NOBLE SPRINGS, MISSOURI

MARCH 1866

You can do this,” Faith Lindberg told herself as she gazed into the hall mirror and straightened her bonnet.

“After all, it’s only for a short time.” Once she gathered the courage to talk to Grandpa about her plans, she knew they’d be leaving Noble Springs.

She slipped her well-worn copy of Randolph Marcy’s The Prairie Traveler into her carryall. Her grandfather said he wanted her to take over managing the store. He hadn’t said she couldn’t spend time reading when there were no customers. The onyx mantel clock in their parlor chimed the half hour. Grandpa had been very specific --- meet him at eight o’clock and he’d show her what to do before Lindberg’s Mercantile opened for the day’s business.

Faith hurried out the door, grateful that the morning sun promised a pleasant day after a week of rain. Maybe she wouldn’t have to bother with lighting the store’s cranky wood-burning stove. Its warmth drew elderly gossipers the way a freshly iced cake drew bees. Her boots rapped a rhythm on the wooden boardwalk. After several minutes, she passed the livery and tossed a wave at the man working out front. Noble Springs’s courthouse rose tall and proud off to her right. She turned, skirting the square. The mercantile stood across the street, next to a drugstore and the newspaper office.

Once under the sloping porch roof, Faith noticed the closed padlock securing the store’s entrance. Odd. Grandpa left home half an hour ago. If she’d known he wouldn’t be on time, she wouldn’t have rushed.

She looked up and down the street, but at this hour most everything was closed. She shook her head. They always walked the same streets from their home to the store. She could not have missed him.

Faith settled on one of the benches in the shade and took her book from the carryall, but after a couple of pages she snapped the slender volume closed. He’d been forgetful lately.

Maybe he stopped to visit a neighbor and lost track of time. She would retrace her route, and then if no one had seen him, double back across town.

Past Courthouse Square, she knocked at the first house on West High Street. A woman holding a squalling baby opened the door. “Miss Lindberg? Isn’t it a little early to come calling?”

“I apologize, Mrs. Bennett. I’m looking for my grandfather. Did you see him pass by this morning?”

“No.” Mrs. Bennett frowned. “Why? Is he missing?”

“He was supposed to meet me at the store. He wasn’t there.” Her anxiety rising, Faith backed away from the door.
 
“So sorry to trouble you.”

Stops at the rest of the houses yielded similar results. In front of the livery, the stableman bent over a wheel on a black phaeton, polishing each spoke with a grimy rag. She stopped short.

“I beg your pardon. Have you seen an elderly gentleman this morning? He would have passed here about an hour ago.” He straightened. “Using a cane? About my height?”

“Not quite as tall as you are, but yes, he walks with a cane and favors his right leg.” Her voice rose. “You’ve seen him?”

“I did. Earlier on. Besides the cane, he was carrying a chair.”

“Carrying a chair?” Faith’s mouth fell open. “Whatever do you mean?”

He dropped the rag over the dashboard of the buggy and walked toward her. Up close, he looked to be nearly six feet tall, with a tanned face and deep brown eyes. A partially healed scar ran along one side of his neck, tracing a thick red line from his jaw to a point behind his left ear. Another veteran, starting over.

“I mean just that, miss. He came by here at first light, stepping right along, with a bentwood chair hooked under one arm.”

Faith rubbed her forehead, dislodging her bonnet. This had to be the strangest thing she’d heard in a long time. She took a deep breath and let it out with a puff. “Which way was he heading?”

“Sorry. I didn’t pay attention. We exchanged nods, and he went on his way.” He shoved a hand in his hip pocket. “Guess you’re looking for him?”

Obviously, she thought, but didn’t say so. “He’s my grandfather. He was supposed to meet me at our store --- Lindberg’s Mercantile --- at eight, but he never arrived.”

The stableman’s brown eyes filled with concern. “Your granddad is Judge Lindberg, then? And you must be Miss Faith.”

She nodded.

“I’m Curt Saxon. If you’d like my help, we can search for him together. I’m a pretty good tracker.”

 “I don’t know what kind of tracking you can do on town boardwalks ---”

“There’s more than one way to track. Sometimes you need to think like the quarry.”

“I don’t think of my grandfather as quarry, Mr. Saxon.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You said he was planning to meet you at the mercantile. I’ll walk back that way and see what I can see. You can come with me or wait here.”

“I’ll go with you. He’s my grandfather.”

“Let’s go then.” Mr. Saxon set off along High Street. With his long legs, he was soon half a block ahead.

Sighing, Faith decided to try a different route and crossed the street, following picket fences and peering into yards. By the time she reached Courthouse Square, Mr. Saxon had vanished. Splendid. Now they were both missing. Suppressing a flare of temper, she stalked up the steps in front of the mercantile and flopped on a bench, arms folded across her middle.

She turned at the sound of footsteps on the porch. Mr. Saxon walked toward her, grinning. “Found him.”

Faith jumped to her feet. “Where is he? Is he all right?” He held up his hand with a calming gesture. “He’s fine. C’mon. I’ll take you to him.”

She glanced at the neighboring businesses. No one in sight. Apparently sensing her reluctance, he scowled. “Rather not be seen with me? Then go around to the alley. Your granddad’s in the shed.” His boots pounded on the boardwalk as he descended to the muddy roadway. “I need to get back to the livery.”

She flushed at his brusque tone. “Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing the street, he strode away. Faith left her carryall on the bench, dashed behind the store, and peered into the storage shed. Grandpa sat at a makeshift table comprised of short boards resting across two sawhorses. An oil lamp flickered next to a stack of loose papers.

“What are you doing out here?”

He leaned back in one of the bentwood chairs from their kitchen. “This is a busy place this morning. First that new fellow from the livery stable, now you. Can’t a man have some peace and quiet?”

Faith jammed her hands on her hips. “Grandpa! You told me to meet you at the store at eight this morning. It must be going on nine by now.”

“No need to take that tone with me, young lady.” He removed his watch from his pants pocket and flicked open the lid. “By George, it is after nine. Must have lost track of time.”

He stood, bewilderment clouding his eyes. “Why were you supposed to meet me?”

Excerpted from WHERE WILDFLOWERS BLOOM: Sisters at Heart Series, Book 1 © Copyright 2012 by Ann Shorey. Reprinted with permission by Revell. All rights reserved.