Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel Read online

  Curt clattered down and met her in the entryway. He shook his head.

  Faith dropped her carryall and slumped against the wall. “We have to find him.”

  “We will.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the parlor. “Sit for a moment and tell me what brought this change in your granddad. He seemed in good spirits at church.”

  She dropped onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands. When she looked up, Curt’s image blurred through her tears. “After church . . .” She swallowed. “You know we rode home with the man who sat with us. Royal Baxter.”

  Curt’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

  She explained Royal’s connection to her father and brother, without mentioning the dance. “When he told us my father had a bandaged arm at the time he saw him, Grandpa got upset. He thinks Papa wouldn’t have been killed if he’d been in an infirmary having his arm tended to.”

  Curt’s hand strayed to his neck. His eyes hardened. “Unlikely a sore arm would have made any difference. Men went into battle with worse wounds.”

  “When we find Grandpa, you can tell him that.”

  “I’m going by myself. You need to stay here in case he just went walking and comes back. He’d be worried if you weren’t home. It’s past suppertime.”

  “He’s my grandfather. I’m going.”

  He put both hands on her upper arms, holding her in place. “No. I’ll take a horse from the stable and ride out a ways. I have an idea where he might be. You want something to do, pray.”

  Faith bit her lip. How many times over these past years had she waited and prayed, often to no avail? She followed Curt to the door and stood gazing after his retreating figure.

  “Help him,” she whispered. “Help me.”

  Curt saddled his favorite of Ripley’s horses, a roan mare. Rip wouldn’t mind him taking the animal when he explained why. It would be dark within an hour. There wasn’t time for him to go home and saddle Moses.

  He rode north on Spring Street and soon left the outskirts of town. The rolling terrain was lush with spring growth on oaks, chokecherries, and hickory trees. Swampy lowland reflected the coral color of sunset from the black water. He swerved right and followed a broad track to the top of a cleared knob.

  Inside an iron fence, headstones and crosses dotted the daisy-strewn knoll. Beyond the crest, a bent figure moved among the markers. Curt slipped from the saddle, tied the horse to one of the fence posts, and opened the gate. Not wishing to intrude on someone’s private grief, he moved quietly to the top of the rise.

  Judge Lindberg sat atop a low brick wall enclosing a section that appeared to be ten feet square. Honeysuckle tumbled over the sides. When Curt drew near, he read the name “Clara Lindberg” carved into one limestone obelisk and “Helena Lindberg” on its twin.

  The older man stood and faced him. Defiance showed in the set of his mouth. “I know Sebastian and Maxwell aren’t here. They’re in the ground in Westport.” He gestured toward the markers. “I had this wall built after my Clara died. Then Helena . . .” Tears shone on his cheeks. “She was Sebastian’s wife, Faith and Maxwell’s mother. She passed when Faith was a girl. I intended this ground for all of us when our time came. I wanted to keep my family together.”

  He swayed and Curt strode to his side, clasping him under one arm. “It’s getting late. Faith has supper waiting. Can you ride?”

  “Course I can. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  Trudging back to his horse, Curt mentally prepared for a long walk to town. He turned, surveying again the markers spread over the knoll. His vision changed to the sight of battlefield graves—rows of crude wooden crosses jammed in ravaged ground to mark the final rest of so many brave men.

  Yet he’d been spared. Reverend French assured him God had a plan for his life. He wished he knew what it was.

  Faith paced the hallway from kitchen to front entrance. The sun had set long ago. The roads weren’t safe after dark. Too many stragglers. Some were in search of a new place to settle, others looked for an opportunity to rob a lone traveler. She twisted her hands in her apron, maintaining a silent prayer as she walked. Why hadn’t she insisted on taking Grandpa with her this afternoon? She’d never leave him alone again.

  She opened the door for the dozenth time, peering out into the starlit night. The slow plop of a horse’s hooves on the dusty street sounded from somewhere along the road. She leaned outside, straining to see through the darkness. Two shapes appeared, one on horseback, one on foot. Grabbing a lamp from the entry table, she dashed out to the boardwalk.

