next to Curt’s buggy. “Hope we didn’t put you out, Saxon,” he said, vaulting from the seat of his vehicle and crossing to Faith’s side.
“Not at all.” He masked his jealousy with a bland smile. “I was just leaving.”
Baxter tipped his hat. “See you in church.”
As he drove through town, Curt forced himself not to look back at Faith and Baxter. Once he was inside the sanctuary, he’d wait until they were seated, then find a spot toward the front where he couldn’t see them.
“Four weeks,” Judge Lindberg said.
Curt knew what the older man meant. “So Rosemary tells me.”
The judge leaned forward and nailed Curt with a steely gaze. “You gonna let this happen?”
For a moment, Curt thought of criminals impaled by those eyes before being sentenced to jail. He squirmed. “Not much I can do about it. Can’t interfere in matters of love.”
“Faith hasn’t said she loves him. She’s set on going to Oregon, and he’s promised to take her. I believe it’s the idea she loves, not the man.”
“I think he’s right,” Rosemary said. “She’s so wrapped up in making plans, she hasn’t thought ahead.”
Curt clenched the reins. He felt they were both looking to him for a solution. He didn’t have one. Whether Faith loved Baxter or not, she’d agreed to marry him.
On her way to the mercantile on Monday morning, Faith paused at the corral next to the livery. The humid air carried the pungent aroma of dust and dung past her nostrils. Leaning over the fence, she waved to get Curt’s attention.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after church.”
He ambled toward her, not smiling. “Where’s your escort?”
“I told him I’d rather walk from now on. My ankle’s much better.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Thanks to you, I was able to order some firearms to replace the ones that were stolen.” She sent him her brightest smile. “You have no idea how wonderful it will feel to see the shelves filled again.”
“Glad to help. I . . . I liked working with you.” He pushed up his hat brim with one finger. “Think you’ll be here long enough to see the shelves restocked? Thought you were leaving near the end of next month.”
Faith felt a pang of loss at the finality in his words. “Maybe not. A few things have to happen first.”
He stepped up to the fence and placed a hand on her arm. “Like your granddad signing the papers to sell the store?”
“How did you know?”
“He told me yesterday. He’s not ready, Faith. It’s not my place to speak, now that you’re engaged, but I think too much of the old gentleman not to say something.”
“I care about him too. More than you do.” She jerked her arm away. “I can’t stand watching him pine for what used to be. Leaving is the best solution.”
“He’ll pine for Noble Springs if you take him west.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. “I’m in too far to back out now.” She flung the words at him, then turned and marched toward town.
In the storeroom, Faith rummaged through crates she’d filled with supplies for the journey west. Iron clanged against iron when she stacked kettles to one side. Had she overlooked anything? Extra clothing and boots for Grandpa, tin plates and bottled matches for her traveling kitchen, a medicine chest with quinine, purgatives, and bandage strips. After reviewing her entire list, including spare wagon parts and extra hemp lariats, she folded her arms over her chest, satisfied. Nothing further would be needed until they were ready to stock the wagon with the necessary food.
“Heard someone back here. Thought I’d better take a look.”
Hand to her throat, Faith whirled around to see Mr. Slocum standing at the door to the alley.
Her heartbeat slowed at the sight of his genial expression. “Thank you. You and Mr. Grisbee are the reason there hasn’t been another robbery.”
“Well, Sheriff Cooper sure ain’t no help. Long as you’re here, we’ll be guarding you.” He leaned against the door frame. “Heard you was getting married, and you done sold the mercantile. Going to Oregon, so the story goes.”
“Yes and no. My wedding is next month, but the sale of the store isn’t final as yet. The papers aren’t signed. We can’t leave until then.”
“You waiting on the judge?”
She nodded.
Mr. Slocum’s gray eyes brightened. “What if he don’t sign? Why cain’t you and your new husband stay in Noble Springs? It ain’t such a bad place to raise up a family.”
She considered his words after he left. Would she have chosen Royal if it weren’t for the promise of traveling west?
