Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel by Ann Shorey Page A

toward the door.
    “Ma’am? I’ll be right with you,” Faith called.
    “Some other day. It was impulsive of me anyway. My husband wouldn’t have been happy to have me come home with more dress goods.”
    Grandpa snatched the page from Faith’s hand. “You don’t know how long I worked on this, and you can’t take two minutes to read it. I don’t know why I bother.”
    “I’ll take all the time in the world this evening. Just not while I’m busy.”
    “We won’t be home until late, remember? Miss Saxon invited us to supper.” He banged his cane against the floor with more force than necessary on his way out.
    Faith jammed her hands into her apron pockets and scuffed to one of the empty chairs next to the stove. Balancing her time in the store with Grandpa’s needs grew more difficult each week.
    Dinner at the Saxons’ would be a welcome treat. Maybe she could coax a few words out of Curt. She knew he could talk a blue streak. She’d overheard him sharing stories with Grandpa about his experiences with horses prior to the war. But when she was around, he seldom spoke more than a sentence or two. He was friendly enough when they first became acquainted. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to offend him.
    Over the next hour, several patrons came and went. As she dropped coins in the cash drawer, she hoped today might turn out to be their best yet, in spite of losing the dress goods sale. So far, her new ideas hadn’t done much to lessen the mercantile’s struggles.
    She was occupied with showing buttons to Reverend French’s wife when three men entered. They headed for the boot display, the scent of tobacco trailing behind them. Faith’s fingertips tingled. They looked like the same three men who had ridden past her on that rainy day several weeks ago. The tallest of them had his back to her as he examined a pair of black cavalry-style boots.
    Faith dumped several buttons in a paper twist and thrust them at Clarissa French. “Thank you. I trust these will match your mother’s dress nicely.”
    Clarissa stared at her, a startled expression on her face. “These are for my daughter. I told you that when I came in, and I’m not finished with my selection.”
    “Forgive me.” She forced her attention back to the trays of buttons. “Now which color were you interested in?”
    “It’s so hard to decide. You know how girls are. You must have spent time with your mother choosing dress goods for your graduation.”
    Faith swallowed. “My mother passed when I was ten. Papa didn’t have much patience with fripperies.”
    Clarissa looked stricken. “I had no idea. Of course, we know there’s just you and your grandfather now, but . . .” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry to bring up painful memories.”
    The three men moved from the rack of boots toward the ready-made shirts. Faith squirmed inside, anxious to intercept them before they left. She gave the pastor’s wife what she hoped was a convincing smile.
    “Let’s talk about your daughter. Did you say the dress would be white with lavender flowers? Here are some that would be perfect.” She showed her a tray filled with glossy white buttons painted with tiny purple dots.
    “The very thing. I will need a dozen.”
    Faith completed the sale, then stepped from behind the counter. “Thank you. See you Sunday.” She patted Clarissa on one plump arm, then turned toward the three men.
    Her heart beat faster as she approached them. “I noticed you’re interested in new boots. Ours are especially fine leather, direct from St. Louis.”
    One of them frowned. “Ain’t there a man here to help us? What would you know about riding boots?”
    The tall man turned slowly in her direction. “Give her a chance, Tolly.”
    Faith took a step backward. “Royal Baxter?” Blood rushed to her head at the sight of his exotic olive skin and full lips. He was more striking than she remembered.
    He removed his hat and studied her, a question in his dark