  Yellow light illuminated Curt’s features as he tied the reins to the hitching rail and helped her grandfather dismount. Thank you, Lord! Faith sagged against the rail, knees weak with relief.

  Curt took the lamp from her hand. “The way you’re shaking, you’re going to drop this.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice wavered. She reached for him, then let her hand fall. “I was so frightened.”

  Grandpa stepped next to her. “I knew where I was. No need to be upset.” He marched into the house.

  “But I didn’t know,” she said to his back.

  “He was up at the cemetery.” Curt’s hand rested on her shoulder.

  She shuddered. “That place terrifies me. Grandpa tries to make me visit our family plot, but I refuse.” Forgetting propriety, she leaned against him, drawing comfort from his solid presence. “How did you know to search in that direction?”

  “I didn’t know. Just had a feeling.”

  Warmth from his arm flowed through her. “I’m thankful you’re my friend. I don’t know what I’d have done without you tonight.”

  “You’d have found someone else.” His voice sounded gruff. He stepped to one side and handed her the lamp.

  She glanced up, surprised at his change in attitude. If a more inconsistent man existed, she had yet to meet him. Matching his impersonal tone, she said, “Please join us for some hot soup. I know you must be hungry.”

  “I’d best get on home. Rosemary will be worried.”

  “She worries about you? Why?” The moment she asked the question, Faith wished she could retract her words. Her question was far too personal.

  Curt’s face turned stony. “Guess because I’m her brother.”

  “Well, I know that, but—”

  “Stop by the livery in the morning and tell me how your granddad’s feeling, would you?” He walked to the hitching rail. While he untied the roan, a rider on a tall black stallion approached.

  Faith’s palms moistened. She didn’t need to hold up the lamp to know it was Royal. His timing couldn’t have been worse. She shot a glance at Curt, hoping Royal wouldn’t assume he too had come to call.

  Swallowing flutters, she approached the two men. Courtesy dictated that she introduce them. “This is a surprise, Royal. Have you met Curt Saxon?”

  “Only at the stable,” he said, dismounting. “How d’you do, Saxon?” He stuck out his hand. “Royal Baxter.”

  Curt gave Royal’s hand a brief shake. “Pleasure.”

  From what Faith could see of Curt’s expression, the meeting was anything but a pleasure. He swung into the saddle and kicked his horse into a trot.

  Royal joined her on the boardwalk. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I’d hoped to have time to talk more with you and your grandfather.”

  Flattered at his continued interest, Faith glanced between Royal and the open door. Grandpa waited inside, no doubt hungry and most likely exhausted. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. We’ve had an unsettling evening. Perhaps another time?”

  “I hope that Saxon fellow wasn’t the cause of your distress. I can discourage his visits if you say the word.”

  “Oh, my heavens, no! Quite the contrary. He’s . . . a good friend.” She took a step toward the house.

  Royal moved closer. “Truth be told, I wanted to see you again.” His warm gaze caressed her face. “Would you accompany me on a
buggy ride Sunday afternoon?”

  “That sounds splendid.” A pulse ticked in her throat.

  When he left, she floated into the house. As long as she could prevent him from upsetting her grandfather, everything would be fine.

  When Faith answered the door the following morning, Rosemary stood on the porch. “Curt told me about your grandfather’s . . . troubles. How can I help?”

  Tears blurred Faith’s vision. “You’re an answer to prayer,” she said, seizing her friend in a hug. “I didn’t know how I could leave him here and operate the store. I can’t expect your brother to run up here all the time to check on him.” Faith knew she was talking too fast. Taking a deep breath, she led the way across the parlor rug, patting a space beside her on the sofa. “Could you please open for me today? I’ll be there as soon as I can convince Grandpa to come with me to town.”

  Rosemary’s eyes shone above her gentle smile. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I stay here with him?”

