Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (20 page)

No, it was more like he longed for something similar, the
satisfying love of a soft woman.

There's someone out there who can tenderize her spirit. Clyde's
words echoed in his head until he gave himself a mental scolding and chased out the words.

"Someone's comin' up Sugar Creek Road," announced
young Thomas Bergen, who stood peering out one of the windows. Sugar Creek Road was one of the main roads into town,
so Jon figured it was just some farmer coming in for supplies.
"He's drivin' a weird-lookin' wagon. There's colorful flags and
ribbons blowin' from the sides of it."

This got his attention, along with that of everyone else in
the room.

tep right up here, young man."

Timid little Clancy Barton looked around as if to say,
"Who, me?" His mother, Ophelia Barton, gave him a slight
nudge in the middle of his back. Several had gathered around
the yellow-and-blue wagon parked at the edge of town in the
empty lot where the new church would stand and the former
schoolhouse had once been. Brightly painted letters in many
colors bore the name BILLY WONDER'S TRAVELING MAGIC AND
MEDICINE SHow across two sides of the gaudy, canvas-covered
rig.

Midday sunlight filtered through low-lying clouds, and a
gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the oak trees overhead.

"That's right. I'm talking to you. Come on up here, lad."

The nian who called himself Billy Wonder appeared to
be in his mid- to late thirties and wore a fancy, white, puffedsleeve shirt with black trousers, shiny, black vest, and string
bowtie. Perched on his head was a black top hat. Over one
wrist, he'd draped a glossy wood cane; his other hand held a
megaphone, which he used to project his voice to the town of
Little Hickman. Up the street, a number of inquisitive folks
made their way to the gathering crowd, children running
ahead.

Jon watched with his own brand of curiosity, standing
alongside the more dubious Doc Randolph. "He's one of those
quacks," Doc muttered under his breath.

Jon shushed him with a grin and a nudge to the side.
"Hear the poor man out, Doc."

Little Clancy was making his way to the platform Billy had
set up at the rear of his wagon. Billy took his hand and shepherded him the rest of the way. Poor little Clancy looked as
scared as a mouse in a snake hole.

Billy laid down his megaphone, apparently satisfied with
the growing swarm of people, and rested a hand on the lad's
shoulder. "How old are you, boy?"

"Six," came the nearly inaudible reply.

"Sick? You say you're sick, young man? Why, I wouldn't
have bothered you if I'd known you were sick."

Clancy's eyes grew wide as he looked up at the nian. "No,
six. I'ni six. Six."

"You're sixty-six?" Billy's own eyes doubled in size. "My,
my, you look awful good for sixty-six. Have you been taking
niy elixir?"

To this, the crowd guffawed, as if Billy Wonder had just told
the funniest joke on earth. Doc groaned, and Jon laughedmore at Doc than anything.

"I'ni just funnin' ya, young man. Step on back down to
your maw." Clancy moved back down the steps, his mother
beaming from one ear to the other.

Next, Billy took up a deck of cards and set to some fancy
shuffling. Almost as good as Charley Connors, Jon mulled with
narrow eyes, but not quite. He folded his arms and watched.
Billy was a smooth-looking character with a smile that could
charm the feathers off a duck. He was of medium height and
lean, moving with finesse. Definitely a practiced spellbinder,
Jon concluded, in both looks and personality. "Pick a card, any
card," Billy said, stepping forward and bending down to poke
the deck under the nose of Lydia Swanson, making a point not
to watch.

Her husband, Amos, laughed. "Take a card, Lyd." She pondered the cards with care, then finally took one from the
center of the fanned-out selection.

"Show it to the crowd, but take care that you don't let me
see it," warned Billy.

She lifted her hand with discreetness, and everyone could
see it was a ten of spades.

"Now place it carefully back in my deck."

Lydia was vigilant about assigning it to an entirely different position in the deck. Billy shuffled the cards then fanned
them, this time showing them to the crowd. Everyone leaned
forward to give them close perusal, viewing them as a normal
deck of cards. Once again, he set to shuffling faster than the
naked eye could follow.

Then he laid the deck down on a small table in front of
him, waved some sort of silver wand over the cards, and split
the deck in half. With heedful eyes, he scanned the burgeoning
crowd. When his gaze landed on Bill Whittaker, who'd apparently slipped out of the bank for a midday break, he pointed
at him. "You back there in the suit; you look like an honest,
intelligent man," he announced. Bill's chest seemed to balloon
out past his buttoned vest.

"Well, I...."

"Conte up here, if you please," Billy ordered.

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, Bill grinned
with pleasure and moved forward, passing through the parting crowd until he reached the wagon's metal, collapsible steps.
Taking hold of the rail, he climbed the stairs and came to
stand beside Billy.

"Have we ever met?" Billy asked.

Mr. Whittaker studied the man's face. "No, sir, we haven't."

Billy looked him up and down, removed his top hat, bowed
low, and then extended a hand. "Billy Wonder," he offered.

