Janice Thompson - Spring Creek Bride

“Oh, I know.” A sigh escaped Ida’s lips as she reflected on the problem their town now faced. “And you can be sure the afternoon train brought in more riffraff. Every day they come, headed to the land agent’s office to buy up their piece of the pie. The town is growing up too fast. It’s frightening.” She felt a little shiver run up her spine.

“At least business is good.” Dinah gestured to the cash register with a smile. “I sold several pounds of coffee this morning. And there’s not enough chewing tobacco in the state to keep these men happy.” She paused a moment as she gazed around the very busy shop. “Best of all, they pay cash.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Unlike so many of the locals. I can’t tell you how many of them buy on credit and then don’t pay their bills on time. It’s a problem, Ida.”

“I know, but—”

“I’ve traded some of my best merchandise for butter, eggs, herbs, even chickens,” Dinah said with exasperation. “And then there’s Mrs. Gertsch! Would you believe the woman actually wanted to trade in a stack of her used dime novels for honey?”

Ida couldn’t help but chuckle at that news. After all, she’d sold the elderly woman those dime novels in the first place—they’d spent hours discussing the adventure stories. But this might not be the best time to share that information with Dinah.

“I’m not saying I mind so much,” her aunt continued, “but cash money is a good thing for a business.”

“Still,” Ida argued, “I’ll take a hardworking local over a cash-handling railroad man any day to make the town safe again. It’s hardly worth risking life and limb just to get down Midway. Whatever happened to our sleepy little town?”

“Woke up, I guess.” Dinah took to sweeping the floor.

“Humph.” Ida shook her head in defiance. “I’d give my eye teeth for a return to the way things used to be.”

She continued to look out the window, trying with all her might to remember the little town that had captivated her heart when she was a child. In her mind’s eye, she saw what Spring Creek would be like now, if the railroad had never come through. She saw churches, fields of sugarcane and delightful little shops. Women and children walked about in safety, packages in their arms and carefree smiles on their faces. Men gestured kindly to one another, never shouting obscenities, and never, ever whistling at women. In that quaint place, people would feel safe, secure.

Dinah’s son, Carter, bounded into the room, breaking into Ida’s thoughts. Jam stains covered his face, from brow to chin.

“Son, what have you done?” Setting the broom aside, Dinah rushed to his side and pried the jar of homemade strawberry preserves from his tightly clenched fist.

“Mine, Mother.” He grinned with mischief in his eyes. Though Ida knew he deserved a good scolding, she had to stifle a laugh.

“At two o’clock in the afternoon?” Dinah asked as she placed the sticky jar on the countertop. “You believe this to be the proper time for sweets?”

“Anytime is the proper time, so long as it tastes good. Right, darlin’?” Ida scooped her young cousin into her arms and spun in circles until they were both dizzy. Carter let out a giggle, which bounced around the room and startled a few of the store’s patrons.

Ida didn’t mind a bit. In fact, she couldn’t help but spoil this precious child, who was the spitting image of his father. Oh, if only Larson had lived to see his son grow up. If only that awful railroad man hadn’t—

No, she would not focus on the family’s losses today. Surely this blessed little boy was the good Lord’s reminder to all who gazed upon his innocent face that life could go on, even after tragedy.

“Oh, fine.” Dinah shook her head. “You’re a big help.”

“I know, I know.” Ida carried Carter to the back of the store where she located a rag and some lye soap. “Give us a minute for a Texas spit-shine, and we’ll be as good as new!” she hollered.

She gave the youngster a good scrubbing. He fought her attempts, but only in fun. When they finished, she led him by the hand through the carefully organized aisles of dry goods up to the front, where Dinah stood waiting, hands on her hips.

“See?” Ida grinned. “Cleaner’n a whistle.”

Carter skipped behind the front counter and eyed the candy jars. “Jelly beans, Mommy?” he begged.

“No, son. I think you’ve had enough treats for one day.”

“Peppermint?” He pointed to a second jar.

“Absolutely not.”

Ida stepped in front of the row of glass jars so they would present no further temptation. Surely he would be pleading for licorice whips or gum before long. Or taffy. He loved the colorful, hand-wrapped delicacies from nearby Galveston Island.

Safely distracted, Carter grabbed his bag of brightly colored marbles. As he settled onto the floor to play, the bag spilled open and they rolled around in every direction, making all sorts of racket against the wood-planked floorboards.

“Peawee, Mother!” he hollered, then dashed underneath the counter to capture his favorite marble in his tight little fist. “Peawee!” he said again, holding it up.

Dinah sighed as she reached to pick up the other wayward marbles.

“The only problem I see with boys,” Ida said with a wink, “is that they grow into men.” She joined Dinah behind the counter in preparation for the usual midafternoon influx of customers.

“You’d best not carry on with that train of thought,” Dinah said, “or you will never catch a husband.”

Ida rolled her eyes as she responded, “I’m not looking for one, I assure you.” Before she could stop it, an image of the handsome stranger floated through her mind. She quickly pushed it away, determined to remain focused. Sensible girls were not swayed by fancy clothes.

She thought of her childhood friend, Sophie Weimer, who had no greater wish than to marry and present her husband with a half-dozen children in steady succession. Ida shuddered at the very thought of such a life. No, she would not marry—at least not unless the Lord presented her with exactly the right man. And she wasn’t likely to stumble across the right man in a place like Spring Creek.

At that moment, a couple of rough-looking railroad fellows made an entrance. They jabbed one another in the ribs and let out simultaneous whistles in the direction of the ladies.

“None of that in here.” Dinah faced them, brow furrowed, ready for a battle. “Or you’ll have me to contend with.”

Their gazes shifted to the floor and they wandered off to play dominoes, pulling wooden-slatted chairs around a barrel and settling in for a game. The menfolk often gathered in the store to pass the time this way. No wagering, of course—Dinah would never abide such a thing.

Ida didn’t mind their presence in the store so much, as long as they kept their language clean. And they were better off here than in the saloons, after all. There was nothing wrong with an innocent game of dominoes.

“I wish I had your patience.” Ida spoke to Dinah in a hoarse whisper. “Truly. I can’t seem to look a man in the eye without wanting to slap him.”

Dinah gave her a sad smile. “That’s because you haven’t yet loved a man.”

Ida nodded, as if Dinah’s words settled the matter, but a feeling of uneasiness settled over her. Love did not carry the same appeal for her that it did for others. It almost seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. “I could happily live my whole life without knowing what that feels like.”

“Oh, my dear,” Dinah said, turning to face her. “I predict you will one day look a man directly in the eye and slapping him will be the furthest thing from your mind.”