Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel by Ann Shorey

This is none of our concern.”
    “You’re right. Forgive me, Miss Lindberg.” He shrugged Rosemary’s hand off his shoulder and stalked from the room.
    Faith stared. She’d gone from being Faith to Miss Lindberg in the space of a few minutes. The man was as changeable as a Missouri spring—warm one minute and biting the next.

     
    By Friday morning, Faith had dismissed Curt’s moodiness from her mind. That evening, she’d be attending a dance with Royal Baxter. For once the lack of customers seemed a blessing rather than a curse. She could close the mercantile promptly at five, cook Grandpa’s supper, and still have time to bathe and dress for the festivities.
    At half past four, Faith hurried to the storeroom, tucked a feather duster under her apron strings, and grabbed a clean rag. Starting in the farthest corner, she flicked dust from shelves and countertops, working her way toward the front door. Halfway there, she surveyed the unsold lusterware dinner set while she polished a matching soup tureen. Maybe if she moved the dishes to a glass case they’d be more likely to catch a customer’s eye. With a little rearranging—
    The bell over the door chimed. Startled, Faith whirled to see who’d entered, then heard a clink. The handle of the duster connected with one of the stacked teacups and knocked the delicate china piece into its mates. Like dominoes, cups tipped and crashed to the floor.
    “No-o-o!” Faith lunged forward to protect the bowls, at the same time losing her grip on the tureen, which shattered on top of several dinner plates. She sagged against a counter, aghast. She didn’t know which was worse—destroying a set of expensive dishes, or staying to clean the mess, knowing she wouldn’t be ready when Royal arrived at seven.
    “Miss Faith?”
    She looked up to see Mr. Grisbee holding a tin container.
    “I need me some coal oil. Decided not to go to Hartfield.”

10
     
    F aith caught a section of her hair between heated tongs and rolled a curl. Her stomach flipped with anxiety as she listened to Royal and her grandfather’s voices coming from the parlor. Of all the days to be late.
    She held the tongs over an oil lamp and waited while they reheated. Precious minutes slipped by while she arranged her thick hair into a fashionable cascade of curls at the back of her head. Dipping her fingers into a bowl of sugar water, she smoothed the sides of her coiffure to control any stray locks, then stepped into her purple chintz dress.
    The clock chimed half past the hour as she skimmed down the stairs and arrived, breathless, at the parlor door. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Did Grandpa explain that I was detained at the mercantile late this afternoon?”
    “Indeed he did.” Royal’s face creased in a broad smile. “And I must say, you’re worth waiting for.” His dark brown eyes glinted approval.
    Using his cane, Grandpa levered himself to his feet. “We’ve been having an interesting discussion. Seems Major Baxter thinks he might have met Sebastian and Maxwell during his time with the Federal militia.”
    Faith’s heart contracted at the mention of her father and brother’s names. “You saw them? Where?”
    “I can’t be sure.” He pointed at the oil painting hanging over the fireplace. “But I know I’ve seen their faces.”
    She looked at the portrait of her parents with herself and Maxwell. “That was painted years ago. Maxwell looked quite different as a boy.”
    “The resemblance remains.” Royal nodded at her grandfather. “I’ll search my memory. We’ll talk again next time I call on Miss Faith.”
    Next time. Faith couldn’t keep a pleased smile from her lips.

     
    Buggies lined the front of the Lafayette Hotel when Royal turned the carriage onto Spring Street. He rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to tie up in front of the depot. Would you like me to help you down here first?”
    Although the entrance to the hotel was well-lit, the remainder of the area lay