your episodes will gradually cease.”
“How long is ‘gradual’?”
“Only God knows.” Reverend French ran his fingers through his graying hair and cleared his throat. “Have you given any more thought to your former profession? We could use a man with your abilities here in Noble Springs.”
“Same thoughts as courting a woman. I don’t dare.”
Faith stepped into the parlor where Grandpa sat in his green-upholstered wing chair staring out the front window. Leaves on the maple tree spun in the morning breeze. “Are you ready? It’s half past eight.”
“You go ahead. I’m staying home today.”
Disquiet buzzed through her. “It’s Tuesday. We have to open the store.”
He frowned. “I know it’s Tuesday. Do you think I’m a simpleton?”
Faith blinked at his sharp words. “Then why aren’t you coming with me?”
“Don’t feel like it.” He rested his head against the antimacassar draped over the chair back. His age-spotted hands lay quiet in his lap.
She placed her fingers against his stubbled cheek. Grandpa always shaved. The buzzing inside grew louder. “Are you ill?”
“Sick at heart. Just let me be for a while.”
“Shall I bring your manuscript home at dinnertime?” She kept her voice bright.
“No. I sat down there all day yesterday with nothing to say. Makes no sense to pretend to be busy.” He pointed at the clock. “Run along. I’ll be fine.”
Faith kissed the top of his head. Controlling her trembling lips, she said, “See you at noon.”
“Fine.”
Once out the door, she fought tears, wondering how she’d keep an eye on Grandpa if he wasn’t working in the shed. Drat Royal and his recollections. At the moment she wished she’d never laid eyes on him.
“Faith, would you come out here, please?” Rosemary called.
She brushed dust and cobwebs from her apron. Casting a last look at her project, she hurried through the burlap curtain dividing the storeroom from the front of the mercantile. A young couple stood holding hands under the “Necessities for the Trip to Oregon” poster. He sported a trim beard and moustache and she wore a sunny yellow calico dress. From the glow on their faces, Faith guessed they were newlyweds.
Rosemary stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter are outfitting a wagon for the Oregon trail. I thought you could best assist them, since you’re planning the trip yourself.”
Mrs. Potter turned to her, eyes alight. “Are you and your husband joining our company?”
“I’m not married. My grandfather and I are going together.” She bit her lip against the tiny lie. After today, he’d have to admit a fresh start was what they both needed.
“You’d best sign on with a good wagon master,” Mr. Potter said. “That trail shows no mercy to stragglers.”
“I do know that, Mr. Potter. May I have the name of the captain of your party?”
“Alonzo McGuire. He’s made the journey several times.”
Faith scribbled the name on a scrap of paper on top of a display case. “Does he live in Noble Springs?”
“He’s currently residing at the hotel by the train depot. He’ll be there until we’re ready to leave—probably by the end of May.”
The hotel. Friday night’s dance seemed long ago, rather than only four days. From what her customer said, she had less than a month to sell the business and prepare a wagon for the journey if she planned to leave with McGuire’s outfit. And she did plan to leave.
Mrs. Potter dropped her husband’s hand. “We’ve read over your list.” She pointed at the wall. “Do we have to have everything? After paying what Mr. McGuire charges, we must guard our cash.”
Faith scanned the placard. She’d read Randolph Marcy’s book so often she had most of the contents memorized. “The journey will take at least a hundred and ten days. You’ll need a minimum of what I have listed. For instance, twenty-five pounds of bacon is a ration for one person. Same thing with the flour, coffee,
“How long is ‘gradual’?”
“Only God knows.” Reverend French ran his fingers through his graying hair and cleared his throat. “Have you given any more thought to your former profession? We could use a man with your abilities here in Noble Springs.”
“Same thoughts as courting a woman. I don’t dare.”
Faith stepped into the parlor where Grandpa sat in his green-upholstered wing chair staring out the front window. Leaves on the maple tree spun in the morning breeze. “Are you ready? It’s half past eight.”
“You go ahead. I’m staying home today.”
Disquiet buzzed through her. “It’s Tuesday. We have to open the store.”
He frowned. “I know it’s Tuesday. Do you think I’m a simpleton?”
Faith blinked at his sharp words. “Then why aren’t you coming with me?”
“Don’t feel like it.” He rested his head against the antimacassar draped over the chair back. His age-spotted hands lay quiet in his lap.
She placed her fingers against his stubbled cheek. Grandpa always shaved. The buzzing inside grew louder. “Are you ill?”
“Sick at heart. Just let me be for a while.”
“Shall I bring your manuscript home at dinnertime?” She kept her voice bright.
“No. I sat down there all day yesterday with nothing to say. Makes no sense to pretend to be busy.” He pointed at the clock. “Run along. I’ll be fine.”
Faith kissed the top of his head. Controlling her trembling lips, she said, “See you at noon.”
“Fine.”
Once out the door, she fought tears, wondering how she’d keep an eye on Grandpa if he wasn’t working in the shed. Drat Royal and his recollections. At the moment she wished she’d never laid eyes on him.
“Faith, would you come out here, please?” Rosemary called.
She brushed dust and cobwebs from her apron. Casting a last look at her project, she hurried through the burlap curtain dividing the storeroom from the front of the mercantile. A young couple stood holding hands under the “Necessities for the Trip to Oregon” poster. He sported a trim beard and moustache and she wore a sunny yellow calico dress. From the glow on their faces, Faith guessed they were newlyweds.
Rosemary stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter are outfitting a wagon for the Oregon trail. I thought you could best assist them, since you’re planning the trip yourself.”
Mrs. Potter turned to her, eyes alight. “Are you and your husband joining our company?”
“I’m not married. My grandfather and I are going together.” She bit her lip against the tiny lie. After today, he’d have to admit a fresh start was what they both needed.
“You’d best sign on with a good wagon master,” Mr. Potter said. “That trail shows no mercy to stragglers.”
“I do know that, Mr. Potter. May I have the name of the captain of your party?”
“Alonzo McGuire. He’s made the journey several times.”
Faith scribbled the name on a scrap of paper on top of a display case. “Does he live in Noble Springs?”
“He’s currently residing at the hotel by the train depot. He’ll be there until we’re ready to leave—probably by the end of May.”
The hotel. Friday night’s dance seemed long ago, rather than only four days. From what her customer said, she had less than a month to sell the business and prepare a wagon for the journey if she planned to leave with McGuire’s outfit. And she did plan to leave.
Mrs. Potter dropped her husband’s hand. “We’ve read over your list.” She pointed at the wall. “Do we have to have everything? After paying what Mr. McGuire charges, we must guard our cash.”
Faith scanned the placard. She’d read Randolph Marcy’s book so often she had most of the contents memorized. “The journey will take at least a hundred and ten days. You’ll need a minimum of what I have listed. For instance, twenty-five pounds of bacon is a ration for one person. Same thing with the flour, coffee,
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