  “But you said you don’t want to be a nurse.”

  “You don’t need a nurse, just a companion. D’you think he’d mind having me here?”

  “If you’re talking about me, the answer is no, I wouldn’t mind.” Grandpa stood in the doorway. “Can you play chess?”

  “Curt’s been teaching me, but I have a ways to go before I can beat him.”

  Grandpa rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. I’ll go get the board.”

  Chuckling, Rosemary stood. “One other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Would you let my dog come in with us?” She glanced between Faith and her grandfather. “He’s no trouble.”

  “Don’t see why not.” His cane tapped on the wooden stair treads as he climbed to his room.

  Weak with relief, Faith leaned back on the sofa and blew out a deep breath. When Curt left last evening, she hadn’t known whether he’d want to continue their relationship. She’d thanked him for his help and he’d withdrawn. Then to have Royal arrive—but why should Curt care? All he wanted was friendship, on his terms.

  She walked to the door and whistled for Bodie. Rosemary’s collie pattered into the house, sniffing around the table in the entry before trotting into the parlor and flopping down on the rug at his owner’s feet.

  Rosemary reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “I plan to have your grandfather help me plant flowers this afternoon. We can’t play chess all day. It will do him good to have work for his hands.”

  “You’re heaven-sent. Does Curt know you’re here?”

  “Absolutely. We discuss all our decisions.”

  Faith studied her hands, trying to imagine her life had Maxwell lived. What a comfort it would be to have a brother to share her plans. Until Grandpa agreed, she’d have to proceed alone and hope for the best.

  Knowing Grandpa was safe with Rosemary, Faith gathered her courage after closing the mercantile and walked the two blocks from the store to the Lafayette Hotel. She carried the scrap of paper with Alonzo McGuire’s name in her carry-all. She needed to add their names to a member list for the departing wagon train the Potters had mentioned. End of May was shaving the time a little close, since the Noble Springs Observer wouldn’t publish her advertisement until Saturday. Surely a buyer would come forward right away. Who wouldn’t want to operate a well-established business in a growing town?

  As she reached the entrance to the hotel, a train rolled into the station, bell clanging. Smoke poured from the stack and trailed along the top of the cars. Faith paused a moment to watch, wishing the rails stretched all the way to Oregon. Judging from the number of workers reported to live at the rooming house behind West & Riley’s, construction was progressing. But she couldn’t wait the years it would take for completion.

  Faith pushed open the door of the hotel. Plush red lounge chairs in the lobby looked dusty in the late afternoon light. A couple of travelers sat in a corner hunched over a card game, smoke from their cigars smelling like burning hair. She waved her hand under her nose to dispel the rank odor.

  The clerk leaned over the registration counter and eyed her carryall. “Is that all the luggage you have, ma’am?”

  Heat rose up her cheeks at his suspicious tone. “I’m not a guest. Please, may I ask you to tell Mr. McGuire that Miss Lindberg would like to speak with him for a moment?”

  Smirking, the clerk tugged at his chin whiskers. “You can ask, miss, but he’s not here. You’ll likely find him at West & Riley’s Restaurant. It’s near onto suppertime.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll give him a message if you want.”

  Faith’s grumbling stomach told her it was beyond suppertime. “No, thank you.” She walked to the door, sensing his gaze following her.

  Setting sun lit the western clouds with crimson fire. Faith squared her shoulders and trudged six blocks east to the restaurant. She glanced at the horizon from time to time, hoping she could accomplish her goal and arrive home before full dark.

  Aromas of fried beefsteak and burned biscuits enveloped her when she entered the crowded eatery. She halted inside the door, quailing at the sight of a roomful of men sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at long tables piled with heaping platters of food. How could she find Mr. McGuire without making a complete fool of herself?

  Jacob West made his way toward her, weaving between the tables. His white apron was splotched with dark stains that Faith hoped were from today’s meal. “Miss Lindberg, isn’t it? Are you here for supper?” He sounded incredulous. Using the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his swarthy skin, dislodging dark curls at his hairline.

