Faith of the Heart

by Jewell Tweedt

  “Good morning,” a young, bouncy waitress smiled at Claire, motioning to an empty table. “Coffee?”

  “Oh yes, and eggs, ham, and biscuits please.” “Yes, miss, right away.” The café was charming with ruffled curtains at the windows and rose-print tablecloths. Bright blue and white china added to the cheeriness. Several tables were occupied with folks laughing, chatting, and enjoying their meals. Usually it was awkward for a single lady to go into a restaurant alone—people tended to stare—but not here. This was a neighborhood spot and no one looked at her oddly, which was a relief to Claire, so unused to being on her own.

  Moments later the waitress brought her breakfast. Two perfectly fried eggs, sliced ham, and buttermilk biscuits along with a steaming mug of coffee were placed in front of her. “This looks delicious,” Claire said with a smile.

  “It is, it is. I’m Connie, just let me know if you need anything else.” She said wiping her hands on her floral apron. Claire nodded, already cutting into the eggs. They were perfect, firm on the top and yet runny enough to sop up with the tender golden biscuits. The thick sliced ham was sweet and salty and slightly grilled. Claire sighed with delight at the simple feast. Noticing a row of pies on the counter, she made a mental note to return soon. Rose’s could become her new favorite place. Savoring her second mug of coffee, Claire’s thoughts were interrupted by a deep yet pleasant voice. “Miss Secord, good morning.” Looking up, Claire was surprised to see Sherriff Maxwell again, smiling kindly. She was again struck by his good looks and polite demeanor, neither of which had she expected to find in a raw frontier town. “Why, good morning Sheriff.”

  “Mind if I sit down?” She smiled tentatively and Maxwell slid into the opposite chair. A mug of coffee was cradled in his strong hands.

  “I hope you slept well. Are you finding everything you need?”

  “Well enough. I’ve explored the house and today I’m going to visit the gravesites and examine the store. I need to get busy, to try to take in everything.”

  “Fine, that’s great. Jump right in. People need your store and it may do you well to be occupied. I mean to, uh, help you get through this difficult time. The store has been closed several days now and you don’t want to be losing your customers to the competition. Weikert’s Mercantile wasn’t the fanciest place in town, but it was the friendliest. I hope you’ll be keeping up that tradition.”

  Claire managed a convincing smile. ‘Oh yes, but it’s going to take some time to learn the ropes.” The sheriff smiled, swallowed the last of his coffee and stood to go.

  “The cemetery is three blocks west of here. Look for the stand of oak trees.” He turned to leave and then swung back around. “Oh, Miss Secord, you might want to stop at the bank soon. The banker has some papers you should be aware of. You know, mortgages and the like.”

  Claire grimaced, “Thanks, I’ll do that, though I surely don’t trust banks or bankers. They always think it’s their money.” Thoughtfully, she watched Maxwell pay his bill and stride out of the restaurant. A mortgage. I hadn’t thought about that. There’s a lot I haven’t thought about yet. I have so much to learn.

  She finished her own coffee, left some money on the table, and headed for the door. It was time to pay her respects.

  ***

  Leaving Rose’s Café, Claire paused on the wooden planks that acted as a sidewalk. Glancing down the street she noticed a barbershop with its red and white striped pole, a dress emporium, the jail, and even a Chinese laundry. The other side of the dirt-packed street boasted a new hotel, its boards still yellow and raw, a saloon, a butcher, and, set back just a bit, a white church with a shiny bronze bell in a narrow steeple.

  Claire said a quick prayer of thanks for her blessings and asked for comfort from the shock of Ginny’s death.

  As if in reply, her heartache eased a tad and she felt a warm breeze on her cheek. Picking up her skirts she turned west and headed toward the town’s tiny cemetery. Glen Oaks was a small but tidy grouping of graves and memorials. Large oak trees sheltered the resting places and Claire easily located the graves of Richard and Virginia Weikert. Her uncle’s plot had tender shoots of grass beginning to take hold, but Ginny’s was still raw dirt. A plain wooden cross stood at the head of it. Claire dropped to her knees and brushed away a twig. She said another prayer and began to sob. Tears dripped onto the dirt and she wrapped her arms around her waist to comfort herself.

