Whirlwind (18 page)

“Not yet, but since you prefer schedules and the like, I figured you’d probably be making plans.” How could she, in one blithe sentence, dismiss any possibility that he’d disallow her to work at such tasks? Yet she did. Leaning forward, Millicent used the corner of her apron to wipe off an obscure label on the very crate that had held her captive. “Hmm. A boy’s velocipede. From New York.”

She brushed past him and pattered up the stairs. Her voice floated back to him. “This place needs to be scrubbed from top to bottom and organized at once. Until I do, you cannot possibly conduct business.”

Daniel chased up the stairs after her. He stood in the doorway to the second bedroom and groaned. “It looks worse in the light of day.”

Standing in a small aisle of space alongside a wroughtiron bed, Millicent surveyed the room. Boxes, brown paper-wrapped parcels, and an array of strange items jumbled around the perimeter of the chamber.

Anger coursed through him. “This is no place for a lady.”

“But a wife’s place is beside her husband, being his helpmeet.” Millicent turned and
tsk
ed over a pair of grit-covered gloves. “Having run a successful business, you’ll organize us. Things will come to order in no time at all.”

“Go back to Arthur and Isabelle.” Daniel raked his fingers through his hair. He’d promised her a thriving business, a nice home, a safe shelter—and yet she stood in the midst of a sty and in all earnestness planned to help clean it. “You don’t belong here.”

“From the way he pushed it all to one side and set the cradle by the bed, your cousin did make an attempt to prepare for your arrival.” She chewed on her lower lip, turning red. “I forgot he planned to spend the night here.”

“He slept elsewhere.” Once he’d returned from settling the women and his son at the boardinghouse, Daniel met up with Orville and two other men who carried his trunks and such to the back storeroom. The last crate had no more than hit the floor before Orville invited them all to wet their whistles at the saloon. He’d been offended that Daniel hadn’t gone. Changing the subject, Daniel frowned. “Why aren’t you with Arthur and your sister?”

“Isabelle is going to mind Arthur for a few days. I’ll help you here, and he’ll keep her busy.”

Daniel chose his words carefully. “Ordinarily, your sister would be more than equal to the task. Right now . . .”

Tears glossed Millicent’s remarkable eyes. “Arthur noticed Isabelle was crying. He crawled up on her lap and kissed her. Children are sensitive—he knows something’s wrong, and he’s staying close to her. Mrs. Orion promised me she’d keep an eye on them both.”

Slowly reaching over, Daniel brushed away the tears that escaped down Millicent’s cheeks. “You’re grieving, too. Go back and give yourself some time. I’ll take care of this.”

“I want to do this, to help you. The sooner we straighten everything up and get it done, the better. When we settle into a home and routine, Isabelle won’t worry as much.”

“Millicent . . .”

She whirled away. “I’ll continue to clear some of the stuff while you find your shoes.”

Daniel attempted to quell his irritation at being told what to do and resolved to devise a plan to keep Millicent out of this mess. He tied on his shoes and stepped into the hallway, immediately grabbing Millicent. “What are you doing?!”

Fourteen

H
olding up a large piece of pasteboard, Millicent explained, “This goes beneath the boxes. It’ll allow me to slide objects down the stairs more easily.”

“The way it did with the velocipede?”

She hitched her shoulder. “It wasn’t quite large enough for the velocipede. Halfway down the stairs, that crate slid off and—”

“Nearly killed you.” Daniel robbed her of the pasteboard, set it aside, and hefted the box she’d planned to send downstairs. “Don’t do anything more. We need to take a few minutes to assess the situation.”

“I’ve made a list. It’s on the counter.”

He stared at her. “When did you make a list?”

“When I got here this morning. About an hour ago.”

“I didn’t hear the bell.”

“Oh, I came through the back door.” She wrinkled her nose. “The storeroom is a disaster. I’d hoped we could move items and stock into it while scrubbing down the shelves. Instead, maybe we can pile goods on the cutting table and counter.” She stood on tiptoe. “Is that a birdcage in the corner?”

“Don’t try to find out.” After realizing he’d barked the order, Daniel softened his voice. “First, let’s go get some breakfast.”

Millicent smiled. “Mrs. Orion is bringing over food in about thirty minutes. She was out of coffee, so she walked over with me. I hope you don’t mind that I bartered a tin of coffee for our meal.”

“Not at all.” He looked pointedly at the pasteboard. “I’m taking things downstairs, starting with this box. Don’t let me see you using that again.”