"Bill Whittaker," Bill said, chuckling. The two shook
hands, as if they'd just closed on a large-size loan, Billy taking
awhile to pump the banker's arm up and down. A twittering of
hushed whispers fell over the crowd of curious bystanders.
"See these cards?"

Bill looked at the split deck lying on the table in front of
him. "Yes."

For a bank president, Jon thought he looked a bit befuddled.

"I'm afraid we have a small problem."

"See there," Doc Randolph hissed, poking Jon in the aria.
"He can't produce the card. He's stalling. I told you lie's a
quack."

"Hush before I put a muzzle on you," Jon warned him.

Bill Whittaker's frown deepened, and lie shrugged his
measly shoulders as if to ask what the Wonder fellow wanted
him to do about it.

Billy shifted his weight and bit his lip, feigning uneasiness. "What's your job, Mr. Whittaker? You don't appear to be
a farrier."

Bill stood as tall as his five and a half feet would allow.
"I'ni the bank president."

"Oh, my!" Wonder blustered, looking abashed. His gaze
slid over the crowd, whose gaping mouths and wide eyes
revealed their keen attentiveness. "Well, that does pose a problem, folks. It seems your president is a shyster."

"Now, see here," Bill started.

"Mr. Whittaker, would you mind opening your jacket?"

"What's that?"

"Your jacket, sir. Just reach inside, if you don't mind, and
check that inside pocket."

"Well, I don't see...."

"Just do it, Whittaker," someone from the crowd bellowed.

Bill Whittaker gaped at Wonder, but he did as told, stuck a
hand inside his coat and reached into the chest pocket. When
he drew out a card, the crowd gasped in amazement. But when
he revealed it as the ten of spades, an even louder shriek skittered through the throng of disbelieving observers.

And it was right about then that Rose Marley fainted dead
away.

Emma stood back from the supper table to give it one last
inspection. With Mr. Wonder joining them for the next few
days-or weeks-it would mean setting an extra place at the
table and preparing a dab more for each meal. But, of course,
it would also mean a bit more pocket change. And who couldn't
use that?

Ever since the arrival of this magic man-or whatever
name he'd given himself-Luke had not stopped talking about
him. And when Luke talked fast, his stutter only worsened.
She smiled to herself. Perhaps one day she would pay a visit
to one of Billy Wonder's shows. As skeptical as she was about
such things, hand trickery was an interesting phenomenon,
and she'd heard from everybody that there was no finer magician. The medicinal aids he sold by the flaskful might be questionable, but, after all, he forced no one to purchase. If folks
wanted to throw away their money on a bottle of syrup that
claimed to heal a body of everything from arthritis to poor
eyesight to kidney pain, then that was their problem.

"Something smells awfully fine down here," said a familiar voice. Her heart lurched crazily when she realized Jon Atkins had entered the dining room. She turned to give him
a cordial greeting, but her breath caught at the sight of him.
He was dressed quite smartly, as if he were about to go courting. Without thinking, she pushed several loose strands of hair
back behind her ears. It'd been hours since she'd fashioned
the thick bun at the top of her head and stuck a blue ribbon
around it. And not only that; she had a gravy stain running
down the front of her yellow blouse, one she'd tried to wash
out but had only made worse by scrubbing. She pulled back
her shoulders and studied him, though not too carefully lest
he notice.

"We're... having gravy and meatballs with scalloped potatoes and corn," she replied, turning to straighten Charley Connors' cloth napkin. "And rhubarb pie for dessert. My rhubarb's
straight from the garden."

"Hni. Sounds wonderful. Unfortunately, I've been invited
elsewhere tonight. I only just realized that I forgot to tell you
earlier. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

"What? No, that's fine." She hastened to walk around the
table and remove his plate, fighting down deep-settled disappointment. She'd wanted him to help carry the conversation
with their dinner guest.

"You sure?" he asked, sticking his hands behind his back.
Out of the corner of her eye, she admired his fancy trousers
and pale cotton shirt. His tanned, muscular arms made a fine
contrast.

"Absolutely. Who's invited you for supper?" she asked,
regretting her nosiness almost immediately.

"A new family that's just moved in down on Cream Ridge,
just over the creek's bridge and not far from the Broughton's
property line. I haven't even niet them yet myself. Heard there
are four kids and a father. Apparently, the oldest girl acts as mother to the kids since their own died in that diphtheria outbreak last spring."

"I've heard of them. They come from Nicholasville. Fancy
Jenkins met the oldest girl yesterday in Flanders' Foods. Said
she's a pretty thing. The last name is-"

"Clayton," they both said simultaneously.

"That's it," Emma said, suddenly rattled. Was it because
he looked so handsome and she didn't quite know how to act?
Or was it that he'd been invited out for supper-and the cook
was a pretty young lady? Fancy had said the girl looked to be
in her early twenties with ink black hair and eyes the color of
a summer sky. Of course, leave it to Fancy to keep everyone
abreast of Little Hickman's happenings, big and small.

She couldn't help but wonder what had precipitated the
invitation, particularly since Jon said he hadn't even niet the
family yet.