  Claire didn’t know how long she sat there crying. The sweet trilling of a tiny wren in the oak above brought her back to the present. She stiffly arose and gazed around. It was a peaceful place. A place she could come and be with her family.

  I will order a proper headstone for my uncle and aunt and, yes, I think I will find a bench to place under this tree so that I might linger longer. She headed back to town, feeling more at peace. This will become a home because my family is buried here and their business, now my business, is here.

  Arriving at her new store and home once more, Claire decided to explore the mercantile. The heavy door Claire had spotted in the parlor the night before opened into a narrow hallway that was used for storage. A second doorway covered with a calico curtain led into the store. Pushing it aside, Claire stepped into her new shop and gasped. The large room was dusty and disorganized. Bolts of fabric were strewn across the counter, crates were tumbled on the floor and the air was pungent with pickle juice, whale oil, and pipe tobacco. Sunshine poured through big, boxy windows, its rays illuminating dust particles in the air.

  Flinging open the two front windows, Claire turned and again surveyed the mess.

  Ginny really did need me. Uncle Richard’s death shook her up even more than I could have guessed. Well, there’s nothing here that can’t be fixed. It just needs some elbow grease and lots of soap and water.

  Briefly she thought about opening her door for business and then decided to wait.

  If I work hard I can have a grand reopening in a couple of days. I’ll make lemonade, serve cookies, and show this town what Weikert’s Mercantile can be under new ownership. It will be a fresh beginning for me and the town. Her mind racing with possibilities, Claire got to work.

  She swept and cleared the store shelves, removing bolts of calico and gingham fabric, ladies boots, lengths of coiled rope, nails and lanterns. Cooking utensils and canned peaches were added to a pile on the floor, the dust sifting down and settling on her hair and shoulders like snow. When the shelves were bare, she dug a pencil and some paper out of the roll-top desk, outlining her new vision for the store.

  All the rest of the day and the next she scrubbed and polished every surface in the shop until it shone. She kept the front door locked but the windows open and she was beginning to stir up some excitement in the town. People were strolling by and trying to peer in, attracted to the now-gleaming windows and the young woman bustling about inside. She’d hung a large sign on the front door and all day long people came closer to read and chatter.

  GRAND RE-OPENING!

  WEIKERT-SECORD FAMILY MERCANTILE

  SATURDAY APRIL 30TH

  Free lemonade and cookies for all!

  Claire Secord, Proprietor

  That evening, thoroughly exhausted and entirely pleased with herself, Claire decided she deserved a hot meal for all her hard work. She strolled down to Rose’s Café and ordered the blue plate special. Connie served her the meal and refilled Claire’s water glass. Moments later she came back with the blue enamel coffee pot and topped off Claire’s mug.

  “Miss Rose, this dinner was fabulous! Did you prepare it?” Claire asked, wiping her mouth delicately and setting aside her fork. Connie laughed as she surveyed the scant remains on Claire’s plate. Two pieces of fried chicken, roasted potatoes, steamed carrots, and an enormous slice of peach pie had disappeared. Claire delicately wiped her mouth as if she hadn’t just devoured it all.

  “My cook handles the meals. I did make the pie, though. Desserts are my specialty. In fact, those peaches came from my own tree back be
hind my restaurant here.”

  Claire got a sudden grin on her face. “You own this place? Rose’s is your café?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s mine and the bank’s.” Connie’s brown eyes were twinkling. “Someday I’ll own it free and clear. Until then I just keep serving and making payments.”

  Claire motioned to the empty chair at her table.

  “Please, if you have a moment, would you join me? I’d love to hear more about your restaurant and how you came to be here.”