As he gazed around by the light of day, Daniel realized the store looked . . . contemptible. He’d scrupulously sought to pay a fair price for a successful business, yet it would be a mercy if lightning struck the place and burnt it to cinders. He set down the box and walked up and down the few aisles and past the bins. Certain shelves overflowed while others lay barren. Whatever merchandise was on hand had been damaged by the grit coating every surface in the place.

“It’s not as bad as I thought last night.” Millicent came down the stairs with strange things poking out of her apron pockets and a mangled parasol under her arm.

“If you thought it was worse than this, it’s a wonder you slept at all.” In truth, Daniel hadn’t slept all that well, either. He’d been exhausted, but twice he’d awakened and prowled around. He’d told himself the first time it was because he was concerned about Arthur and the women. The second time, he knew that was only part of it; promising them a better future, he’d brought them to disaster.

Unaware of his thoughts, Millicent nodded toward the list she’d put on the counter. “I figured I’d attack the upstairs first. Though the store is our priority, it would be foolish to clean it, then work up here. All the dust we dislodge will sift down and soil the displays.”

“The store is not my priority. A man puts God and his family first.”

“Oh, I do apologize.” Instead of demurely dipping her head, she looked him in the eye. “I misspoke. You’ve already proven your priorities by selling off your business so you could be with Arthur. I merely meant that earning a livelihood was essential.”

He stood akimbo. “Making sure my family is safe is foremost in my mind. That being the case—”

“We’re of one accord.” She whirled up the stairs.

“Stop right there.” Daniel stared at her back in astonishment. She’d interrupted him, turned away, and defied him!

“Yes?” She turned, looking as innocent as could be.

A rapping on the window made him turn around. A woman smiled and waved to him, then motioned toward the door.

Daniel shook his head.

Millicent hurried down the stairs. “You called me back because you heard someone knocking!” She rushed over and opened the door, causing the bell to jangle. “Good morning.”

“Hello. I’m Hope Stauffer and this here”—the woman beamed down at the spectacled little girl at her side—“is Emmy-Lou.”

“I’m Millicent F—I’m Millicent, and this is my h-husband, Daniel Clark.”

Daniel pretended not to notice how his bride almost gave her maiden name and stuttered about who he was. “Mrs. Stauffer, it’s a pleasure to meet you and your daughter, but the mercantile is closed until further notice.”

“Closed?” She gestured toward a buckboard. “But I have eggs, butter, and milk. Didn’t Mr. Clark—I mean the other Mr. Clark—tell you about our arrangement?”

Millicent turned to him. “Did your cousin mention anything?”

“No.”
There’s plenty Orville didn’t mention.

Mrs. Stauffer shrugged. “Prob’ly slipped his mind, what with his firing too many irons.”

Firing too many irons? Is that a Texas saying?

“Anyways, all the women do their marketin’ on Thursdays. You’re gonna be needin’ my eggs and such. In the past, we always brung them in on Wednesday, but Mr. Clark’s been doin’ Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday at the feedstore. Tuesdays and Thursdays here. All the womenfolk in Gooding are gonna show up today, expectin’ to buy up what they need for the next week.”

The little girl pulled on her mother’s skirt. “Mama, where’s the little boy?”

“Mr. Clark said you got a nice little feller what could play with Emmy-Lou. While they swap howdies, what say I bring in the eggs?” She turned slightly, and her green skirt swished to the side, revealing a strange wooden tree from which half a dozen wire egg baskets hung.

“Mrs. Stauffer, my son is at the boardinghouse, and the mercantile is closed until further notice.”

Millicent leaned forward and half whispered, “We mean you no slight. I’m sure your eggs are wonderful, but—” She let out a nervous laugh. “Not that they’re your eggs. Your chickens’ eggs. Nevertheless, circumstances—”

“Hold it right there.” Mrs. Stauffer held up one hand. “I’m a plainspoken woman. Mr. Clark kept a good store. Tidy. Well, tidy, considerin’ he’s a man. Anyhow, once the sickness swept through town, he sorta let things slide. Folks still come for what they need. We dust it off, load it up, and tote it home. This bein’ the onliest store for miles around, we’re counting on you.”

Having spoken her mind, the woman lifted her egg contraption and plowed ahead. Out of self-preservation, Millicent backed up. Hope Stauffer stopped cold. “Merciful heavens above! Did Orville leave the door open durin’ that dust storm?”

“As you can see for yourself,” Daniel began, “the state of the store is such that—”

“Ever’body needs to pitch in and help.” Mrs. Stauffer set down the eggs and began to roll up her sleeves. “Emmy-Lou, you go on over to Parson Bradle’s and tell his missus to gather up the ladies. Tell her I said the camel’s wallowin’ under the ditch.”

