Chapter 5

 

A week later Tempest woke with a headache and a nasty cold. It had been slowly creeping up on her for several days, but she’d ignored it, choosing instead to focus on running her store and going for walks in the evenings with Bram. She relished his company and friendship, and despite continued teasing from Lydia, she knew there was nothing more between them. There couldn’t be. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy walking and talking with a handsome, congenial gentleman like Bram Wakeman.

The room spun as she tried to sit up, and she placed a hand to her forehead with a moan. She couldn’t afford to keep the store closed—not for a whole day. The numbers in her ledger were still troubling, though she had hope she could hang on a while longer. But an entire day without purchases would be too much of a setback.

Fatigue washed over her anew and she collapsed back onto her pillow. Perhaps she could simply open a little later than usual. Clinging to that plan, she drifted off.

Sometime later a loud rapping at the store door jerked her awake. Tempest scrambled up, her head and heart pounding. She managed to get to her feet, throw a shawl around her nightdress, and start slowly down the stairs. The incessant knocking battled with the pain in her skull. She paused beside the counter to catch her breath, then pressed on. She could see a tall male figure through the glass in the door. Hopefully whoever the customer turned out to be, he wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer while she returned upstairs to dress. Though the thought of climbing the stairs and wrestling into her petticoat and dress felt as long and difficult as a hike up the mountains would be in her present condition.

She opened the door a crack and drew in a sharp breath when she realized Bram stood there, looking agitated.

Dispensing with any greeting, he explained his presence at her door. “You didn’t switch your sign to open earlier and I started to wonder if something was amiss.” His eyes went wide when she opened the door a little farther and he saw her attire. “I was right. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that won’t be better soon, I’m sure.” She gritted her teeth against another wave of dizziness and gripped the door frame tighter. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided I’d sleep in before I opened the store. I’m actually going back up to dress now.”

“You don’t look well enough for that.”

She released her hold on the door and stepped back, waving away his concern. “I’ll be just . . . fine . . .” But her knees wouldn’t hold her up any longer. She began to crumble to the floor, when Bram leapt forward and grabbed her arm.

“Tempest, you’re not well. You can’t possibly stand at the counter all day when you can’t even stand here.”

Desperation crawled up her throat and spilled over into unshed tears. “I have to,” she rasped out. “I can’t afford to close the store today.”

Before she knew what he was doing, Bram scooped her up into his arms. “You don’t have to,” he said, carrying her toward the stairs.

Her head felt so heavy, she gave into the urge to rest it against his shoulder. “But I have to, Bram. I have to.”

“All you have to do today is rest,” he soothed in her ear. “Because I’m going to manage your store today.”

Tempest jerked her head up, then bit her lip against the ache such a motion caused. “B-but you can’t do that. Who will watch your store?”

He slowed to navigate the stairs, making sure to keep her feet from bumping into the wall. “No one. Mine is new enough that I can afford to close it for one day.”

She wanted to protest further, and yet she had no energy to do so, and the fog in her head made thinking up more arguments difficult.

When he reached her rooms at the top of the stairs, he carried her into the second and set her on her bed. “Get some more rest. I’ll send a message to Lydia to come check on you.”

He’d never looked more handsome to her than he did in this moment, even with the worry etched on his face. She ought to feel mortified at him seeing her in her nightclothes and with her wild, curly hair untamed. But she couldn’t muster up any embarrassment. Instead, she felt only gratitude and an irrational hope that she might one day be cradled in his arms again.

Her cheeks flushed at her errant thoughts, but she hoped Bram would think it was her fever instead. “The ledger to note purchases and orders is under the counter.”

He nodded and moved back through the doorway into her tiny parlor and kitchen. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Bram?” she called.

Turning, he waited for her to speak.

“I don’t know what to say other than thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure,” he said, his mouth hiking up in a smile. And Tempest couldn’t help thinking that smile might be the best medicine of all.

 

• • •

 

Bram snagged another bite of the sandwich Lydia had given him and recorded the purchases of the man who’d just exited the store. The last few hours had been rather busy, and he guessed some of that had to do with his store being closed. Anyone who wanted things from a mercantile had to get them from Tempest’s today. It made him wonder how well she had done since he’d set up shop four weeks earlier.

