Love Blooms in Winter (10 page)

“If you like his biscuits, you’ll love his corn bread.” Picking up her bag, she glanced around the undersized kitchen. “Make yourself at home. You can’t hurt anything.”

She gave him another grin, and he noticed her features. She reminded him of a girl he’d known years ago. Bright and self-assured but not flashy. She wore her blond hair in a knot on the back of her head and her cheeks glowed with health. Her eyes were the color of dark toffee. The combination was nice, but Tom didn’t have time for personal matters. He occasionally thought he should marry and settle down, but with the new promotion awaiting him, that seemed a distant prospect. He supposed now that Pauline had come into his life, and if she proved to be a long-lost aunt or cousin, he’d be in Dwadlo more often than he would like. The trips would be time-consuming. Another reason family life wouldn’t work for him just now.

“Well, I’m off. Dale’s mother lived with him until a few months ago. He’s been lonely since her death. The company will be good for him.” She smiled. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

She left, and within minutes a rap sounded at the door. Mae told Tom earlier that when she explained the circumstances to Dale, he’d nodded, stripped off his apron, and gone to pack a small bag. Tom reached for the butter. “It’s open!”

The doorknob turned, and a man stepped into the kitchen. The nondescript store owner appeared harmless enough and obliging as well. He was dressed in heavy-soled shoes, black pants, and a white shirt with the cuffs turned up. A pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his globular nose. He smelled of tobacco—a cherry blend.

Without a word, he walked to the bedroom and set his satchel on the bed. Frowning, Tom wondered where he was supposed to sleep. His eyes focused on the small couch that resembled a good-size rattrap. Mae surely didn’t think his six-foot frame would fit on that torture box. Then he spotted two pallets by the stove and had a hunch of where he’d sleep. At least it would be warm.

Dale returned from the bedroom and sat down at the table. After a moment Tom asked, “Have you eaten?” The man shook his head and Tom motioned toward the food. “Help yourself.”

Sitting upright, Dale stared at his plate but didn’t make a move. Tom couldn’t understand why he was just sitting there. “Better eat up. The biscuits are hot.” The older man remained focused on his plate. After a moment Tom got it. Apparently Dale’s mother had waited on him hand and foot.

Shoving away from the table, he reached for a plate off the sideboard and then filled it with two biscuits stuffed with fat sausage patties. He set the plate in front of store owner. “There you go. Enjoy.” He returned to his supper. After a moment, he noticed Dale was still waiting.

“You need something else?” He watched Dale stare at his empty cup. “Oh—right. Coffee.” This was going to be a long two days. He stood, snagged the pot, and carried it to the table.

Dale shook his head.

“You don’t want coffee? You need cream? Sugar?” The man concentrated on the milk pitcher. “Milk. Okay.” Tom fetched a glass, poured milk into it, and set it down before turning back to his cold supper.

Dale lifted patient eyes and met his gaze.

“What?”

Tom’s head started to throb. He had to deal with a crazy old woman, he was up to his ears in dog and cat fur, and now he was expected to babysit a mute? He knew the man could talk. Mae would have mentioned if he couldn’t speak. Didn’t anyone but Mae talk in this town?

Dale’s long-suffering eyes focused on his chest. Tom checked the table service. He had a fork, knife, and spoon. A tall glass of milk sat in front of him. Butter and something that looked like sorghum sat nearby.

Dale tapped his chest.

What? His shirt? Bib. He wanted a bib. Glancing around the room, Tom spotted a cloth on the kitchen counter. Getting up, he retrieved the item, tied it around the man’s neck and pushed him closer to the table. He put a fork in his hand. “Now, eat.”

When Dale still waited, Tom was tempted to eat his meal and be done with it. He moved to his chair and then noted Dale’s bowed head. Prayer. Heaving a mental sigh, Tom bowed his head and said, “Much obliged for the food and cobbler. Amen.”

Reaching for two warm biscuits, Tom was pleased to see that the man was finally digging in. The silence was broken occasionally with a clicking fork or the sound of a cup or glass meeting the table.

The older man cleaned his plate and then wiped his mouth on the bib. He sat up straighter. Tom caught the action from the corner of his eye. What now? “There’s cobbler, if you want it.”

He shook his head and waited.

Tom got up from the table, walked around to Dale, loosened the man’s bib, and handed it to him, refusing to wipe his mouth.

Rising from the chair, Dale burped, put the cloth on the table, and then moseyed toward the bedroom.

Tom’s gaze focused on the pallets, but his thoughts went to Mae Wilkey and Pauline Wilson. Unfortunately, he was stuck here for the time being.

And he already knew he was going to sleep on the floor.

W
here are all the barns around here?”

The post office cage occupied a small corner of the store beside the front window, and Tom watched Mae sort circulars while he kept her company. He picked up a magazine, leaned against the cage shelf, and began to read. He wanted a distraction from the crick in his neck that wouldn’t let up from sleeping on a pallet.

“A few are outside Dwadlo, but as you can see, the town is mostly residential.” Mae paused in her task and decided to address the unspoken subject between them head-on. “Have you definitely decided not to take Pauline back to Chicago with you?”

“As I told you before, I
can’t
take her back with me.”

“Oh, yes. Well. Last year I tried to find someone to stay with her, and I was willing to pay them what little I could, but there’s isn’t a soul around who has the time to care for an elderly woman. I couldn’t see Pauline put in a poorhouse alongside the insane, the inebriated, and the homeless.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I did hear of a nice place in Massachusetts—Boston’s Home for Aged Women—but they charge a small fortune.”

