Courting Trouble by Deeanne Gist Page A

book.
    He looked first at Mother, then at her. ‘‘He asked if the Slap Out could be granted a license to act as a post office.’’
    Essie waited, but he said nothing more. ‘‘Is that all he asked for, Papa?’’
    His entire face showed his distress. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
    ‘‘A post office,’’ Essie repeated. ‘‘Well. Will you give it to him?’’
    ‘‘It’s not my decision, ultimately, but I agreed to initiate the paper work and to give him a recommendation to the state.’’
    She nodded. ‘‘Good. That’s . . . why, it’s wonderful news. I know he’s thrilled. Thank you, Papa.’’
    ‘‘Squirt,’’ he whispered.
    But she’d already left the room.
    ————
    ‘‘I’m going up to market in Dallas for a few days,’’ Hamilton said. ‘‘Do you think you can handle things while I’m gone?’’
    Essie paused before slipping a bolt of fabric onto the shelf. ‘‘Of course. When were you thinking of leaving?’’
    ‘‘Right now.’’
    ‘‘Right now! But . . . but what about Mae?’’
    ‘‘Mrs. Peterson has agreed to stay with her while I’m gone. I’ve already sent my trunk to the station.’’
    ‘‘Oh.’’ Essie looked around the store, trying to get her bearings. Since their incident in the parlor, she hadn’t known quite what to do or say. He’d been completely unapproachable, either barking at her or ignoring her.
    ‘‘Hamilton, about yesterday—’’
    ‘‘I won’t be away for more than two or three days and will be back before Saturday, in any event.’’
    ‘‘I see.’’ She straightened a stack of handkerchiefs on the table.
    ‘‘Well, good-bye, then.’’ He pushed his glasses up.
    ‘‘Good-bye, Hamilton. Godspeed.’’
    ————
    ES: DELAYED STOP BE BACK MONDAY STOP HAVE BIG SURPRISE STOP HC
    Essie pressed the telegram against her heart. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder. She slipped the telegram back into the envelope and placed it in her apron pocket.
    She’d never been sent a telegram before. It was heady, receiving such a thing. And he wasn’t mad anymore. Was even going to bring her a surprise to make up for their little misunderstanding.
    She raised the shade and propped open the door to the Slap Out.
    ————
    Essie held the mouse catcher high over her head, gently twirling it in a circular motion. Each boy crowding around her had placed his name in the black bowl at the end of the rod.
    ‘‘Mr. Vandervoort?’’ Essie asked. ‘‘Would you like to do the honors?’’
    He looked up from the checkerboard. ‘‘Why, shore, Miss Essie.’’ Standing, he hitched up his trousers and looked the group over. ‘‘All these fellas brought in a mouse?’’
    ‘‘That’s right. You pick a name from the bowl, and that’s who gets to feed Colonel.’’
    Vandervoort raised his hand and fished inside the bowl.
    ‘‘ Essie! What in the blue blazes are you doing?’’
    Essie jumped. Vandervoort jumped. The children jumped.
    ‘‘Hamilton! You’re home!’’
    He strode to her, his hair mussed, his complexion windburned, his eyes furious. He snatched the mouse catcher out of her hand, spilling a couple of names from its bowl.
    She had no idea what he was angry about and she didn’t care. She was so very glad to see him. ‘‘Mr. Vandervoort?’’ she said, never taking her eyes off Hamilton. ‘‘Whose name did you draw?’’
    ‘‘Lawrence’s.’’
    She turned her attention to Lawrence. He was about six years of age and from one of the better families in town. ‘‘Congratulations, Lawrence. You won! Would you like me to show you how to feed Colonel?’’
    ‘‘He will have to wait,’’ Hamilton said. ‘‘I must see you in the back.’’
    She smiled. It was so good to have him home. ‘‘Of course.’’ She glanced at Lawrence. ‘‘I’ll return in just a moment.’’
    Hamilton grasped her arm and propelled her to the storage room. As soon as they made it through the curtain, he spun her