Faith of the Heart (8 page)

             
“Like what?”

             
“Well, I want to sell baked goods—people just gobbled down Connie’s cookies yesterday—and ready-made clothing, and I can hold literary meetings and singing bees and
¼
”

“Hold on there girl” Tom interrupted with a chuckle, “there’ll be time. Sounds like you plan to stay awhile.”          “Sounds that way to me, too.” Claire smiled
shyly
at Tom
.
H
e sucked in a quick breath as the light illuminated her face and he noticed the gold flecks in her eyes.

             
Why she’s real pretty when she smiles.
Tom’s heart gave a funny little lurch.
Tom
old boy
,
he thought,
this girl’s something special.
             

They came to a shallow curve in the river. The day had warmed considerably and the curve was a perfect place to wade. They both slipped off their boots and eased into the cool water. Holding up her skirts
,
Claire
stepped gingerly over wet stones.
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
“Ooh this is nice,” she said turning back to Tom. He was busy staring at Claire, not paying attention to what he was doing. Maxwell suddenly made a wild flailing motion before slipping on an unseen rock and landing on his backside in the shallow water. He had such a startled look on his face that Claire burst out laughing clutching her sides, doubled over with the effort of breathing. With an ornery grin, Maxwell reached up and pulled her down into the water next to him. Sputtering,
all laughing ceased,
she exclaimed, “Now, really!”

             
“I’ll teach you to laugh at the sheriff of Omaha
,
” Maxwell said with a wide grin. She answered by pushing him further into the ankle-deep water, slipping as she fell atop him, blushing furiously. Maxwell simply smiled wider, patiently waiting for Claire to untangle herself. She was so enamored by his
twinkling
eyes that she forgot where she was, that the whole town could spot them in a moment, and for a second she was sure he was going to kiss her. The moment passed and Claire lifted herself, horrified to have been caught in such a position.

             
“What a sight I must be.” Claire tucked a long st
r
and of hair behind her ear.

“You are indeed
quite
a sight, Miss Secord.” Claire blushed harder, taking in his meaning, and he helped her ashore. “We ought to be more careful. You never know
who
might be out on a fine Sunday afternoon such as this one.”
             
             
             
             
His eyes
sparkled
as he
handed Claire the picnic blanket and pointed to a
tree
             
“
Go behind that elm and try to dry off a bit then I’ll take you home.”

Claire nodded and headed for the tree,
shivering.

It
’
s just being wet
, she told herself
. That
’
s all. It
’
s just from being in that cold water.

But she wasn’t so sure.

     
C
HAPTER
SIX
                                    Baltimore, Maryland
, April 1868

             
Glistening cobblestones, slick with rain, pres
ented a challenge to the slight
young man who limped down the lane. Leaning heavily on his cane, the gaunt man concentrated on making his way to the newspaper office where he was employed as a columnist. After hanging up his coat, he gratefully
sat down at his wooden desk and
began writing his weekly editorial for the Baltimore Sun.

             
One result of the war was that there were significant advances made in the field of medicine and psychiatry. The writer thought it important his readers be made aware of these findings.
The morning passed by as light rain continued to fall. Head ben
t
over his writing, the man barely noticed.

             
At precisely 12 o’clock, the columnist rose from his desk, slid into his overcoat, and headed to a
nearby café for his noon meal. The precipitation had slowed to a drizzle a
nd the Chesapeake Bay shone gray and choppy against the cloud-covered sky.

             
Martin’s Eating Establishment was bright, cheerful, and full of hungry patrons. The man made his way to the end of the lunch counter and claimed the last empty seat. Climbing onto the tall stool, his face bore a grimace as pain shot through his bad leg.
He reached for the half
-
heart pendant at his neck and rubbed it absent-mindedly.

Da
r
n this weather, it always pains me
, he thought as he glanced around for a menu.
Maybe I should head out west. People say the drier climate is good for what ails you and I, for one, am sick of this place and all the
horrific
memories.

Once again he felt his heart pound furiously at the unfairness, the injustice of it all.
Why did
I
have to go and fight for a c
a
use
I
didn’t believe in
;
for people
I
didn’t know or care about?
What did slavery have to do with me! Nothing!
I should have run before I was
injured
. I could have gone to England or Canada or…

Gradually his rage subsided and his heart beat slower. Looking down at his hands he noticed they were no longer shaking. He took a couple of calming breaths.

I’m alright. Nobody noticed. I’m fine, I’m in Baltimore and I’m fine. 

             
Mrs. Martin came bustling over to take his lunch order. “Now Cal, what’ll it be today? I’ve got lovely fresh fish and potatoes. Will that suit you?”

