Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel by Ann Shorey Page A

hidden in dusky shadows. Faith had heard enough rumors about vagrants loitering near the railroad depot to be uncomfortable near the tracks after sundown. “It’s not far. I don’t mind a short walk.”
    The horse ambled along the street as though making its own search for a stopping place. Suddenly it whinnied and sidestepped. A dark shape stood in the center of the road, swinging its head back and forth.
    “Whoa!” Royal fought the reins to control the horse.
    Faith clutched his arm, feeling the strength of taut muscles through his coat. “What on earth is that?”
    He stood and peered into the dusk beyond the reach of the buggy lamp. “Looks like a cow. Good thing the horse saw her. She’s black as midnight.”
    “A cow.” Faith chuckled over the thrum of her slowing heartbeat. “I thought it was a bear.”
    “You’d have been safe.” He patted her hand, then reached under the seat and brought out a rifle. “This here Spencer repeater saved my skin more than once during the war.”
    She stared at the polished stock gleaming in the lamplight. “Is it loaded?”
    “Always. If it’s not, I might as well carry a stick.” He shoved the weapon out of sight and handed her the reins. “Hold the horse. I’ll run old Bessie back across the tracks.” Royal vaulted to the ground and sprinted toward the cow, waving his arms.
    The animal bellowed and backed away.
    “Keep going! Hoo yah!” He chased her until they were both out of sight.
    Faith clutched the reins, thankful he hadn’t fired at the animal before identifying it.
    Royal huffed back to the carriage and climbed in. “She’s on her way home. Hope she stays there.” Taking the reins from Faith’s hands, he directed the horse to a hitching rail in front of the depot.

     
    She put the incident out of her mind when they entered the hotel ballroom, determined to enjoy the evening. Swags of white muslin, anchored with crossed dogwood boughs, festooned the walls. The fresh-cut branches gave the square room the look and fragrance of a forest glade. For a moment, Faith’s mind slipped to the previous Sunday’s picnic with Curt and Rosemary. As quickly, she returned to the present with Royal. Lean and handsome in his black frock coat, he drew admiring stares from girls clustered at the edges of the dance floor.
    Couples circled to a lively polka, scraped from the bows of two fiddlers. As was the case with every social event since the war, women outnumbered the men. Those not dancing rested on chairs grouped along the sides of the room.
    Royal guided her to a seat and whispered in her ear. “You won’t mind if I leave you with the other ladies for a moment, will you? I’d like to make a donation to the cause.”
    “Go right ahead. I’ll be fine.”
    He gave a half bow and skirted the room, heading for a decorated booth near the musicians’ platform.
    “Faith?”
    Faith suppressed a groan when she saw Nelda Raines mincing toward her with exaggerated daintiness. Trapped. During her years at Noble Springs Academy, Nelda was one girl she’d learned to avoid. No one took more pleasure in spreading bad news, whether or not it was true.
    Nelda sank into an empty chair. “Did I see you come in with that Royal Baxter? Calls himself a major?” She fanned herself. “My dear, haven’t you heard about him?”
    “What is it you think I should know?” She glanced across the room, hoping for rescue, but Royal stood at the donation booth, chatting with a gray-haired lady wearing mourning clothes.
    “Well,” Nelda leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s fickle . One lady friend after another. Leads them on, then drops them. You’d best be careful.” She batted her blonde lashes, looking like a nearsighted mouse. “I thought you should hear the news from a friend—for your own good, of course.”
    “How on earth would you know that? Unless you . . .”
    Nelda’s cheeks turned a mottled red. “Me? Of course not! But a man like that—dashing,