Pushing the question aside, he dusted the counter and straightened the candy jars. Finally his curiosity got the better of him. He opened the ledger again and flipped through several of the pages, noting the daily and weekly totals before his store had opened. Then he carefully reviewed the numbers for the weeks since he’d come to town.

He frowned when he reached the page for the day before and closed the ledger. The numbers told the truth he’d been ignoring since taking Tempest to the opera a week ago. His store was mining profits from hers, and the longer his stayed open, the more hers dropped in income.

The sound of someone coming down the stairs reached his ears. It was too sure-footed to be Tempest, so he suspected it must be Lydia, who’d gone up an hour earlier.

Sure enough Tempest’s best friend descended the stairs. She offered him the same kind smile she had when she’d come into the store.

“How is she?” Bram asked.

“She’s resting again.” Lydia came to stand opposite the counter from him, setting her gloves and hat on its smooth surface. “She did eat well just now and managed to drink some herbal tea for her sore throat. I think she’ll be on the mend tonight or tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“She was fretting about the store, but I told her it was in good hands.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia put on her hat. “It’s me who must thank you. I misjudged you and I apologize.” She pulled on her gloves. “What you’re doing today for Tempest goes beyond gentlemanly behavior or neighborly kindness.”

He chose not to respond to the not-so-subtle hint behind her words. His feelings for Tempest had grown immensely the last week, as they’d taken their evening walks and talked, but he needed to sort out those emotions before he voiced them to anyone else. “I gave you reason to misjudge me by not being honest with Tempest that first day, and for that, I am sorry.”

“I’ll check on her again at supper,” she said, stepping toward the door.

“Has she told you how her store is really doing?”

Lydia turned back, her mouth turned down in a frown. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“I looked through her ledger just now,” he confessed, tapping a knuckle against the book. “There seemed to be a greater number of customers in here today and I wanted to confirm a hunch I had regarding the reason.”

Her gaze widened in understanding. “It’s because your store is closed today, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered simply and truthfully.

Bram wished it wasn’t so. He was also grateful that Tempest’s friend studied him with no condemnation in her expression. Neither Tempest nor Lydia nor her husband judged him for his minor role in the war. Instead they took his measure from his character, his honesty, and his actions. The realization poured through him with force and thankfulness, soothing his troubled heart. Was this why he’d felt the Lord nudging him to build a new life here? Not to find success solely in his store, but more importantly, in his relationships?

“I’m going to tell her I looked through her ledger.”

Lydia dipped her head in a nod. “I think that’s wise and truthful of you. What will you do now?”

He sensed she meant much more in the question than merely relaying information to Tempest. “I’m not sure exactly,” he said with a chuckle. “And that’s rather new for me.”

Her smile buoyed him up as a sister’s would. “You’ll figure it out, Mr. Wakeman. As we all must.” She moved toward the door, where she paused to add, “And for me that usually starts on my knees.”

 

• • •

 

Brushing a curl from her eyes, Tempest eyed the numbers in her ledger once more before setting her pencil down. Things didn’t look good. With a weary sigh, she sat on her stool. She’d been well for four days, though she still felt tired after a whole day on her feet. The darkness outside the store and the shadows within pushed at her small circle of lamplight. The rest of the town was likely sleeping.

Bram had confessed to looking at her ledger, and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t think she could work in his store and record numbers in his log without taking a peek at some of the other pages. But she hadn’t quite believed what he’d told her about his store stripping profits from hers. Now, after having his store open again for a few days, she’d seen what she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Her mercantile was, indeed, on a steady decline. She could likely eek by for another few months, but there was no guarantee she would last that long. The newness of Bram’s store would wear off completely, and yet she didn’t know if she would be able to sustain business until then.

She offered the same prayer she had so often over the last five weeks. What should I do, Lord? She propped her arm on the counter and rested her forehead in her palm. An image of Bram’s warm hazel eyes and genuine smile filled her thoughts. I meant about the store. Tempest chuckled, the sound echoing in the silence. Though I suppose I need to know what do regarding him too.

