Read Online The Heart's Frontier by Lori Copeland - Free Book Online

vinegar from the pickle barrel mingled with the sweet-smelling smoke. Canned goods were stacked in crates along one side, and bins of beans and flour lined the rear wall. While Maummi inspected the store’s assortment of pans and roasting spits, Emma leaned out of the doorway and strained to catch the sound of male voices coming from the nearby blacksmith’s shop.
    Luke had certainly surprised her with his news of their wagon, and especially with his generosity. She’d watched closely to see if he treated Papa with any hint of arrogance, and she could detect none. Perhaps she had judged him harshly yesterday.
    The low drone of the men’s conversation drifted to her. She was able to identify Papa’s higher-pitched voice from Luke’s low drawl, but she couldn’t make out a single word.
    Frustrated, she took a cautious step backward. Her grandmother was so engrossed in searching for bargains on the store’s shelves that maybe she wouldn’t notice if Emma edged away to see how the negotiation was progressing.
    “Emma!”
    She jerked upright. Though she hadn’t appeared to be watching, Maummi turned a stern glance on her. Disapproval darkened her scowl. “Lift that pan down for me. The one on the hook.” A gnarled finger pointed at a heavy iron skillet hanging perfectly within the old lady’s reach.
    Flushing damply beneath her high collar, Emma crossed the floor to comply. The shopkeeper hurried out from behind his counter, his pipe clutched in one hand, and arrived at Maummi ’s side a step ahead of her.
    “Allow me, ma’am. This here’s a mite heavy for a little thing like you.” He lifted the pan off the hook, and placed it in Maummi ’s hands. “A fine piece of cookware. Of course, it needs seasoning, but I expect an experienced cook like yourself knows that.”
    “Hmm.” Maummi gave Emma a final warning look and then turned her attention to examining the cookware. She weighed it in her hands. “Not as heavy as mine.”
    “Ah, but this one packs lighter for traveling. Besides, it’s the skill of the cook that matters the most, not the weight of the skillet.”
    While the two discussed the various features of the frying pan, Rebecca sidestepped toward Emma and spoke in a whisper. “You think he’s handsome, don’t you? Mr. Carson, I mean.” She cast a look toward the door with a grin.
    Emma drew herself up. “Of course not. He’s Englisch .”
    “ Englischers can be handsome too.” She hooked the basket handle over one arm and covered a giggle with her free hand. “That one who rode away with him yesterday was most delightful to look upon. I wonder if he’s married.”
    “You shouldn’t say such things, Rebecca.” Emma pitched her voice low and adopted a stern tone. “You shouldn’t even think them. Only think such things about Amish boys.”
    Maummi turned her head to spear them with a look and then resumed her conversation with the shopkeeper. Emma sauntered over to the crates stacked on the floor and picked up a tin of peaches. A dent creased one side.
    Rebecca followed, her basket clutched in front of her apron. “I’ll bet neither of them are married. I’ve heard those cattle drives take the cowboys away from home for months and months. They would miss their families too much if they had them, so ’tis better not to marry until they are finished with life on the trail.”
    Emma was impressed in spite of herself. “Where did you learn that?”
    Rebecca shrugged. “I heard Jakob Miller talking to Aaron Zook after church one Sunday.”
    Of course twelve-year-old boys would be full of thoughts of cowboys and cattle drives. And thirteen-year-old girls would be full of thoughts of marriage. Emma put the tin back in the crate and selected one without a dent. “I’m sure many cowboys are married.”
    Her sister swung the basket from her arm. “I don’t think Mr. Carson is. Otherwise he wouldn’t look at you the way he does.”
    Heat crept up Emma’s neck and into her face. Yes,