  Connie pulled out the oak chair and plunked down. “Feels good to get off my feet. I come from a large family over in Council Bluffs. You went through it right before you crossed the Missouri,” She paused. Claire smiled and nodded. “Anyway, I learned how to cook and bake helping to raise a passel of brothers and sisters. As soon as the youngest was in school I figured I’d done my part and skedaddled. I found a job waiting tables at this place and started socking away money and ideas. When the owners retired I bought the place from them, oh, about three years ago. I cleaned and painted, hung some curtains and improved on the menu. I also started baking my special pies and, well, they turned out to be a huge hit.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Turns out folks around here have sweet tooths. Thank goodness. I grow fresh vegetables and herbs in the garden out back and even had fruit trees sent out from back east. Fresh apples, peaches and pears make great pies, cobblers and cakes.”

  “I’ll say. I completely devoured that luscious piece of peach pie.” Claire leaned over and whispered in a conspiring tone, “If my corset wasn’t so tight I’d have another!” Connie guffawed before quickly sobering up. “Say, I was awfully sorry to hear about your aunt. She was a very special lady. We were in a quilting club together. Your uncle, he was special, too. This town is going to miss those two. They were some of the earliest settlers.”

  Claire nodded and fought the tears from coming back. “I only wish I’d been able to spend some time with them. Why is it that you think you have plenty of time for loved ones and then they’re gone?”

  She shook her head and soft brown tendrils danced about her face. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She noticed the counter of baked goods again and inspiration struck.

  “Say, my grand re-opening of the store is Saturday. Would you bake cookies and prepare lemonade for me? I’ll pay you well. It would really help me out, and your baking skills are sure to be miles ahead of mine.” Claire smiled, hoping to win Connie over without much persuasion. Connie smiled back, her eyes shining.

  “It’s a deal. My oatmeal raisin cookies are real popular. I’ll make up an extra-large batch and stir up a crock of lemonade. I’ll even deliver them first thing Saturday morning. I want to see what you’ve done with the store myself. People have been anxious to see you open. Many are running low on provisions what with the place being closed for almost a week.”

  Claire stood up to leave, agreeing that she would see Connie first thing Saturday morning. It was a warm spring evening, and long shadows fell across the dusty street as birds chattered in the trees. Claire went on a stroll to work off her dinner and get to know the neighborhood. She’d always imagined the Midwest as a flat treeless prairie, but here along the Missouri River were gently rolling bluffs covered with waving grasses, oaks and elms. Tidy homes lined the dirt streets and the smells of suppertime wafted through the air. Children were playing in the side yards and their whoops of laughter brought a smile to Claire’s face. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been in Pennsylvania. Yes, she’d had her position as teacher but those boys weren’t her children and the house she’d lived in wasn’t her home.

  Things were different now. She had a place to live, a business to run, and maybe even a new friend. Humming, she turned and headed for home.

  ***

  Friday morning Claire rose bright and early. The neighborhood rooster’s crowing found her already dressed and sipping on a steaming mug of coffee, too excited to sleep. She had one day to put the final touches on her store before the grand reopening. Carrying her mug into the store, Claire consulted one of her many lists and then made a sweeping survey of the room.

  Stacks of merchandise sat in the corners. The walls, shelves, and even floors almost sparkled. After days of hard scrubbing and constant work, she was ready to reorganize the room and make the store her own. Starting with light-weight muslins, she sorted all the bolts of cloth and lined them up from the palest shades to the boldest prints. Pins, scissors, and buttons were neatly stacked nearby. Next she arranged the kitchen utensils; coffee pots, tin cups, large spoons, and other cookware were placed together. From the storeroom Claire had unearthed a new shipment of porcelain dinnerware. This she set up on a pretty cloth she’d draped over an empty crate. The effect was charming and she hoped the townswomen would be tempted to buy the delicate dishes.

  Flour, sugar, rice, cracker, and pickle crates were lined up on the far wall. Clean dippers hung from nails she pounded above the barrels. Penny candy glowed in glass jars on the counter. Farm implements went on the side wall. Hoes, scythes, axes, and hammers were neatly hung on pegs from the rough wood walls. Bags of seed were stacked on the floor below. The store was finally beginning to take shape, and Claire felt both a sense of satisfaction from her hard work coming to fruition and remorse that Gin and Richard could not see the mercantile in all its finery.

