Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (34 page)

Emma pursed her lips, feeling as if she were on display at
the county fair. "Billy, get on with your trick before I introduce
these delightful citizens to William Westerwunter," she hissed
under her breath.

Good-natured laughter rumbled up from his chest. "Oh,
you've cornered me, my fair lady," he murmured.

"You gonna show us some magic or what?" the heckler
called.

Billy waved off the remark and proceeded, amazing his
spectators with a disappearing scarf that, to the dismay of
everyone, including Emma, somehow wound up in her apron
pocket. And in the silver box? A bottle of Doctor Frunklemey-
er's Essence of Life!

After wowing his audience with a string of tricks, Billy
closed his act by explaining the benefits of the doctor's "Essence," claiming it aided in preventing the common cold,
cleared out the breathing passages, and even improved the
condition of one's ailing lungs. "One dollar a bottle, folks,"
he sang. "I recommend a spoonful a day to prevent the germ
from entering your body. One bottle will only last six months,
though, so I'd suggest two bottles to last the entire year. And is
it two dollars? Why, no. I'll sell you two bottles for just a dollar
fifty. Now there's something you can't pass up."

Apparently, they agreed, for the majority of folks dug into
their pockets and formed a line. In fact, Emma thought she'd
never seen a longer one, unless she counted that line of youngsters who'd willingly waited more than an hour on Independence Day to ride Sam Livingston's prize mules.

"You say that was your last show, Billy?" Jon asked over
supper that night. He lifted a towel off the bread basket and
helped himself to another roll.

Billy, seated catty-corner from Jon at the table, grinned
and nodded. "Indeed it was, Preacher. I'll miss the good town
of Little Hickman." As usual, Enmia's boarders dug into their
evening meal with gusto, injecting only sparse bits of conversation, barely taking the time to look up when someone spoke.
And who could blame them? Tonight's meal was another winner-thick turkey noodle soup, fresh baked dinner rolls, a tangy
cabbage slaw, and big, juicy slices of tomatoes and cucumbers
straight from the garden. And if Jon's guess were right, by the
aromas flowing from the kitchen, apple rhubarb pie for dessert.

"C-c-caii you sh-show its some magic b-before you go?"

"Luke, you don't ask a nian to work when lie's off duty-
inuch less without pay," his father scolded.

The unschooled boy's beady eyes brightened, unfazed by his
father's words of reprimand. "He did some tricks in the p-parlor
room. 'Member when he b-b-blowed on his hand and a nickel
come up between his f-fingers? And then there was that trick
with the b-ball. He'd s-start out with one in his h-hand and end
up with three. He dint ask for no m-money then."

"Well, just the sane...."

"Nonsense!" Billy interrupted. "I'll be happy to show the
boy some tricks after lie helps me pack up my wagon, how
would that be?"

Luke brightened and pulled back his rounded shoulders.
"Miss Emma says I'm a g-good h-helper."

Billy and Enna exchanged a friendly look. "That true,
Miss Enna?"

"There's not much Luke won't do for a body when asked."

"Where you goin' from here?" Wes Clayton asked while
chawing on a roll, a few stray crumbs nesting in his gray
beard.

Jon's ears perked up, curious himself about the man's
plans. Truth was, lie didn't know what to think of Wonder.
He was a crafty sort, and lie did have a knack for entertainment, drawing crowds by the droves. There couldn't have been
more than a handful of citizens who hadn't seen his showand bought up his miracle cures by the carton-load after each
performance.

And that was what troubled him.

In a day when money was already tight, had Billy Wonder
taken advantage of the good people of Little Hickman by
encouraging them to spend their earnings on worthless
potions? According to Doc Randolph, these formulas consisted
mostly of vegetable extracts and colored sugar water. Traveling medicine men such as Billy dotted the countryside, riding into unsuspecting towns to show off their masterful illusions.
Then, while holding their audiences captive, they sold off their
wares faster than the townsfolk could blink.

Newspapers and magazines were crammed with ads for
medicines and miracle-cure devices. Most of these medicines
were harmless, but many contained generous quantities of
alcohol or opium, ensuring a quick feeling of well-being for
first-time customers, followed by the possibility of habitual
use-something for which these traveling salesmen dearly
hoped. To them, the frequency with which patrons returned
for more products determined the number of dollar signs flitting before their eyes.

He hoped that wasn't the case with Billy, but one couldn't
be too sure about who to trust nowadays.

"I'm headin' south. Need to get settled in a warner climate before winter sets in."

"Can't blame you for that," said Harland. "Wouldn't want
to be stuck in a blizzard with that wagon o' yours."

"You'd be surprised where that wagon's been. It's seen many
a mountain range and crossed its share of rivers. Haven't passed
through any blizzards yet, though, and don't expect to."

"Ain't you got a h-house somewheres?" Luke asked, showing his cabbage slaw when he spoke.

"He doesn't live anywhere to speak of," Elliott answered.
"He moves from one town to another, never staying anywhere
long enough to put down roots. Isn't that right, Mr. Wonder?"

