A Bride in Store (32 page)

“Great.” The boy disappeared for a second, then returned with two mugs and a coffeepot. “Rice muffins are on the left. The others are vanilla egg muffins with dried berries. Hot rolls are coming out next.” He set the coffee on a table near the counter. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to pour for yourselves. I have to get something out of the oven.” He nodded at Will, then disappeared.

Will pulled out her seat. “What kind would you like?”

Surely the baker’s son would have mentioned raisins if they indeed contained raisins. “I’ll try one with the berries.”

“Those do sound good.” He snatched five, set them on the table, then folded himself into his chair, this one as dainty as her store’s chair was uncomfortable. He bowed his head.

“Lord, thanks for the protection you offered Eliza last night and that she didn’t suffer much loss. I pray the sheriff catches the thief. Please help the thief learn that he should rely on you for provision rather than wrangle it for himself—like I need to learn myself. Thank you for the baker who provides for our stomachs and for the woman across from me who’s admirable in so many ways. Amen.”

Admirable? What on earth was admirable about her compared to him?

Will snatched up one of his muffins and took a huge bite, then closed his eyes and hummed.

Having stared at Will minutes ago made it difficult to keep her eyes off the man who far surpassed her in things that mattered more than an impressive business record. She pinched off of a piece of her muffin’s crumbly top and stared at the steaming mugs on the table.

“What’s wrong? Upset about last night?”

“No. Er . . . depends on what part.” Before he brought up the kissing—something she would not discuss in public—she leaned forward. “Do you really think it’s Axel?”

He shrugged and grabbed a second muffin. “If he needed to finance himself by stealing, he’d know this town. Some of the things I’m missing point to him.”

“But he has money from the robbery and who knows what else.”

“The money wasn’t all his.”

But he had other money. “Did you know he was running liquor?”

Will stopped chewing. “How would you know that?”

She bit her lip and rolled a crumb between her fingers. “He told me.”

“I should’ve guessed.” He frowned, but then raised an eyebrow. “And you were still going to marry him?”

She nodded reluctantly, knowing her willingness to marry a lawbreaker couldn’t improve her character in Will’s eyes. “He said he’d quit but couldn’t right away. Said you can’t just stop working for those kinds of people.”

“All the more reason to think he’s still around then.” Will’s munching slowed, contemplating his muffin as if the pastry might reveal the whereabouts of his friend. “I can’t believe I was so blind.” Will set down his breakfast and rubbed the back of his neck. “Or so . . . gullible.”

“I’m not sure if you’re gullible or just kinder than most.”

“Well, kindness can keep you from pursuing what you want.” He glanced at her mouth, and she bit her lip. How long had he wanted to kiss her before last night?

“I don’t think I’ve ever been kind, not truly. Not like you anyway.” She fidgeted in her seat. “I’ve basically been given a store, and yet I worry kids will pocket penny candy, never thinking they might be stealing because they have nothing to eat.”

“If they need food, they shouldn’t steal taffy and lemon drops.” He threw a heaping spoonful of sugar in his coffee. “I’m certain if the opportunity to help someone presented itself, you would help them gladly.”

Would she truly? How often had she missed helping someone in need because she was focused on herself? “I can’t think of anyone I could help.”

“What about Axel’s mother? Mrs. Langston said she needed somewhere to sell her clothing.” Will swirled his coffee before taking a sip.

Mrs. Langston had embraced her like a long-lost daughter, offered hospitality, gushed over the wonderful things Axel had said about her, begged her to visit often.

And not once after Axel left town had she dropped by or offered help, though only she, Will, and Axel knew her desperate need. Eliza shoved her muffin away.

Will eyed her discarded pastry. “Not that you have to. Nobody would blame you for avoiding Axel’s mother.”

“That’s not it.” How could she have overlooked Mrs. Langston’s need when she could help her better than anyone else?

“Is there a problem with the muffin?”

“It’s not sitting well in my stomach.” By no fault of the baker. She pressed her hand against her churning belly. The more she probed her character, the worse her insides agitated. She stood, bumping the table. Her untouched coffee sloshed over its rim. “I’m sorry to leave you since I invited you to eat with me, but I need to do something before I open.”

Will stood, taking the napkin from his lap to wipe up her spill. “That’s all right. Thanks for breakfast.” And though he agreed, the light in his eyes dulled. Once again, he deferred to someone else’s wants above his own.

She couldn’t leave him thinking she didn’t want to spend time with him. She wanted to—now more than ever. “Perhaps you could come to the boardinghouse tonight to check on Irena? She took to bed again this morning.”

Will wiped his hands on his now-damp napkin. “Sure.”

“Then maybe you could stay for dinner?”

Had she just asked a man to dine with her alone?

“All right. Anything special for dessert?” He winked, a mischievous look glinting in his eyes.

She glanced toward the kitchen to see if anyone had witnessed Will’s roguish expression. She suddenly felt as if the baker’s son had thrust her head into an oven rather than loaves of yeasty dough. “I guess a rhubarb pie isn’t what you’re hoping for?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes on her mouth.

She backed up and hit another chair. “Depends.” She needed to leave before she made a fool of herself in front of the baker’s son. Before Will kissed her in the middle of the bakery. Before she decided that would be all right. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The second she opened the door, she breathed deeply, hoping the morning air would cool her face enough that passersby wouldn’t notice her flushed countenance. She marched to her store and straight to the back to find paper. After scribbling out a makeshift
sign telling customers she’d be late, she hung the notice in the window. She needed to scurry across town and talk to Axel’s mother quickly if she was to have any chance of returning anywhere near her normal opening hour.

Of course, she could visit Mrs. Langston another day, but would tomorrow be any less inconvenient? And with each passing hour, the conviction prodding her forward would be easier to ignore.

