Courting Trouble Read online

  ‘‘Did you see how much it cost?’’

  ‘‘I know. I can’t throw it out because someone in this town has paid for it. So I’ll just have to keep it up on that shelf until it is claimed. But in the meanwhile, I don’t think we should be using it to trap mice and have drawings.’’

  Essie could not stop a tiny chuckle from escaping. ‘‘Of course not.’’

  He frowned. ‘‘This is not the least bit amusing, Essie.’’

  ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer?’’

  Essie peeked around Hamilton to see Lawrence, mouse already in hand. She crooked a finger at him and took his free hand. ‘‘Would you excuse us a moment, please, Hamilton?’’

  ‘‘Yes, yes. Hurry it up before he drops it.’’

  She smiled and led Lawrence to Colonel’s cage.

  ‘‘First,’’ she said, ‘‘you must remove the mesh top from the crate.’’

  The other boys gathered around. Lawrence handed her the mouse, then placed the two rocks on the floor and lifted off the mesh top. Colonel tested the air with his forked tongue, but otherwise didn’t stir himself.

  Lawrence retrieved the mouse, holding it by its tail.

  ‘‘Drop it in,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Will it hurt the mouse?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘How animals obtain their food is designed by God,’’ she said.

  ‘‘He made the mouse and He made the snake. We must trust that He knew what He was doing.’’

  ‘‘Will the mouse go to heaven?’’

  She hesitated only a moment. ‘‘I pray it is so.’’

  He dropped the mouse into the crate. Colonel clamped his mouth around it, then proceeded to swallow it whole. The boys made noises of approval.

  A sound behind them caused Essie to turn. The new customer Hamilton had been helping swooned. Jeremy Gillespie caught the woman. Her alabaster skin was as smooth and white as a china doll’s, her rich black hair startling in its contrast.

  Hamilton rushed to her side. ‘‘Darling? Darling? Are you all right?’’ He took her from Jeremy and patted her cheeks. ‘‘Katherine? Can you hear me?’’

  Cold swept through Essie’s innards, spreading to her limbs. She stood.

  Hamilton found Essie with his gaze. ‘‘Can you do something? She’s fainted.’’

  Essie moved by rote to the medicinal section and took some smelling salts from the middle shelf, then poured cold water into a tin cup. A cousin. An in-law. A sister. Please, Lord. Let it be a sister.

  A crowd of people had gathered. She excused herself and they made a path for her. Hamilton took the salts and waved them under Katherine’s nose.

  She was a shapely woman. Soft and lush, where Essie was hard and firm. Small and petite, where Essie was tall and long. Pale and fragile, where Essie was sunburned and tough.

  Her eyes fluttered open. ‘‘Hamilton?’’

  ‘‘I’m here, my dear. I’m here.’’

  She smiled at him. This was no cousin or in-law or sister.

  Trembling, Essie knelt opposite Hamilton. She dipped her apron into the cup of water and swabbed the woman’s face.

  A tiny bit of color returned to her cheeks. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ Essie said. ‘‘Are you better, ma’am?’’

  ‘‘Yes. But I think I’ll just rest a moment. Such a shock, you know. That poor little mouse.’’

  Essie lifted her gaze to Hamilton.

  He swallowed and looked down at the woman. ‘‘Katherine? I’d like you to meet my store clerk, Essie Spreckelmeyer. Essie? This is my new wife, Katherine Crook.’’

  chapter SEVEN

  ESSIE’S HEARTBEAT ROSE. Her breathing grew labored. The blood drained from her head down to her stomach, leaving her dizzy and slightly ill.

  But she would not faint. She refused to succumb. Her mind gave her body strict orders to settle down, but it would not listen. She wiped her face with the corner of the apron she’d just used to wipe Katherine Crook’s. Mrs. Katherine Crook.

  How could he? she thought. He’d kissed her only last week. Surely he’d not been engaged this entire time?

  ‘‘My goodness,’’ she managed, hoping her voice did not betray the upheaval within her. ‘‘This is a surprise.’’

  Mrs. Crook had closed her eyes again, oblivious to the introduction and the undercurrents it provoked.

  Hamilton’s glasses had slid to the end of his nose, giving Essie an unobstructed view of his eyes. He looked so different without his glasses. So young.