  By evening the shop was completely redone. Windows were polished, curtains were hung, and the front door had received a brand new coat of red paint. Claire had even managed to sweep the front porch and set out a bench she’d found under a pile of grain sacks. She was as ready as she could be.

  The big day was everything Claire could have hoped for. People had been waiting at her front door when she opened at 8 o’clock, lined up outside and complimenting the gleaming shelves as they walked in. Customers continued to stream in all day, never giving Claire a moment’s rest. Many came just to look, curious to see the product of Claire’s hard work but several were making purchases. Large purchases. She spent the day running back and forth scooping rice, cutting cloth, and bagging orders. The lemonade and cookies were such a big hit that Connie was forced to bring in reinforcements by early afternoon. Ladies gasped at the brightly colored fabrics and delicate dishes, children squealed at the bright jars of penny candy, and the farmers chose seed and tools from their own area of the store. As busy as she was, Claire still managed to listen to her customers’ requests and comments. She quickly realized she could learn a lot from what they said to one another as they browsed. She tucked those comments in the back of her mind as she waited on her guests. Later that afternoon, as she was helping Mrs. McNamara choose a piece from the new selection of china, Claire felt a tingling at the back of her neck. She stretched, rubbing her neck, and blushed to see the handsome sheriff gazing at her from across the room. Her heart began to race as she quickly looked away. His slow easy grin made the crinkles around his blue eyes deepen.

  He really is very good-looking she thought with a start. With a couple of strides he was gone, but not before he tipped his hat at Claire, a wide grin that showed white, even teeth. Claire turned back to her elderly customer, but for a moment found it hard to focus on what the lady was saying.

  No one had ever had that effect on her, not even her late fiancée. Her romance with Caleb had been easy, natural, uncomplicated. They had grown up together; they shared the same values, beliefs, and memories. Caleb was an aspiring lawyer who had an interest in politics. He had planned to run for office in their hometown. He’d be on the city council, become mayor, and eventually might even make it to the governor’s mansion with Claire at his side. Claire had helped him write some of his speeches, excited to participate in her lover’s future. But that life was all gone and Claire was making a new one for herself. She pulled her thoughts back to the present and to Mrs. McNamara, who’d finally decided on a new tea pot with a floral design.

  When five o’clock finally arrived, Claire was happy to close up shop for t
he day. It had been exciting, and wonderful to see that all her hard work had been a success, but she was exhausted. Shelves needed restocking and receipts needed to be tallied up. A customer had brought in fresh bread and eggs as trade, so Claire brewed tea and made scrambled eggs and toast for her supper, adding the totals for the day as she ate.

  Claire continued to pore over her books until she could barely keep her eyes open. After double-checking the locks on her shop and back room, mindful of the cash she had in her bureau and in the store, she stumbled to bed, glad for the pistol under her mattress. Its reassuring heft relaxed her as she fell asleep, dreaming of a tall, lanky cowboy sheriff with black hair and very blue eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Setting the broom back in its corner, Connie Rose surveyed the empty café with a satisfied smile. Another busy day was done. Busy but good. Today’s special of fried chicken with biscuits was popular as always and every piece had been sold, right down to the last wing. In addition, four of her luscious peach pies had been sliced and devoured.

  Recalling Miss Secord’s comment about her tight corset, Connie chuckled aloud in the empty room. Yup, pie could do that. She secured the locks on the front and rear doors and climbed the back staircase to her cozy private rooms. Lighting the oil lamps she turned slowly to survey her parlor sanctuary. Cabbage rose wallpaper in shades of pink and maroon covered the walls. An overstuffed chair and ottoman were strategically placed facing a large window. Her latest sewing project, a basket of quilt squares, sat nearby. The Franklin stove emitted waves of warmth and a bit of soft light. In the far corner sat her pride and joy, a polished walnut highboy where her collection of rose patterned pitchers and teapots gleamed in the soft light.