“I know of other homes that care for the elderly, but they’re costly as well.” With his new promotion, he’d be making better money, and along with his savings, without a doubt he could pay for the woman’s care for the time she had left, but was she his responsibility? “Does Pauline have money? Any savings?”

“Does she look like she has savings?”

“No, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.”

“She doesn’t have money, Tom. You can trust my word on that. Dale lets her carry credit here—which he’s almost never reimbursed for—or she wouldn’t eat. She sells personal items from time to time, but that accounts for little.”

“Let me make my circumstance clear. I’m not a rich man, Mae, but I do have some savings, and I probably make enough to pay for a fancy home for aging women. However, should I do that for someone I don’t know?”

She shook her head. “You still claim you don’t know her?”

He had tumbled the possibilities of Pauline being kin in his mind a hundred times, and still there was no recollection of the woman. “I
know
I don’t know her.”

“Then why stay?” As she turned away to resume her work, she glanced over her shoulder at him.

He met her questioning gaze. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all morning. I honestly believe I don’t know her, but in the rare event I’m mistaken I’ll do what I can to find her a home.” Had he really just said that? He’d help her find a home, even though he knew in his heart she wasn’t a member of his family? Was it Pauline’s situation that was keeping him here, or could it be he liked Mae Wilkey more than he wanted to admit?

She slipped a flyer into a box. “That’s very noble of you.”

He heard the sarcasm in her voice, but before he could address it the front door opened and a woman stepped inside. Mae turned to greet the newcomer.

“Morning, Grace!”

The woman hurried toward the cage. “Hello, dear. I need postage for three letters, please.” She rummaged in her crocheted bag.

“Yes, ma’am. That will be three cents.”

“Oh, where is my coin purse?”

Grace searched and came up with a snuff box, from which she politely offered Mae a pinch. Mae shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Stuffing the box back in her purse, Grace persisted with the search. Tom met Mae’s amused gaze. She was so pretty when she smiled. Eventually the other woman struck gold, drawing his attention.

“Here you go.” With trembling fingers she counted out three coins.

“Perfect.” Mae slipped them into the cash box. “And how is the mister today?”

“He’s loading feed on the wagon. I really must hurry.” She cast an uneasy glance out the front window.

Mae stamped the letters, smiling. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, dear. The same to you.”

The door closed behind her, and Mae continued sorting mail. Glancing up from his magazine, Tom asked, “What’s her situation?”

“Grace?” Mae shook her head. “She’s terrified of her own shadow. Her husband has to take her everywhere she goes and stay with her or she’ll faint.”

“Faint?”

“That’s Grace’s way of handling a nervous condition. She faints. Medford—that’s her husband—has to do everything for her. Truthfully, she’s shamefully sheltered. The couple has no children and have devoted themselves to each other. Grace buys all sorts of lotions and potions from traveling salesmen that promise to ease her condition, but none ever work.”

A can dropped, and Tom looked up to see Dale restocking the shelves near the back of the store. His eyes focused for a moment on the quiet man, and then trying to keep his voice low, he asked, “Do you find Dale to be a pleasant person?”

“Pleasant enough.”

“Does he talk?”

“Dale?” Mae burst into laughter. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I haven’t heard him say a word. Apparently his mother was accustomed to looking after him. There must be a lot of that going around.”

Mae frowned. “He talks, and he’s extremely self-sufficient.”

Tom turned to meet her gaze. “Dale? Self-sufficient?” Who had he just spent last evening with and waited on hand and foot at the supper table?

“Very. If you’re having difficulty getting acquainted, please don’t hold that against him. It’s true that Dale’s mother pampered him, but he’s a wonderful man, even if he does have a shy nature and sometimes has a hard time expressing his thoughts to those he doesn’t know. He’ll warm to you. Just give it a little time.” Leaning on her elbow, she grinned. “You are a good man, Mr. Curtis.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be giving me undeserved praise, Miss Wilkey. I haven’t found Pauline a home yet.”

“But you will.” She sighed. “I slept well last night knowing that the situation was in good hands.”

He hadn’t closed an eye until the rooster crowed at dawn, but what she’d just said helped him make the decision. He didn’t have any family members left, so why shouldn’t he help an old lady who was also without family?

“About the dogs and cats.” He’d steered clear of the subject until now, but there was no way on earth he could find homes for Pauline’s animals.

“Yes…that is a problem.” Mae studied the envelope in her hand. “I’ve told Jeremy to ask around, but no one wants or needs another animal. Frankly, I believe most have disposed of their unwanted cats and dogs in her yard because they knew Pauline would care for them.”

“How can she feed them?”

“Well, the neighbors are good about that. They bring their table scraps and dump them in the large barrel sitting in the shed to keep the animals fed.”

“Good of them, since most likely they’re feeding their own animals.”

“I understand your concern, and I’ll help any way I can.”

His concern. Now it was his concern. What could he do? He’d brought it on by saying he’d help. Laying down the magazine, he nodded. “Let me give it some thought, and I’ll see what I can come up with. I don’t have much time, though. I have to be back at work in a few days.” He prepared to leave.

She exited the cage and walked with him to the front door. “I was hoping, if you stay long enough, that you would attend church with us Sunday morning.”