  His hands were full, so Essie reached over and pushed his glasses up where they belonged. ‘‘Congratulations,’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘Essie,’’ he said, but she lightly touched her finger to his mouth, shushing him.

  ‘‘I believe your wife has fainted again. Perhaps you should take her upstairs and when she awakens introduce her to your . . . your baby.’’

  To her horror, a sheen of tears glazed her eyes. She dare not blink or they’d fall and her humiliation would be complete.

  ‘‘Katherine and I have known each other since childhood,’’ Hamilton said. ‘‘We ran into each other in Dallas. It was as if we hadn’t been apart for more than a day or two, so quickly did our rapport return. I had no idea she’d been married, much less widowed. And, well, one thing led to another and—’’

  ‘‘Hamilton,’’ Essie said, nodding toward the crowd gathered around them.

  He glanced up and scowled, then slid his hands beneath his wife, lifting her as he rose to his feet. ‘‘Essie, will you follow me, please?’’

  No, Hamilton, no. You cannot ask me to follow you while you carry your bride up those stairs and across the threshold.

  But she rose and went with him through the curtain, as far as the stairs.

  ‘‘Hamilton,’’ she said.

  He paused, his wife limp in his arms. The gold band encircling his fourth finger jumped out at Essie. She looked at Katherine’s hands, but they were still hidden inside her gloves.

  ‘‘I think it best if I stay with the store,’’ Essie said. ‘‘Mrs. Peterson will know what to do. If you need a doctor, have Mrs. Peterson come and tell me. I will see to it.’’

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘‘Essie, I don’t know what to say.’’

  ‘‘Go on. We’ll be fine down here.’’

  ‘‘Are you sure?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely.’’

  ‘‘You’re a marvelous woman. Any man would be lucky to have you.’’ He hesitated, as if weighing his words. ‘‘I also know you to be rather competitive and if you’d allow me, from one friend to the other, I think you should know: The man likes to do the chasing, Essie.’’

  He turned his back, walked up the stairs and disappeared across their threshold.

  ————

  Essie sat in her window seat, a place of succor since childhood. A tiny alcove carved out of her bedroom wall with a soft cushion to sit on and fluffy pillows to lean against. It was her cleft in the rock, a place where she could hide within the shelter of His wings.

  Moving aside some papers, she tucked a crocheted blanket about her feet and looked out the window on the flower gardens below. Gardens she and her mother had planted, with buds arranged by color so they would make a pretty picture when they bloomed. But summer and the hot Texas sun had overbaked the blossoms, leaving brown, shriveled patches in place of once-vibrant colors.

  She touched the glass that separated her from the out-of-doors, and nature’s display blurred as she refocused on her hand. Her ringless hand.

  He had married a childhood friend. A widow.

  Why, Lord? Why does she get two husbands when all I want is one?

  It didn’t make sense. She’d be such a good wife and mother. Why was God keeping her from doing the very thing He made her for? Surely it couldn’t be because she’d made some silly little list.

  She laid her forehead on her upraised knees. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t just up and quit working in the s
tore. That would be too obvious. Too humiliating.

  But Essie had thought of it as her store for so long that she wouldn’t take kindly to changing things around simply to suit the new mistress.

  Yet Hamilton’s wife would want to do things her way. And like it or not, Essie would have to oblige her. Perhaps she could get herself fired. But, no, she didn’t want to sabotage the store or Hamilton.

  So she’d stay. And she’d work. And she’d quit, just as soon as she gracefully could.

  Cranking open the window, she took a deep breath. The breeze lifted the papers littered at her feet. She slapped them down with her hands before they flew away, then gathered them up.

  Hamilton Crook

  Points of Merit:

  • Has an infant who needs a mother

  • Has a new store and needs a helpmate

  • Cared for his wife, God rest her soul

  • Attends church

  • Would profit from having a hometown girl in his store

  Drawbacks:

  • Horrid last name

  • Younger than me

  • Never see him outdoors

  • Works past the supper hour (but that would change once he married me and had some help)

  • Doesn’t have any pets

  She folded the pages in half, then ripped them down the middle without even looking at the other men on her list.

