Free Where Wildflowers Bloom: A Novel by Ann Shorey Page B

them.
    “Never thought of it. I’ve been too busy working.” He pushed filled pages in her direction. “Take a look. I’m up to the point where my uncle goes off to be a preacher.” Grandpa lifted his fork. “Where’s Miss Rosemary?”
    “I don’t know. She didn’t arrive this morning. I’m afraid she’s upset with me.” She poked at her food.
    He gave her his Judge Lindberg look and cleared his throat. “What do you plan to do about it?”
    How like Grandpa to present her with a Solomon-like question. She’d had all morning to consider the importance of Rosemary’s friendship, so her answer came without further thought. “I’ll call on her as soon as I close the store this evening. Would you mind if supper is late?”
    “Not a bit.” His eyes twinkled. “I hoped that’s what you’d decide.”

     
    When Faith climbed the porch steps, Bodie roused from his nap on the doormat and nosed her outstretched hand. “Good boy.” She rubbed his velvety ears.
    The door swung open and Curt looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. “Come in, Faith.” He turned to Bodie, patting the top of his head. “Some watchdog you are. You’re supposed to bark at strangers.”
    Rosemary peered around his shoulder. “Faith isn’t a stranger.” In the shadows her skin appeared pale, with dark circles under her eyes.
    Alarmed, Faith stepped past Curt to place a hand on Rosemary’s cheek. “Are you ill?”
    “Nothing serious.” She cupped her hands across her abdomen. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”
    Faith nodded understanding.
    Curt gestured toward the sitting room. “Sit a spell,” he said to Faith. “I’ll bring you both some tea—raspberry leaf.”
    “Thank you.” She smiled at Rosemary and lowered her voice. “How did you ever teach him to help in the kitchen? My father and brother . . .” She swallowed. “They never did.”
    “He was forced to learn when he enlisted. That’s the only good thing I can say about that dreadful war.” Rosemary led the way toward two chairs accented with needlepoint cushions. “I’m glad you stopped by. I felt guilty about not coming to help today, but I just couldn’t.”
    “I’m the one who feels guilty. You of all people deserve to know why I want so much to leave Missouri.”
    “Tell me.”
    Faith settled onto a chair and leaned toward her friend. “When I was ten, my grandmother died, then Mama passed shortly after that. My father and Maxwell, my brother, were all I had left—and Grandpa, of course. Then the war came. Maxwell and Papa enlisted in the Union army right away, even though Maxwell was only sixteen.” She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. “Grandpa and I lived every day in fear they’d be killed, but three years went by and they were spared. Then . . .” She took a deep breath. “Then we got word they’d perished at the Battle of Westport. On Missouri soil—barely two hundred miles from home.” She held Rosemary in her gaze. “Don’t you see? I want to go somewhere and make a new start, like so many folks have done. The hard part will be leaving you.”
    “It will be hard on me, also. I wish—”
    Curt entered, placing two cups of tea on a tripod table between their chairs. He sprawled on the settee across the room and stretched out his long legs. “If you ask me, running away is a poor reason to pull up roots. Your granddad was born here. He wants to die here.”
    “How do you know what my grandfather wants?”
    “He told me.”
    Shocked, Faith raised her teacup and then returned it to the saucer, untasted.
    “Perhaps you misunderstood him. He’s never said that to me.”
    “In case you haven’t noticed, he has trouble denying you anything. Going to Oregon is your idea, isn’t it?”
    “What if it is?” She glared at him. “Going west will get us away from old memories.”
    “Your memories will follow you.” The scar on his neck reddened. “I know.”
    Rosemary crossed to her brother. “Curt.