“Mrs. Stauffer . . .” Daniel started in. He didn’t want his own wife in the midst of this disaster, let alone more women!

She smiled at Millicent. “Seein’ as we’re neighbors, call me Hope. Go on with you, Emmy-Lou. That’s a very important job I just gave you.” A heartbeat later, she whispered, “Mr. Clark, I’d take it kindly if you’d peek outta the window yonder and tell me if she’s makin’ it over to the house that has the purdy roses. That’s the parsonage. Emmy-Lou can’t see none too good. Them eyeglasses help a bit, and we’re tryin’ to let her do things on her own. Millie, you’re gonna meet the most nicest women in the world. Open hearts and willin’ hands. That’s the way it is in Gooding.”

A child’s welfare counted for more than someone seeing the sad state of the store. Daniel watched. “Mrs. Stauffer, your little girl just made it up to the door, and a woman opened it.”

“That was mighty nice of you to keep an eye on little Emmy-Lou. Most ever’body in town does. If she bumps into something here and breaks it, Jakob will make good on it. Long as I’m jabbering, I’ll tell you straight up that I can’t read nor write. I’ll have to rely on all y’all.”

“We’ll be happy to help you, Hope.” Millicent hastily excused herself, plucked a handkerchief from her apron, and sneezed.

“God bless you.” Daniel immediately followed that with, “This place isn’t healthy.”

“No, it isn’t.” Millicent immediately tacked on, “We can’t possibly bring Arthur or Isabelle here until we fix it up.”

“Plenty of help’s on the way. Won’t be long before this shop’s shining like a brass penny.” Hope halted beneath a sign and let out a full-throated laugh. “And the first thing they’re bound to do is rescue me from this here sign. Mr. Clark, I don’t aim to tell you how to run your place, but—”

Blood boiled as Daniel realized that their new neighbor was caught. He carefully pulled a fishhook dangling from the
Superior Bait and Tackle
sign from Hope’s hat. “My deepest apologies, Mrs. Stauffer.”

“Ain’t nuthin’ better than a bunch of country women to whip a place into shape.”

A second fishhook jabbed his knuckle as he worked to free Mrs. Stauffer. “I fear for my own wife’s safety here. I cannot permit you ladies in.” As he freed the farmer’s wife, he yanked down the sign. “This is ample proof why. Dangers abound.”

Millicent came up beside him, dusting off a hat. “Here, Hope. I insist on you having this since that sign snagged the flowers on yours. Daniel, you needn’t be worried. I’ve looked about, and the only dangers I’ve seen are the dangling signs and the dirt.”

Daniel set the sign on the counter with great precision. The muscle in his jaw twitched. A married couple didn’t air any disagreement—however great or small—before others. Millicent owed him the courtesy of expressing her opinion in private—if at all.
But she grew up in a lackluster boarding school, not in a decent one or in a family. She’ll no doubt have to learn these things.

Oblivious to his reaction, Millicent smiled at Hope. “If you’d like, you may have the hooks off that sign. They seemed to have an affinity for you.”

“I’ll take the hooks, but not the hat.” Hope reached up and fingered the silk flowers along the brim of her hat. “Jakob—my husband—he thinks this thing’s ugly as sin. In a few days, it’ll be my birthday. I’m not ’posed to know, but he got me a new hat.” She squeezed Millicent’s hand. “Y’all just say something nice ’bout it right in front of Jakob, and that’ll gladden my heart like nothing else in the world.”

“We’ll be sure to do that, won’t we, Daniel?”

“Absolutely.” Daniel took his wife’s arm. “Millicent, I need a word with you.”

The bell jangled. Millicent looked from Daniel to the front of the store and gasped. She felt him go rigid as five women flowed on in. Emmy-Lou walked alongside the first, announcing, “I got ’em, Mama!” A spate of introductions ensued.

Mrs. Orion came in last with a covered basket. Even above the almost overpowering smell of dust, delicious aromas wafted from it. “Mr. Clark, there’s no way a man can accomplish a day’s work without a decent breakfast and a cup of coffee.”

“We can talk later, Daniel.” It felt funny to call him by his first name. Then again, it felt strange to call him her husband, too. “Even with your great strength, you’ll need all the sustenance available to manage the goods upstairs since you won’t allow me to help.” Millicent turned to Hope. “My husband is adamant that women cannot handle anything up there, and I must admit he’s right. It’s all ungainly or impossibly heavy. He rescued me from an enormous crate this morning. I’ll have to tell you all about it once we set to work.”