  ————

  It would have been so much easier if Essie could have hated the new Mrs. Crook. But no one in their right mind could hate Katherine Crook. The petite woman epitomized kindness and sincerity. She spoke softly. Listened intently. Laughed easily.

  Essie was completely intimidated. Hamilton was completely captivated.

  Only a week had passed, but Katherine had easily won over the old cronies. Her only fault was her opinion of Colonel.

  In Katherine’s mind snakes were synonymous with Satan. She could not distinguish one from the other. And Colonel must have sensed it somehow, for he’d quit eating.

  The snake had grown an inch, he’d remained calm and tolerant— never striking in anger—then for no apparent reason he’d stopped feeding. Essie had tempted him with several different mice at several different times of day. No luck.

  Perhaps the crate had become too confining. She didn’t know, but she had to free him. And she’d need to do it now while the fall weather was still mild.

  The boys in town were crushed. They’d grown very attached to Colonel. Particularly the little orphan, Harley North. He’d come so far since she’d seen him screaming in fear that long-ago morning. Now he couldn’t get enough of the prairie king.

  He, Lawrence, and Jeremy entered the Slap Out as solemn as if someone had died.

  ‘‘Hello, boys,’’ Essie said.

  They congregated around Colonel’s crate.

  ‘‘Can we hold him one last time?’’ Harley asked.

  ‘‘Of course,’’ Essie said, removing the mesh top. While the boys took turns holding and petting the snake, she moved his crate to the back and cleaned it.

  ‘‘Are you all right?’’ Hamilton asked, closing the large barn-like door that had been flung wide during a delivery of pork barrels.

  Essie picked up an empty gunnysack. ‘‘A little sad, I suppose. He’s a wonderful snake.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

  Sorry for what? she thought. For having me underfoot all the time? For the awkwardness between us? For ever hiring me in the first place?

  ‘‘I’ve been thinking, Hamilton,’’ she said, playing with the string at the top of the burlap bag. ‘‘Since Colonel’s leaving and all, I thought maybe it would be a good time for me to move on, as well.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean, ‘move on’?’’

  ‘‘Quit,’’ she whispered.

  He said nothing. She looked up and felt a pang of guilt. He looked so torn. He had to know she couldn’t stay, no matter how successful she was at selling his goods.

  ‘‘You don’t have to go,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You know I do. But I thank you. I haven’t had such a grand time in forever and a day.’’

  ‘‘When do you have to . . . leave?’’

  ‘‘I’ll stay through Saturday.’’

  ‘‘So soon?’’

  ‘‘I think it best. But if you ever need anything, if Katherine gets sick or something, just send word.’’

  He surveyed the storage room as if its shelves would offer him a compromise of some sort.

  ‘‘Well,’’ she said, lifting up the gunnysack, ‘‘I’d best get this over with.’’

  The boys placed Colonel in the sack, and Essie knotted the top.

  ‘‘Maybe we ought to bring the mice, too,’’ Jeremy said. ‘‘We could let ’em out close to where we free Colonel. Then he won’t have to go so far to find some dinner.’’

  They walked through town with Jeremy carrying the snake and Lawrence carrying a sack of mice. They passed the men drilling the community’s new water wells. Adam Currington took off his hat, swiped his brow with the back of his hand and waved.

  He stood tall and lean, silhouetted against the blue sky. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his hip cocked. He placed his hat back on his head, adjusting it until he had its brim at just the right angle.

  The boys waved back, hollering out a greeting. Essie tucked her chin. They continued walking for a good half mile until they reached the banks of Two Bit Creek.

  The sounds of town had faded, replaced by the gurgling of the creek, a woodpecker searching for bugs, two squirrels playing chase. Birds of vivid blues, yellows, and reds flitted from tree branch to tree branch, each chirping over the other.

  ‘‘What do you think about this spot?’’ she asked.

  The boys looked around. ‘‘It’s a right nice place, Miss Essie,’’ Jeremy said.

  Lawrence poured the mice on the ground like a schoolboy releasing his marbles from a pouch. They scurried in all directions. Jeremy untied his gunnysack, lifted Colonel out and placed him on the ground. The snake froze, tongue darting, then slithered through the weeds toward the stream and disappeared beneath some brush.