             
             
             
             
C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

             
             
             
             
Omaha, Nebraska
, April 1868

             
Claire was sweeping off the store’s front porch and thinking about last night’s dreams. They’d been a strange concoction of her old life in Gettysburg and her new life on the frontier. Images of Caleb were mixed in with visions of
Sheriff
Maxwell
at the river’s edge. But the river of her dreams was wide and gray, as if it were an ocean and not the muddy Missouri. When would she ever get over her fiancé’s
death? Why did he keep coming
to her in dreams?  It was
as though
the past just
w
ouldn’t stay in the past.
The sheriff
might turn out to be someone special. Already Claire was making friends in addition to keeping her home and store. Why couldn’t she just live in the present?

             
She was roused out of her musings by an approaching customer
.
  Gratefully she put away her broom and troubling thoughts to wait on the man wanting a dime’s worth of tobacco for his pipe.

             
The next few days went by quickly. Omaha was a gathering spot for wagon trains heading west and each day brought more pioneers into town. The travelers knew they
only
had a few short months to travel across the country before cold weather set in. At an agonizingly slow pace of
ten
to
twenty
miles
per
day, each
hour
was precious. As soon as conditions permitted, trains formed and began snaking their way across the open plains toward the Rockies and beyond.

             
The Mormons had camped north of Omaha twenty years earlier; the town had marked the halfway point as the settlers headed west, seeking a home where they could freely practice their new religion.  Their trail was still visible as wagon wheel ruts leading out of the area. The terribly cold winter of 1849 had seen many of the religious pioneers perish and they were buried in an area that came to be known as Winter’s Quarters.

The Mormons’ route meshed with the Oregon/California Trail and Claire waited upon many of these travelers as they purchased goods they’d need for the long journey. Many of the womenfolk realized that Claire’s cheerful store was the last one they’d see for months or even years. She’d often glance up to see the ladies wistfully running their fingers through the beautiful bolts of calico and muslin or eying delicate china cups, knowing such items would not survive the trip. Even more often Claire would see young children staring longingly at the bright glass jars of penny candy. Many a surprised traveler would open their purchases on the trail to find small gifts of licorice or peppermints. Claire had a sweet tooth herself and got a lot of pleasure imagining the delighted squeals of children seeing the candies tucked among the flour
and
rice. She hoped in some small way the sweets would make the arduous trip
a bit
more manageable.

One far corner of her store was
set up as a post office and the
travelers would drop off letters that were heading east. Claire took the responsibility of postal matron quite seriously and handled these letters with special care. She remembered waiting for news from Caleb and knew that for some folks these letters might be the last time they heard from their kin. Newspapers and letters arrived from the east as well, and she was always quick to notify a customer when they had received a precious letter or parcel. She sometimes even hand-delivered mail when she’d closed the store at day’s end.
For the most part the
personal service and caring was making her a welcome part of the community
.
There were a few men, grizzled old cowboys or farmers, who wouldn’t do business with her. They’d been used to Richard’s easy
-
going ways. He hadn’t minded when they spit their tobacco juice on the floor or tracked mud
.
T
he store was just to
o
clean and tidy, too feminine for their liking. What did females, especially a little slip of a girl like Miss Secord
,
know about running a business?
One of these days
somebody was gonna just stroll in there and rob her blind.
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
 
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             

When it was time for Claire to place her first order
,
she
carefully checked and rechecked her lists to make sure she ordered the right mix of merchandise
for
the town
and
supplies for the folks traveling through it. She developed a habit of writing down what sold well and what didn’t, which was helping her gain a good grasp of the quantities she needed.

An added bonus was that orders could arrive in days instead of months
since
she didn’t have to rely on mule trains. The railroad, so attractive to those migrating west, was wonderful for transporting goods as well as
passengers.
Beef was sent east and manufactured goods arrived on return trains. The frontier wasn’t nearly as remote and barren as she had thought it would be. In way it was a comfort, but the raw town still provided plenty of excitement. A single lady had to be careful, especially a young, female business owner.
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
Most men believed the adage that a woman’s place was in the home, with a
mess
of kids hanging on to her skirts, so she did get some disapproving looks as she worked in her store or strode through town. She tried to ignore the looks
,
or at least be exceedingly proper and polite
,
but there were a few
peopl
e who
were
just
unfriendly.
             
             
             
She and Connie enjoyed several conversations about the role of women being more than just wives and mothers. Those were important
,
but they weren’t the only roles a female could have. Connie, more out-spoken than she, had even blasted a cowboy one day when he tried to tell her that a man must be the owner of Rose’s. No woman could
have
know
n
how to fry his steak the right way.
The girls shared a good laugh after that incident.
  
 
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
Some day
Claire
would
hire some male help, mostly to do the heavy lifting and loading into wagons, but for now she couldn’t afford it. So far she had managed to avoid any real trouble. She wasn’t aware that the sheriff and deputy were making extra rounds past Weikert-Secord
’
s
in
the
hopes of discouraging any foul play
and that there was talk in the saloons and back alleys of that
“
little gal
”
over in the mercantile all by herself.