Something had shifted between her and Bram since he’d come to her aid when she was sick. She felt it in her renewed energy when she saw him crossing the street to join her for their evening stroll. She felt it in the way her heart pulsed faster when their hands brushed as they walked. She felt it in the way her soul stirred at their shared conversations and mutual regard for the other’s thoughts and perceptions. The one topic they largely avoided was about their respective stores.

Tempest lifted her head to gaze at the familiar, organized chaos around her. This place symbolized more than her livelihood—it represented her independence and her ability to make a life for herself. And she’d certainly accomplished that, whether her brothers recognized that or not. She, a woman all on her own, had opened and successfully operated a mercantile for more than a year. She’d also come to love this town and its people.

Including Bram?

“No,” she told herself aloud as she shot to her feet and grabbed the lamp. She couldn’t love him . . . could she? They’d known each other less than two months, and half that time they’d spent competing against each other.

She started up the stairs, turning the question over in her mind. There was so much she did love about him though—his kindness, his humility, his bursts of humor. Did that mean she loved him?

The answer came as softly as a kitten nudging at her heels. I do love him.

Tempest stopped halfway up the stairs and leaned back against the wall—the very one Bram had worked so hard not to bump her feet against when he’d gently carried her. She probably ought to sell her store, and soon, if she hoped to get a decent price for it. And yet, she couldn’t imagine not seeing Bram anymore, of not living across the street from him. She wanted him in her life tomorrow and the day after that and on and on through the years.

“Is there a way to have both?” she half prayed, half hoped.

If she sold her goods to Bram and the building to someone else, she would have enough to stay in town for a time. Surely long enough to see if he felt more than friendship for her, especially once her store ceased to be a deterrent to a long-term relationship between them.

Determined to move forward with her plan, she continued up the stairs. She set her lamp down and readied for bed. Right before climbing beneath the covers, she caught the distinct smell of smoke. Perhaps she hadn’t properly stoked the fire from supper.

She checked the stove in her kitchen area, but there was nothing inside except cold ashes. Perhaps it was the downstairs stove. Not bothering with the lamp, she descended the stairs to check the stove inside her store. It appeared as cold and lifeless as the other one. And yet, she could still smell smoke.

The muffled sound of shouting reached her ears and Tempest hurried to peer out the display window. Her shocked cry shattered the quiet of the empty store, and for a moment she couldn’t move as she stared in horror at the scene before her. Fire rose from the roofs of several of the buildings down the street, including the post office. In the reddish glow, she could see people doing what they could to fight the blaze. Surely Lydia and Calvin were among them, and that was where she would be.

Tempest rushed back upstairs and changed from her nightgown into an old work dress. She exited her store, sucking in a sharp gasp as a wave of heat engulfed her. Would they be able to stop the angry beast before it devoured most of the town? She’d heard Lydia, Calvin and other townspeople talk about the fire two years earlier that had consumed so many buildings.

“Tempest!”

She looked toward Bram’s store to find him approaching her at a run. The sight of him brought an instant measure of courage. “It’s already spread to the post office,” she exclaimed.

“Then let’s see what we can do.”

Giving him a grim smile of gratitude, Tempest matched his racing footsteps down the street. The fire brigade was already on hand, but the post office’s roof was still ablaze.

“Lydia,” she cried out when she and Bram found her friend among those passing buckets of water up the line of people to the burning building. “What can we do?”

Her friend’s blackened cheeks were streaked with what Tempest guessed were tears. Farther up the line Calvin dumped water onto the fire. “We’re doing everything we can, but it might not . . .” She visibly swallowed. “It might not be enough. What about your stores?”

Bram answered, “Neither one has caught fire yet.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She took the next full bucket, tipping her head in the direction they’d just come. “Go keep them that way.”

“Are you sure?” Tempest wanted to stay and offer comfort somehow. But Bram gently guided her back up the street.

“She’s right,” he said kindly. “We’ve got to take precautions.”

“How?”

“Get every sheet and blanket and sack that you have, and meet me out front of your store.”

Tempest ground her feet to a stop. “What about your roof?”

“We’ll get to it second.”

“Bram?” she protested. She appreciated his help but he would need some too.

He urged her forward again, his expression full of resolve. “We’ve got to hurry, before it’s too late for either one.”