Billy seemed unruffled by the remark. "It's true I never
was one for putting down stakes, Mr. Newman." He speared
several sliced carrot wedges with his fork. "That's not to say
I'ni opposed to the idea, though, given the right set of circumstances-and a pretty woman." He turned his smiling face on
Emnia, after which she dipped her head, a flush appearing in her cheeks. Was Billy sweet on Emma? The very notion set
Jon's teeth on edge. He forced a denture smile behind the rim
of his water glass and tried to ignore the sudden twinge in his
neck.

"Course, I'd have to find me a whole new line o' work. Illusions and trickery's 'bout all I know."

"You seen to be quite the salesman," Charley offered. And
a swindler, to boot, Jon thought.

"I do enjoy the sales end of my business. It's brought me a
hefty profit."

Jon thought he'd do well to keep his mouth shut with
regard to his profits. Some might consider him a thief when
they discovered his ointments, oils, and medicinal brews didn't
accomplish their intended purpose.

"Perhaps I could find me a wife with wanderlust in her
veins. Now, right there'd be the perfect situation." Humor
sparked his countenance as he sought out Emma's eyes yet
again. She scowled, plopped down her napkin, and pushed
back her chair.

"I'ni afraid you'd have to look far and wide for a woman
like that," Jon said, disgruntled. "Most women want stability
and comfort, someplace warm and inviting. And I'd vouch
most want a place in which to raise a family."

Billy eyed Jon with particular interest, brow arched. "Is
that so?" he quipped. His expression flickered with merriment. "I wouldn't think a man of the cloth would know about
such things."

Jon had the distinct feeling he'd fallen smack into the
middle of one of Billy's traps, and for the first time in a long
while, he sorely lacked for a decent comeback. What had possessed him to make such a comment, as if he knew whatwonien,
Emma Browning in particular, really sought after?

Emma gathered up the serving dishes, starting with the
ones in the middle of the table.

"You needin' some help there, Miss Emma?" Billy asked.

For a man of the cloth, Jon certainly felt hot under the
collar.

"I can handle things just fine, Mr. Wonder."

"Huniph. I wasn't even done with them rolls," Harland
complained. Emma thrust the basket under his nose.

For reasons unbeknownst to Jon, Billy gave a full-hearted
chortle-as if lie were privy to some secret. He glanced around,
put his palms square on the table, and nodded his head before
pushing himself up. "Well then, folks, if you don't mind, I
believe I'll call it an evening. You want to come help me load
up my rig, Luke?"

"You bet!" the boy exclaimed. "C-can you show me how to
make somethin' disappear?"

"Why, sure thing. How 'bout we start with you and ine?"

"Huh? How you g-gonna make its disappear? You can't
d-do that."

Billy winked at Emnna and guided Luke into the parlor,
giving everyone his back. "Course I can."

"Yeah, but h-how?"

"Like this. Now they see us..." he opened the door and
stepped outside. "Now they don't."

With the closed door, the pair vanished.

ninia still couldn't believe Jon had talked her into bringing her father to the boardinghouse, but even as she
belabored the point, she knew there was no help for it. Why,
she'd be worse than heartless to ignore Ezra's helpless physical state, no matter that he'd treated her poorly most of her
born days. "It's just a matter of time, Emma," Doc had told
her yesterday. "About all we can do is keep him comfortable."
And the only way to ensure that was to bring him here, she
admitted-even though he had yet to agree to the plan. Merciful heavens! She could practically hear him wailing in protest now as she imagined Jon breaking the news to him, a job
he'd insisted on doing, even though she'd argued it wasn't his
responsibility.

Giving her head a little shake, she fastened the final
button at the front of her gingham dress, secured the tie belt
at the back of her waist, and hung her housecoat, which she'd
worn through breakfast, on the hook over her door. Next, she
moved to the mirror, trying not to think about Jon Atkins, or
her father, for that matter. Leaning forward, she surveyed her
reflection with griminess. When had she gotten those crinkle
lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and what was that
brown, freckly spot just over her right eyebrow?

She picked up a comb and ran it through her golden hair,
tipped her head to one side, and tried to decide how to wear
her locks, in the end, choosing the easiest method, a single
ponytail going down the middle of her back and pulled
together with a ribbon.

Most women want stability and comfort, someplace warm and
inviting. Jon's words to Billy pulled at her nieniory. Had he
been thinking about anyone in particular when he'd made
the remark? Hannah Clayton, perhaps? Although he hadn't
mentioned her for some time, Emma often wondered who he
visited when he made his pastoral calls.

"Oh, pish-posh, why should it natter to nie who Jon Atkins
visits?" she muttered in the mirror. "I'm perfectly contented
with my life. Don't need some minister of the Word fussin' with
niy head."

So why was it, she thought, as she pressed the front of
her flared skirt with her palms, then surveyed herself one last
time, pinching some pink into her cheeks, that she couldn't
seem to shoo him out of her mind?