A Log Cabin Christmas by Wanda E. Brunstetter

Author:Wanda E. Brunstetter [Brunstetter, Wanda E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781616264789
Publisher: Barbour Books
Published: 2011-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

After Richard’s first circular route, he reported back about his sales. They were excellent! Mary could barely contain her glee at his success. At least she thought her heart started beating faster with the ledger results and not when his top boots first stepped through the door.

“It’s your doing,” he said. “You carry the right materials. That brass stencil you added at the last minute, the one for inking calling cards, it sold right away. We’ll need to get a few more of those ordered in.” They sat at Mary’s table, tasting of tea.

“I’m just so surprised that you’re in need of additional whole-color cloth,” Mary said. “So many of the women quilt from their scraps using popular dress prints. I expected you to sell Prussian blues, the double pinks, and everyday calicos and ginghams, but solid red and some of silk? That chintz? And so much wool. Those are expensive European imports,” Mary reminded him. “I’m just stunned that we need to order more. How did you do it?”

“Just my charm,” he said. He grinned at her, and Mary felt a familiar flutter inside her stomach. She hoped she was just hungry. She needed to be hungry and not anything else. He showed absolutely no interest in her, she realized; and she didn’t need to embarrass herself by allowing her feelings to ride on a fast horse only to take a tumble later.

They worked well together, and Mary loved his stories of his encounters with her neighbors. A few new families had moved into the region, and he brought them to life. His stories captured the essence of the men and women populating this new state. John Carpenter’s wife, Adele, for example, sported a snaggletooth, but she made a black bean soup that he’d “crawl across glass to get another bowl of.” Richard continued, “She bought up the cast-iron pot with the glass lid you had only one of. Seemed happy indeed to have a new pot for that soup.”

Richard’s left eye, the blue one, drooped just a bit. He looked tired. They’d reloaded the cart, and soon he’d be heading out. Mary offered him supper before he returned to his boarding room, and he accepted. He continued to tell stories as she prepared the grouse Laird had brought by.

“You’re a superb cook, Mary,” Richard said. “If things go sour with the store, you could always open up a boardinghouse.”

Mary frowned.

“Oh, I didn’t mean they will. My mother, rest her soul, always said my foot was attracted more to my mouth than my shoes. I’m sure the mercantile will do well.” He stuffed dressing into his mouth, shaking his head.

Mary guessed that at least he was sensitive to a sour look on her face and did his best to recover.

“I almost had a request for corn seed,” Richard told her. “But instead Mrs. Miner—yes, she’s new—and her family told me that she’d brought just a half cup of corn seed with her from Iowa. She planted the seeds carefully only to discover that her rooster had come along behind her and gobbled up each seed.

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