Faith of the Heart (5 page)

             
“
Mind if
I sit down?” She
smiled
tentatively
and
Maxwell
slid into the opposite chair. A mug of coffee was cradled in his
strong
hands.

             
“I hope you slept well. Are you finding everything you need?”

             
“
Well enough
.
I’ve explored the
house
and today I’m going to
visit the gravesites and examine the store.
I need to get busy, to try to take in everything
.
”

             
“Fine, that’s great. Jump right in. People need your store
and it may do you well to be occupied. I mean to
,
uh, help you get through this difficult time.
The store has
been closed several days now and you don’t want to be losing your customers to the competition. Weikert’s Mercantile wasn’t the fanciest place in town, but it was the friendliest. I hope you’ll be keeping up that tradition.”

Claire managed a convincing smile. ‘Oh yes,
but
it’s going to take some time to learn the ropes.
”
The sheriff
smiled
, swallowed the las
t of his coffee and stood to go.
             
    
   
                          

      “The
cemetery is three blocks west of here. Look for the stand of oak trees.” He turned to leave and then swung back around. “
Oh,
Miss Secord
, you might want to stop at the bank soon. The banker has some papers you should be aware of. You
know
,
mortgages and the like.”

             
Claire
grimaced
, “Thanks, I’ll do that
, though I surely don’t trust banks
or bankers. They always think it’s their money.
” Thoughtfully, she watched
Maxwell
pay his bill and stride out of the restaurant.
A mortgage
.
I hadn’t thought about that.
T
here’s a lot I haven’t thought about yet
. I have so much to learn. 

She finished her own coffee, left some money on the table, and headed for the door. It was time to
pay her respects
.

***

             
Leaving Rose’s Café
,
Claire paused on the wooden planks that acted as a sidewalk. Glancing down the street she
noticed a barbershop with its red and white striped pole
,
a dress emporium, the jail
,
and even a Chinese laundry. The other side of the dirt-packed street boasted a new hotel, its boards still yellow and raw, a saloon, a butcher
,
and, set back just a bit,
a
white church with a shiny bronze bell in a narrow steeple.

Claire said a quick prayer of thanks for her blessings and asked for comfort from the shock of Ginny’s death.

             
As if in reply, her heartache eased a tad and she felt a warm breeze on her cheek. Picking up her skirts she turned west and headed toward the town’s tiny cemetery.
             
             
             
Glen Oaks was a small but tidy grouping of graves and memorials. Large oak trees sheltered the resting places and Claire easily located the graves of Richard and Virginia
Weikert
.
Her uncle’s plot had tender shoots of grass beginning to take hold
,
but Ginny’s was still raw dirt. A plain wooden cross stood at the head of it. Claire dropped to her knees and brushed away a twig. She said another prayer and began to sob. Tears dripped onto the dirt and she wrapped her arms around her waist to comfort herself.

             
Claire didn’t know how long she sat there crying.
The s
weet
trilling of a tiny wren in the oak above brought her back to the present. She stiffly arose and
gazed around. It was a peaceful place. A place she could come and be with her family.

             
I will order a proper headstone for my uncle and aunt and
,
yes, I think I will find a bench to place under this t
ree so that I might li
nger longer.
She headed back
to town, feeling more at peace.
             
This will become a home because my family is buried here and their business,
now
my business
,
is here.

        
Arriving at her new store and home once more, Claire decided to explore the mercantile.
The heavy door Claire had spotted in the parlor the night before opened into a narrow hallway that was used for storage. A second doorway covered with a calico curtain led into the store. Pushing it aside
,
Claire stepped into her new shop and gasped. The large room was dusty and disorganized. Bolts of fabric were strewn across the counter, crates were tumbled on the floor and the air was pungent with pickle juice, whale oil, and pipe tobacco.
Sunshine poured through big, boxy windows, its rays illuminating dust particles in the air.

             
Flinging open the two
front
windows, Claire turned and again surveyed the mess.

Ginny really did need me. Uncle Richard’s death shook her up even more than I could have guessed. Well,
there’s
nothing here that can’t
be
fixed. It just needs
some
elbow grease and lots of soap and water.

Briefly she thought about opening her door for business and then decided
to wait
.

If I work hard I can have a grand reopening in a couple of days. I’ll make lemonade, serve cookies, and show this town what
Weikert’s
Mercantile can be
under new ownership. It will be a fresh beginning for me and the town.
Her mind racing with possibilities, Claire got to work.

             
She
swept and cleared the store shelves, removing bolts of calico and gingham fabric, ladies boots, lengths of coiled rope, nails
and
lanterns. Cooking utensils and canned peaches
were added
to a pile on the floor, the dust sifting down and settling on her hair and shoulders like snow. When the shelves were bare, she dug a pencil and some paper out of the
roll-top desk
, outlining her new vision for the store.

