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“Charlie should be fine. I gave him my revolver last night.”
“You did? You really did?” Leah stepped close, stretched up on her toes and brushed her lips across his scratchy cheek. “Thank you, Thad.”
He snaked out an arm and caught her around the waist, then instantly released her. “I thought Teddy and I’d ride over to the Halliday place, maybe see about borrowing—” he hesitated “—borrowing a plow horse. For, um, for my wheat.”
He half turned away from her and gazed out the barn door toward the field. Her throat closed. In its dried-up state, the wheat was lost. He would be forced to plow it under, along with everything it represented to him.
Her eyes blurry with tears, she turned toward the stall where her mare waited.
The closer she drew to the mercantile and Uncle Charlie’s bakery, the more delicious the air smelled. Her mouth watered at the aroma—something cinnamony with a trace of lemon.
Short, slightly plump Uncle Charlie, clad in his white apron, was working in front of his establishment, industriously sweeping litter off the board walkway.
“Ah, Niece Leah.” His round face beamed up at her.
“Uncle Charlie, did you win the vote?”
“I still here. Vote was close, but six more votes for yes. Bakery stays.”
“Oh, Uncle, I am so glad.” She pried one of his hands off the broom handle and squeezed it hard.
“I glad, too. You bring young Teddy to wash front window?”
Leah’s gaze fell on the spotless multipaned glass and she smiled. Uncle Charlie did not need help from Teddy; he simply liked to have the boy around. Of course, Teddy liked sampling the cookies.
“Thad and Teddy rode out to the Hallidays’. Something about a workhorse to plow—” She closed her mouth with a snap. Lord in heaven, she couldn’t say it—that Thad was giving up on his wheat.
“What matter, Niece Leah? Your face white as clean apron.”
She managed a smile. “It is the heat, Uncle.” She dropped her gaze to the ground.
Uncle Charlie stepped forward. “You come inside. Drink water and rest.”
Inside the fragrant-smelling bakery, Charlie folded her hands around a glass of cool water, which She gulped down. Then he offered a platter of her favorite cookies, the ones with lots of raisins. She was chewing on a cookie when, through the front window, she spotted Verena Forester bustling down the walkway.
Leah rose and, surprising herself, purposely stepped out into the dressmaker’s path. “Good morning, Verena.”
The tall, bony woman halted in front of her and peered at the platter of Uncle Charlie’s cookies in Leah’s hand. “Why, that’s odd. That’s the same platter I saw at the mercantile yesterday, loaded with cookies.” She looked closer. “And the same kind of cookies, too.”
Verena confronted Charlie, who was hovering in the doorway. “You were buying votes, weren’t you, Mr.—?”
“Ming Cha,” Third Uncle replied in a quiet voice. “But in America, call myself Charlie.”
Verena pursed her lips. “I see.” She gave the small Chinese man a thorough once-over. “Come to think of it, something else is odd, as well. Something that occurred the night of the town meeting.”
“No cookies at meeting,” Charlie said quickly. “I hide in secret place with Mr. MacAllister.”
Verena nodded. “The night of the meeting,” she said slowly, “I hurried downstairs so I wouldn’t miss anything. I was in such a rush I even left my supper dishes in the sink.”
She turned a frown on Charlie, who began edging backward into the bakery. “When I came home after the meeting, all those dirty dishes had been washed and put away.”
She pinned Leah with blue eyes hard as stones. “I don’t trust you, Leah. Something is going on that I am unaware of.”
Leah masked her tattered nerves behind a placid expression. “I do not trust you, either, Verena. So we are even.”
“Well, I never!” The older woman lifted her skirts and marched on down the walkway. “Never in my entire life…” Her voice faded as she stomped up the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door.
Leah stared after the woman until another voice, this one soft and hesitant, spoke up. “That woman is rude because she is unhappy. She has no one to love.”
Leah glanced behind her. “Mrs. Sorensen!”
The woman inclined her sunbonnet-covered head. “Mrs. MacAllister, isn’t it? Leah?”
Leah nodded. “How are you, Mrs. Sorensen?”
“Just fine, I’m sure. And I will be finer after a slice of lemon cake. Such small pleasures make life worth living.”