  Essie envied Colonel’s freedom to go where he wanted. To do whatever he fancied. Accountable to no one.

  Harley buried his face in her skirt.

  She stroked his hair. ‘‘Maybe I’ll take you boys snake hunting one day soon. Would you like that?’’

  Lawrence sighed. ‘‘My ma probably won’t let me. She makes me do girly things, like play the piano.’’

  Jeremy nudged his shoulder.

  His eyes widened. ‘‘Oh. I didn’t mean nothing by that, Miss Essie. You aren’t like other girls.’’

  I know, Lawrence. I know. ‘‘Come along, we’d best be heading back.’’

  They had just made it to the dirt road outside of town when the sound of a wagon made Essie shade her eyes.

  ‘‘Lookit, Miss Essie!’’ Harley yelled. ‘‘It’s the peddler man!’’

  The boys took off running, Essie right behind them. Levi Baumgartner pulled his horse to a stop, causing the pots and pans in his wagon to clang. ‘‘Whoa, Clara. Whoa.’’

  A black-and-white dog put two paws up on the wagon’s sideboard, barking and wagging his tail.

  ‘‘Howdy, Mr. Bum!’’

  ‘‘Well, it is Lawrence, a clever shaygets, to be sure. What are you and your friends doing way out here?’’

  ‘‘We were lettin’ our snake go on account of he quit eatin’,’’ Harley said, trying to catch his breath.

  Mr. Baumgartner chuckled, then tipped his hat. ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer. A delightful surprise.’’ He was not an old man, but he looked like one and spoke like one. He had lines on his brown face and a thick black beard covering his chin.

  ‘‘Hello, Mr. Baumgartner,’’ she said. ‘‘Welcome to town.’’

  ‘‘Thank you. How is Pegasus?’’ he asked, eyes twinkling.

  ‘‘Wonderful. She’s in excellent health.’’
r />   Jeremy looked up from petting the horse’s nose. ‘‘Who’s Pega Siss?’’

  ‘‘That, my boy,’’ the peddler replied, ‘‘is the name of Miss Spreckelmeyer’s bicycle.’’

  ‘‘Your ridin’ machine has a name?’’ Harley asked.

  ‘‘Of course,’’ she said. ‘‘My horse has one. Why shouldn’t my bike?’’

  The dog barked, distracting the children.

  ‘‘Can we play with Shadrach?’’ Lawrence asked.

  Mr. Baumgartner set the brake lever and gave a command in Yiddish. The border collie sailed off the wagon and into the circle of boys. They chased the dog, then laughed as the dog chased them. After a while, Shadrach collapsed at his master’s feet, panting, back legs extended, tongue hanging out like a bell pull.

  ‘‘Whatcha got in yer wagon this time?’’ Jeremy asked.

  Mr. Baumgartner opened up the back of his wagon, pushing aside brooms and tinware and a whole tub of shoes. ‘‘I have a hunting knife with a seven-inch clip blade,’’ he said, handing the knife to Jeremy.

  The teener held it reverently, touching his thumb to its tip, and a drop of blood instantly appeared. ‘‘She’s a beauty.’’

  He gave it back to the peddler without even asking the price, for whatever it was would be too much.

  ‘‘What about me?’’ Harley asked.

  Mr. Baumgartner handed him a china dog no bigger than his little finger.

  ‘‘It’s Shadrach!’’ Harley exclaimed, showing the treasure to the rest of them. ‘‘You ought to get your pa to buy this, Lawrence. He could buy you whatever you want.’’

  Lawrence frowned. ‘‘He don’t like buying from the peddler man.’’

  Jeremy nudged him.

  ‘‘What?’’ Lawrence asked. ‘‘What’d I do?’’

  ‘‘Nothing, boy,’’ Mr. Baumgartner said, ruffling his hair. ‘‘You’ve not done a thing. But you’ve also not asked about Miss Spreckelmeyer. Don’t you think she might like to see what I have in this wagon?’’

  Harley wrinkled his nose. ‘‘Oh, don’t start showing your ribbons and stuff or we’ll be here all day.’’

  ‘‘Ah, but Miss Spreckelmeyer is special. It’s not the ribbons that catch her eye. Only the goods that promise excitement or adventure will intrigue our fine German shiksa.’’