             
All the rest of the day and the next she scrubbed and polished every surface in the shop until it shone. She kept the front door locked but the windows open and she was beginning to stir up some excitement in the town. People were strolling by and trying to peer in, attracted to the now-gleaming windows and the
young
woman
bustling about inside. She’d hung a large sign on the front door and all day long people came closer to read and chatter.

             
             
GRAND RE-OPENING!

             
             
WEIKERT-SECORD FAMILY MERCANTILE

             
             
SATURDAY APRIL 30
TH

             
             
Free lemonade and cookies for all
!

                
     
 
Claire Secord, Proprietor
      

             
That evening, thoroughly exhausted and entirely pleased with herself, Claire decided she deserved a hot meal for all her hard work. She strolled down to Rose’s Café and ordered the blue plate special.
Connie served her the meal and
refilled Claire’s water glass. Moments later she came back with the blue enamel coffee pot and topped off Claire’s mug.

             
“
Miss Rose
, this dinner was fabulous! Did you prepare it?” Claire asked, wiping her mouth delicately and setting aside her fork. Connie laughed as she surveyed the scant remains on Claire’s plate. Two pieces of fried chicken, roasted potatoes, steamed carrots, and an enormous slice of peach pie had disappeared. Claire delicately wiped her mouth
as if s
h
e hadn’t just devoured it all.

             
“
My cook handles the meals. I did make the pie, though. Desserts are my specialty. In fact, those peaches came from my own tree back behind my restaurant here.”

             
Claire got a sudden grin on her face. “You own this place? Rose
’
s is your
café?
”

             
“Yeah, well
,
it’s mine and the bank
’s
.” Connie’s brown eyes were twinkling. “Someday I’ll own it free and clear.
Until then I just keep serving and making payments.
”

             
Claire motioned to the empty chair at her table.

             
“Please, if you have a moment, would you join me? I’d love to hear more about your restaurant and how you came to be here.”

Connie pulled out the oak chair and plunked down. “Feels good to get off my feet.  I come from a large family over in Council Bluffs. You went through it right before you crossed the Missouri
,
”
She
paused
.
Claire smiled and nodded.
“Anyway, I learned how to cook and bake helping to raise a passel of brothers and sisters. As soon as the youngest was in school I figured I
’d
done my part and skedaddled.
I found a job waiting tables at this place and started socking away money and ideas. When the owners retired I bought the place from them, oh, about three years ago. I cleaned and painted, hung some curtains and improved on the menu. I also started baking my special
p
ies and, well, they turned out to be a huge hit.” She
smiled, showing perfect white teeth.
“Turns out folks around here have sweet tooths. Thank goodness. I grow fresh vegetables and herbs in the garden out back and even had fruit tre
e
s sent out from back east. Fresh apples, peaches and pears make great pies, cobblers and cakes.”

             
“I’ll say. I completely devoured that luscious piece of peach pie.” Claire leaned over
and whispered in a conspiring tone,
“If my corset wasn’t s
o tight I’d have another!”
             
Connie guffawed
before quickly
sober
ing
up. “
Say, I was awfully sorry to hear about your aunt. She was a very special lady. We were in a quilting club together. Your uncle, he was special
,
too. This town is going to miss those two. They were some of the earliest
settlers
.”

             
Claire
nodded and
fought the tears from coming back.
“I only wish I’d been able to spend some time with them. Why is it that you think you have plenty of time for loved ones and then they’re gone?”
  

             
She shook her head and soft brown tendrils danced about her face. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She noticed the counter of baked goods again and inspiration struck.

             
“
Say, my
grand
re
-
opening of the store is Saturday. Would you bake cookies and prepare lemonade for me? I’ll pay you well. It would really help me out, and your baking skills are sure to be miles ahead of mine.” Claire smiled, hoping to win Connie over without much persuasion. Connie smiled back, her eyes shining.

             
“It’s a deal. My oatmeal raisin cookies are real popular. I’ll make up an extra-large batch and stir up a crock of lemonade. I’ll even deliver them first thing Saturday morning. I want to see what you’ve done with the store myself. People have been anxious to see you open. Many are running low on provisions what with the place being closed for almost a week.”

             
Claire stood up to leave, agreeing that she would see Connie first thing Saturday morning.
It was a warm spring evening, and long shadows fell across the dusty street as
birds chattered in the trees. Claire went on a stroll to work off her dinner and get to know the neighborhood. She’d always imagined the Midwest as a flat treeless prairie, but here along the Missouri River were gently rolling bluffs covered with waving grasses, oaks and elms. Tidy homes lined the dirt streets and the smells of suppertime wafted through the air. Children were playing in the side yards and their whoops of laughter brought a smile to Claire’s face. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been in Pennsylvania. Yes, she’d had her position as teacher but those boys weren’t her children and the house she’d lived in wasn’t her home.