Though clothing was more expensive than what one ought to carry in a five-and-dime, she’d offer to sell Axel’s mother’s wares in the upstairs balcony. And she’d refuse any of the profit. She didn’t need money as badly as Mrs. Langston.

William felt Irena’s pulse. “I’m not detecting anything more worrisome than what we’ve dealt with before. Perhaps it’s a bout of melancholia.” He fingered the tincture of opium in his medical chest but couldn’t make himself pull it out. Dr. Forsythe had given Jonesey opium years ago, after he’d purged his friend—neither procedure had helped in the long run. “Maybe we need to look past medicine to whatever lifts your spirits. What might entice you to go downstairs despite the pain? Music or painting or prayers . . .”

Irena shrugged. “The birds outside are plenty cheery. I like watching them.”

Yet bird-watching wasn’t getting her out of bed. “There’s no one to talk to in here.”

She laughed a little and turned sad eyes toward him. “How many visitors do you think I entertain? I can’t even get someone to lodge here unless they’re desperate.”

“Eliza’s worried about you.”

Irena grabbed an extra pillow and picked at the pilling. “I’m worried about me too. I just can’t shake how I feel. But it comes and goes. And the fact that my joints won’t let me walk much . . .” She stared out the window again. “It’s a shame I’ve only just met Eliza.
I’ve lived my whole life pretending my condition hasn’t changed me, but it has.” She kept her focus outside the window, her voice low and rough with unshed tears. “Being shunned from the elite social circle I grew up in was difficult. I’m fifty-five now, but I’ve been gray since shortly after my pregnancy. No one wanted a gray-haired twenty-one-year-old lady with a beard and midget baby over for tea.”

She swiped at the wetness cresting in the corner of her eye. “Then when my husband gambled everything away, I did the best I could by joining the circus, but it hurt to be seen only for the beard on my face and the boy I’d brought into the world—another sideshow attraction like me. I thought retiring here would change things. For a while I forced people to do business with me as a bearded woman until they could look past the disfigurement, but then someone new came to town and I had to do it all over again.” She sighed. “So I gave in and hid my face. I told myself it was for their sakes, not mine, but . . .”

Will pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck. “I hope my little sister didn’t offend you when—”

“She’s just young.” She patted his hand. “I’ve never been uncomfortable with you, but I figured that’s because you have such a great medical mind, maladies and deformities are your business. But Eliza? She’s the first person who valued me despite the one thing about me I can’t change. And now look at me.” She ran a hand through her bed-mussed hair. “I can’t find the strength to eat dinner with her.”

“Then that’s what you need to do.” He waited until she looked at him. How many times before Eliza came had Irena taken to her bed with no one the wiser? “Do whatever it takes to get down to that table every day. Eliza’s what you need.”

She’s what he needed too.

Irena shook her head against the pillow, mussing her hair even more. “You got a pill that’ll convince my mind to force these fat achy legs down the stairs?”

“No. But perhaps we could move you downstairs so you can’t use them as an excuse anymore.” He smiled, wishing she’d smile back. “I’ll pray for you too.”

“I guess that’s the best I can get. I only wish your powders worked better for the pain.”

“I do too.” He frowned. “You want me to call Dr. Forsythe or the new doctor?”

“No, I trust you. You care about me, whereas those men don’t.” She indicated the door with her head. “Now, go have supper. Something tells me my presence tonight would complicate things for you anyway.” She looked pointedly at his tie and slicked-back hair.

Should he expect difficulty? He’d been hoping for an evening of not second-guessing himself.

Irena winked. “Get on with you. I’m tired.”

He shouldn’t let her remain in bed, but he would quit badgering for now and check on her next week. Maybe Eliza could improve things in the meantime.

He squeezed Irena’s hand and stood. “I’ll have Eliza bring you something. She says you’re not eating well, and that needs to stop.”

“Just because I’m letting you doctor me doesn’t mean I’m obedient.” She rolled her eyes, a hint of orneriness gleaming in them.

He wagged his finger and gave her the look his mother used to whenever he sassed, but Irena only closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Collecting his medical supplies, he tried not to look as defeated as Irena. Were there any alternative treatments for melancholia in his books?

On the way down the stairs, the scent of roasted garlic enticed him toward the dining room. But the second his foot crossed the threshold, he stopped.

Eliza stood beside the table decked in a dark red print dress, complete with ruffles and lace and a cinched waist. She’d piled
curls upon her head, one strand entangled in her pearl necklace. She cocked her head to the side. “Is everything all right?”

His lips attempted to say yes but failed.

“I suppose I’m too dressed up?” The color in her cheeks seemed high, whether from his staring or perhaps the reflected shade of the dress, he couldn’t tell.

“No, you look nice.” More than nice. Should he compliment her after she’d once said she didn’t want men to notice her? But then she’d let him kiss her last night, invited him to dinner . . . “You look beautiful, actually.”

She ducked her head a little.

He walked over and took the vegetable platter she held in her hands. He waited for her to look up, but his stomach rumbled before she did.

“Let me get the biscuits.” In a wink, she disappeared into the kitchen.

He slid the food onto the center of the table beside a vase of irises. The flowers’ sweet fragrance overpowered the smell of the roast, but he wouldn’t complain. He probably wasn’t going to taste much with her sitting across from him in her new getup anyway.

Eliza returned carrying a plate piled high with biscuits. Without waiting for him to pull out her chair, she sat.

He huffed at being thwarted from performing that courtesy. All dressed up like that and she wasn’t going to let him be a gentleman?

She raised her eyebrows, glanced at his seat, then pulled at her collar. He’d not increase her discomfort by pointing out how he ought to have seated her.

He snatched a biscuit and sat. “I’m glad I’m here.”