warm anyone’s heart. “How then can I help you?”
“Well . . . ah . . . is your father here, miss? I could use some help in choosing new boots.” He glanced down at boots that looked to have seen more gravel than grass. “You do carry boots, don’t you?”
“I sure do. Right this way.” She led the man down to the third aisle toward the smithy. “But my father won’t be able to help you. He died years ago.” Penny hid the grin that her comment brought to her lips. Whatever made her answer like that? She knew sheshould have put her hair up. Wearing the curly mass of gold down her back did nothing to make her look matronly. And the pink ribbon she’d tied in a bow at the collar of her gingham dress didn’t exactly help either. Maybe if she could keep from smiling so much or take the bounce out of her step. . . .
“Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I just thought . . . ah . . . is your . . . ah . . .”
Penny took pity on the gentleman. “Look, mister, my name is Penny Bjorklund—Mrs. Hjelmer Bjorklund—and this is my store. My husband has the blacksmith shop right next door. Now, if it’s boots you’re wanting, I know a whole lot more than he does about the line of boots I carry here, since I did the ordering.”
Now it was the man’s turn to suffer the pangs of discomfort. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. You look hardly old enough to be out of the schoolroom, and . . .”
She could see the awareness of what he was saying dawn in his eyes.
He clapped his hat back on his head and turned toward the door. “Do you mind if I go out and come back in? We can start this conversation all over again, and maybe I’ll be able to keep from chewing on these beat-up old boots of mine. They don’t fit too good in my mouth, you see.”
“I’m sure they don’t taste too good either.” Penny smiled and gestured toward the straight-backed chair she’d set in the aisle just for this purpose. “If you’ll sit down and tell me what size you wear, I’ll bring you a pair to try on.”
“I don’t rightly know.” He raised his foot in the air. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ll bring several, and we can put them against yours till we get close.” She studied the boot a moment longer. Thinking size ten to twelve, she lifted several pairs down and returned with an armful.
“My pa made these boots before I left home.” He looked up, studying her face in the sunbeam that streamed through the sparkling clean windows. “You know, you look mighty familiar. You got any family living in Ohio?”
Penny stopped opening the boot in her hand. She gazed at him intently. “I used to. We were from near Lima, but after my pa and ma died, I went to live with my aunt and uncle. We came out here.”
“You know where your pa come from before that?”
Penny wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember. “Maybe somewhere around Cincinnati? I’m just not sure.”
“Well, I’ll be. Was your name by any chance Sjornson?”
Penny nodded. Please, God, let this be true. Does this man really know my family?
“And your pa was Able Sjornson?”
Penny nodded again. She couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat.
“Well, I’ll be a gallopin’ gopher.” The man stood and extended his hand. “My name is Ephraim Nelson. My ma is your pa’s older sister. You look just like her—my ma, I mean.”
He took off his hat again, revealing a receding hairline above the hat mark on his forehead. With the crinkles at his eyes and creases in his cheeks, he wasn’t as young as she’d thought originally.
“My ma was a lot older than him, her being the eldest and him the last of ten children, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Penny studied the box in her hands. When she looked back up, a sheen of moisture made her blink. “Ma and Pa didn’t say much about their families. I got the feeling there was something that happened.”
Ephraim nodded. “There was a falling out.” He reached for the boot box and sat back
“Well . . . ah . . . is your father here, miss? I could use some help in choosing new boots.” He glanced down at boots that looked to have seen more gravel than grass. “You do carry boots, don’t you?”
“I sure do. Right this way.” She led the man down to the third aisle toward the smithy. “But my father won’t be able to help you. He died years ago.” Penny hid the grin that her comment brought to her lips. Whatever made her answer like that? She knew sheshould have put her hair up. Wearing the curly mass of gold down her back did nothing to make her look matronly. And the pink ribbon she’d tied in a bow at the collar of her gingham dress didn’t exactly help either. Maybe if she could keep from smiling so much or take the bounce out of her step. . . .
“Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I just thought . . . ah . . . is your . . . ah . . .”
Penny took pity on the gentleman. “Look, mister, my name is Penny Bjorklund—Mrs. Hjelmer Bjorklund—and this is my store. My husband has the blacksmith shop right next door. Now, if it’s boots you’re wanting, I know a whole lot more than he does about the line of boots I carry here, since I did the ordering.”
Now it was the man’s turn to suffer the pangs of discomfort. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. You look hardly old enough to be out of the schoolroom, and . . .”
She could see the awareness of what he was saying dawn in his eyes.
He clapped his hat back on his head and turned toward the door. “Do you mind if I go out and come back in? We can start this conversation all over again, and maybe I’ll be able to keep from chewing on these beat-up old boots of mine. They don’t fit too good in my mouth, you see.”
“I’m sure they don’t taste too good either.” Penny smiled and gestured toward the straight-backed chair she’d set in the aisle just for this purpose. “If you’ll sit down and tell me what size you wear, I’ll bring you a pair to try on.”
“I don’t rightly know.” He raised his foot in the air. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ll bring several, and we can put them against yours till we get close.” She studied the boot a moment longer. Thinking size ten to twelve, she lifted several pairs down and returned with an armful.
“My pa made these boots before I left home.” He looked up, studying her face in the sunbeam that streamed through the sparkling clean windows. “You know, you look mighty familiar. You got any family living in Ohio?”
Penny stopped opening the boot in her hand. She gazed at him intently. “I used to. We were from near Lima, but after my pa and ma died, I went to live with my aunt and uncle. We came out here.”
“You know where your pa come from before that?”
Penny wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember. “Maybe somewhere around Cincinnati? I’m just not sure.”
“Well, I’ll be. Was your name by any chance Sjornson?”
Penny nodded. Please, God, let this be true. Does this man really know my family?
“And your pa was Able Sjornson?”
Penny nodded again. She couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat.
“Well, I’ll be a gallopin’ gopher.” The man stood and extended his hand. “My name is Ephraim Nelson. My ma is your pa’s older sister. You look just like her—my ma, I mean.”
He took off his hat again, revealing a receding hairline above the hat mark on his forehead. With the crinkles at his eyes and creases in his cheeks, he wasn’t as young as she’d thought originally.
“My ma was a lot older than him, her being the eldest and him the last of ten children, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Penny studied the box in her hands. When she looked back up, a sheen of moisture made her blink. “Ma and Pa didn’t say much about their families. I got the feeling there was something that happened.”
Ephraim nodded. “There was a falling out.” He reached for the boot box and sat back
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