  “No.” Certainly not, she wanted to add, but refrained. “I was told I might find a Mr. McGuire here.”

  “That’s him over there.” The restaurant owner pointed at a narrow-shouldered man wearing a black slouch hat.

  “Thank you.” Faith drew a deep breath. Any man who would leave his hat on while eating was no gentleman. Her courage wavered.

  “McGuire. Lady to see you.”

  Stopped in the act of turning toward the door, Faith pasted a confident expression on her face and moved in the wagon master’s direction. He scraped his chair away from the table and unfolded to a height of well over six feet.

  “I’m Alonzo McGuire. What is it you want?”

  Some of the diners paused to watch the encounter.

  Faith swallowed. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She dipped a slight curtsy. “I’m Miss Lindberg. My grandfather and I wish to be part of your company when you leave for Oregon.”

  “You’re funnin’ me. Did one of you put her up to this?” He raised an eyebrow and glared at the men around him.

  “I’m quite serious.” Faith took a step closer. “I know you’re leading a company at the end of this month. We want to be included.” Her neck felt the strain of looking up into his stern face.

  “Go ahead, take ’em,” one of the men called. “Least she’d add somethin’ good lookin’ to your journey.”

  “Sorry, miss.”

  “You don’t look sorry.” As soon as the words passed her lips, she wished she could retract them. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I ain’t taking no purty little girl and an old man. Last time I did, the old boy died and the rest of us ended up looking after a hothouse flower all the way to Oregon. Then she wanted to turn around and have me take her back to Missouri.” He snorted. “No, miss, you and your grandpap ain’t going with me.”

  Faith’s cheeks burned at the general guffaws around the room. She lifted her chin. “You’re not the only person who knows the trail. I’ll find someone else.” She spun on her heel and stalked from the restaurant, catching a sympathetic light in Jacob West’s eyes as she left.

  The sun dangled low on the horizon, sending fingers of gloom past closed businesses. Faith marched toward home, fuming. She’d pay a teamster to take them across—all she had to do was find the right one.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement in the narrow space between buildings. She slo
wed and peered into the shadows. Outlines of two men, hats pulled low, showed in the dimness. Blood pounded in her ears. She should never have paused to look. Now they knew she’d seen them.

  Conscious of the day’s receipts in her carryall, she whipped around the corner onto Second Street. One block and she’d be at the Saxons’ house. Lord, please let Curt be home. Footsteps echoed behind her. She smelled the odor of tobacco smoke mixed with unwashed bodies. Lifting her skirt to her boot tops, she raced along the deserted walk. When she reached the corner, she flew from the boardwalk and dashed toward safety without pausing.

  “Faith!” Curt rose from the top step of the porch and ran to meet her. “What’s the matter? What are you doing here?” He wrapped an arm across her shoulders. “Come. Sit.” He guided her to the porch.

  She placed her hand over his and rested her cheek against his chest. He felt warm and strong and safe. “I prayed you’d be here,” she said between gasps for air. “Two men followed me.”

  “I don’t see anyone now.”

  “They must have ducked into the alley.” Her voice rose. “They were right behind me.”

  He took her hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb. “What’d they look like?”

  “I don’t know. Shadows. That’s all I saw.”

  Curt studied her for a moment. “Why are you in this part of town? I was just going to fetch Rosemary. Thought you’d be home by now.”

  “I should’ve been. I’ve been busy making a fool of myself at West & Riley’s.” Blinking at the tears that stung her eyelids, Faith told him of her stop at the hotel and subsequent meeting with Alonzo McGuire. “Then I saw those men and couldn’t think of anything but finding you.”

  His face softened. He wiped tears from her cheek with one finger. “I’m here.”

  13

  The following morning Faith stepped out the door with Grandpa at her side. “Are you sure you want to come with me today?”