Faith shook the thought from her head. Enough of listening to naysayers. Lifting her chin, she pushed through the curtain and walked to the fabric display near the front entrance. Today she’d choose a style and start sewing a wedding dress.
Rosemary joined her while she flipped through Godey’s Lady’s Book and Peterson’s Magazine. “You haven’t much time to sew a gown.”
She bit her lip. “There’s time enough. The wedding will be small, in our parlor. I don’t need anything too fancy.” Turning to a page showing day dresses, she pointed to one with a fitted bodice and skirt made of joined panels of fabric. “The princess style would be just the thing.”
Frowning, Rosemary tilted her head. “It’s awfully plain. Maybe if you added some bows.”
“We’re settling in the west. Anything elaborate wouldn’t be practical for later.”
In spite of her words, Faith paged back to a gown with cascading ruffles over a wide skirt. “If I weren’t leaving, I’d choose this one. It looks like icing on a cake.”
“You mean if you weren’t marrying Royal.”
Faith looked down at the illustrations blurring through sudden tears. “Yes.”
Royal and Oregon were linked with an unbreakable chain.
Sweating, Curt wrestled with a heavy coil of chain that Rip used to suspend feed sacks from the rafters of the livery. By hanging the grain in the air, he believed mice couldn’t get at the oats. Curt had seen evidence to the contrary, but once Rip’s mind was set there was no changing it.
“Got them sacks up there yet?” Rip hollered.
“This is the last one.” Curt balanced the fifty-pound burlap bag upright and bound the top to a hook.
His employer joined him and together they hoisted the lumpy bundle. One by one, the links clunked over a wooden rafter until the feed dangled fifteen feet in the air.
“That ought to stop the little beggars,” Rip said, dusting his hands on his trousers.
Curt anchored the chain to a stout nail beside one of the stalls. “Should slow them down, anyway.”
Rip stomped to his office on his short legs, talking while he went. “Good to be back. You did a fine job taking care of this place whilst I was gone. Knew I could count on you.”
“Couldn’t do any less, considering all you’ve done for me.”
“You don’t have to stay on now, ya’ know. I’ll not be leaving again.”
Despite the heat inside the building, Curt felt a chill. “You just said I did well. Why are you letting me go?”
Rip took a stained sheet of paper from his desktop and handed it to Curt. “Found this tangled up in the sumac out behind the corral. Appears to be a letter to Mr. Robbinette recommending you for a position.” He massaged his curly beard. “Told you all along you was free to take something more suitable. Knew I couldn’t keep you forever.”
Curt took the paper and flopped onto a chair next to the desk. Although crinkled and splotched with uneven tan streaks, the letter from Ethan French was readable. “I threw this away. Thought it was gone for good.” He rubbed his neck. “How’d it get stuck in the bushes?”
“Maybe divine providence? You’d best go see the man. Don’t want to bring holy wrath on your head.” Rip chuckled.
Shaking his head, Curt turned the document over in his hands. “I don’t know. When I asked Reverend French for a recommendation, I had a good reason. That reason’s gone. Working here’s as good as anywhere.”
“That don’t sound like a compliment.”
“Didn’t mean it that way. Some of my best days since the war have been here at the livery—thanks to you.”
Rip straightened in his chair, jabbing an index finger at Curt. “Hear what I’m saying. You’re way beyond a stablehand. It’s time you trusted yourself to move on. Go see Robbinette.”
“But—”
“If he hires you, you can spend all your time off in here if you want. I can always use free labor.” He rose and slapped Curt between the shoulder blades. “Come back and tell me what he said.”
Curt chose to travel High Street on his route home so he wouldn’t have to pass Lindberg’s Mercantile. He missed his talks with Faith. Her engagement had moved her out of his world, even though she still stopped at the livery to say hello in the mornings. In a little over two weeks she’d be Mrs. Royal Baxter, and then who knew how much longer she’d remain in Noble Springs.
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.
30
Faith peered out the front window of the mercantile at the sight of Mr. Bingham’s shabby buggy st
opping 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?”