Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel Read Free

heartbeat increased. How was she supposed to refuse without offending their customer? She looked toward her grandfather for help, but he continued stacking china in the barrel, paying no attention to their conversation.
    Harold Grisbee and Jesse Slocum, two of her grandfather’s cronies, entered the store and sought chairs next to the cold stove. Instead of talking to one another, they focused their attention on Faith and Mrs. Wylie. Faith tried to remember her grandfather’s dealings with customers on the Saturday mornings she’d helped by dusting shelves and sweeping the floors with oiled sawdust.
    Mrs. Wylie drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Just give me a statement of what we owe you so I can be on my way.”
    Faith met the woman’s impatient glare with a steady gaze. “I’m sorry. We require cash. If you can’t pay today, we’ll be glad to put the dishes aside until you have the funds.” Her heart boomed in her chest.
    Mrs. Wylie’s face turned a mottled red. “Well! I’ve never been so insulted.” She dug in her reticule and dropped a gold piece on the counter. “Make sure you give me the correct change, young woman.” She swung around to face Grandpa, who watched with a grin lifting one corner of his moustache. “I’ll expect these to be delivered right away. And don’t hold your breath waiting for me to trade here again.” She swept from the store, banging the door closed.
    Over the chuckles of the men next to the stove, Faith turned to her grandfather. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to say. You told me not to give her credit.”
    Grandpa threw his head back and guffawed. “She’ll be back before the week is out. You watch and see. She knows better than to ask me to carry her on the books, but she thought she could put one over on you.”
    Faith slumped against the counter. “Do you deal with customers like her every day? I wanted to tell her to go home—without her dishes.”
    “You’ll find most of the folks who shop here to be agreeable. Not too many bad apples in Noble Springs.”
    The entertainment over, the men near the stove busied themselves placing red and black pieces on a checkerboard and debating whose turn it was to begin. She stopped Grandpa on his way to settle the dispute. “Before any more customers come in, please show me where to find the list of people who shouldn’t receive credit.”
    He scratched the top of his nearly bald head. “Now where’d it go?”
    While Faith watched, he riffled through the pages of the ledger, then bent over and brought a group of similar volumes from the shelf below the cash drawer. A musty smell rose from the pages of the dustiest books as he searched. “Put it somewhere safe, I reckon.” He chuckled. “It must be safe if I can’t find it.”
    Grandpa lifted an invoice that had fallen from one of the ledgers and turned it over. “I’ll make you a new list. Keep it in the cash drawer.” He licked the tip of a pencil and scribbled a half-dozen names.
    She peeked over his shoulder. “That’s all? I can remember that many easily.”
    “There’s more, but right now I can’t call the names to mind. They’ll come to me.” Frustration shadowed his words.
    Faith frowned. The man who could recite most of Longfellow’s poems, including the newest ones, couldn’t remember names of people he saw almost every day. She brushed her lips across his smooth-shaven cheek. “You’re tired. I heard you up pacing last night. Why don’t you see who’s winning the checker game? I’ll put these books away.”
    “You sound like a mother hen. I’ve got a barrel of chinaware to deliver, remember?”
    “Wait until this afternoon. The druggist’s boy can help you when school’s out.”
    “I’m perfectly capable. I’ll go borrow Simpkins’s horse and hitch the wagon.”
    The stubborn set of his mouth told her that argument would be useless. The thump of his cane against the floor punctuated his departure.
    “Never been a