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certainly not the only man suffering from soldier’s heart. Others are struggling too, and many of them have wives. Faith is the dearest person I’ve ever met. She’d not be one to turn away from difficulties.”
    “She’s your friend. If you want to ask them on a picnic, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to start wooing her.” He rose and drained his cup. “It’s late. Good night.”
    On tiptoes, Rosemary kissed his cheek. “Sleep well. I’ll go to the mercantile tomorrow and extend our invitation.”
    Shaking his head, Curt left the warm kitchen and climbed the stairs. Once Rosemary settled on an idea, there was no stopping her.

     
    Using a broom, Faith pushed oiled sawdust toward the rear of the store, rolling yesterday’s dust away. As she passed the boot display, she stopped to straighten the disorder left by Royal Baxter’s cronies.
    Given enough time, maybe she’d stop cringing at the memory of the blank look on Royal’s face when she introduced herself.
    She brushed sweepings into a dustpan and dumped them in a bin in the alley. While standing in the shade of the mercantile, she peeked at the small building where Grandpa worked on his memoirs. The wounded look on his face when she’d blurted her frustration haunted her.
    Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the path separating them and tapped on the door.
    “Who is it?”
    “Faith.”
    “Thought you were too busy.”
    She turned the handle and slipped into the room. Clasping her hands together, she said, “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Anytime you want me to read your writing, don’t hesitate.”
    He placed his pen next to the inkwell. “You mean it?”
    Faith stepped beside his chair. “Yes.” She kissed his cheek. “Get back to your memoir. I’ll be inside if you want me.”
    With light steps, she hurried into the mercantile and hung the broom on a hook. She heard footsteps through the wall separating the storeroom from the front of the building. A deep voice called, “Is anyone here?”
    She brushed through the dividing curtain and stopped short, her heart drumming in her throat. Royal Baxter stood inside the open front door. He removed his hat and pressed it against his trouser leg. “Miss Lindberg. I’ve thought of your pretty face ever since yesterday. I don’t know how I could have forgotten our meeting. Will you forgive me?”
    Faith stared at him, speechless. Did he mean he remembered her? Or was he merely apologizing for his comments?
    He shook his head. “I knew it. My behavior was unpardonable.” He turned toward the entrance. “I won’t bother you again.”
    “Wait.” She closed the distance between them. “There’s nothing to forgive. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d remember me after nearly five years.”
    “Would you consider getting reacquainted? There’s a dance planned at the hotel for a week from Friday to raise money for war widows. I’d like to ask you to accompany me if you’re agreeable.”
    Agreeable? She’d dreamed of such an invitation. But now that he stood in front of her, she hesitated. If all went as she hoped, she and Grandpa would leave in another month or so.
    Royal cleared his throat. “You’re a quiet one. Shall I ask again some other time?”
    “Yes. I mean, no need. I’d be pleased to go to the dance with you.”
    “Good.” He replaced his hat and crossed the threshold.
    Faith hurried after him. “Don’t you want to know where I live?”
    “I already asked someone.” He strode to a horse tied out front and swung into the saddle. “I’ll call for you at seven next Friday.”
    “Yes,” she said to his departing back, then flopped onto a bench next to the entrance. Whatever his motivation, this was an invitation she’d waited years to receive. She had no intention of refusing.

     
    Faith reached far into a barrel and dug through the excelsior for a last plate. A full set of tea leaf–patterned lusterware spread over a shelf to her right.