A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(69)



The bell on the door jangled as RJ stepped inside. He breathed the scents of dry goods and tack, pickles, horse feed, and some sort of pastry—Mrs. Jorgensen must have had a baking spree again. This was the only mercantile he’d known where the storekeeper’s wife sold fresh baked goods from the counter more often than not.

“Be right with you,” the proprietress called over her shoulder. She was showing another customer some lengths of cloth.

RJ leaned on the counter and amused himself by examining the stock of candies lined up in glass jars. This was always his favorite part of a general store as a child. Maybe he should bring a small paper sack back for the Brownsville children.

“Well then, Mr. Easton.” Mrs. Jorgensen approached, smoothing her apron over her ample middle. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, first off I’d like a piece of whatever that is.” RJ nodded at the tray on the counter that emitted the tantalizing aroma.

Mrs. Jorgensen chuckled and lifted the cloth that kept away bugs. “One apple fritter, then.” She wrapped it in paper, making RJ’s mouth water. “Anything else?”

“I need another box of nails for the boardinghouse, and I’d like a sack of peppermints and horehound candy for the children.” He straightened and laid his palms on the counter. “Then I was wondering—I hear Dr. Brownsville rented rooms from you when he first came to town. Are those by chance available?”

“I’m afraid we’ve got several workers staying in them right now. You know space is in high demand in town these days.” Mrs. Jorgensen pursed her lips. “However, one of them did say they might move to the boardinghouse once it’s up and running, as long as it’s cheaper. They grumble about not getting meals here, but I’ve all I can do with running the store.”

“I see.” RJ deflated slightly, but maybe there was still a chance. “Well, I’d be interested in the possibility of renting if they do leave. If you’d have me.”

“I’ll let you know, that’s certain. I’ve a mind you’re a lot tidier than those fellows.” Mrs. Jorgensen shook her head. “We might have quite a cleaning job to deal with when they leave, I’m thinking.” At the bell’s jangle, she looked over RJ’s shoulder and stiffened. “Can I help you?”

Struck by the woman’s change in tone, RJ turned to see who had come in.

A short, wiry young man stepped farther inside. He removed his hat, revealing close-cropped black curls above the smooth dark brown of his face. “Good evenin’. Just hopin’ to buy a bit of supper. I came in on the train today, lookin’ for work.”

“Foodstuffs are that way.” Mrs. Jorgensen nodded stiffly to the far wall.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The young man moved quickly to the shelves of canned goods.

Mrs. Jorgensen kept her gaze on him, tight-lipped.

RJ cleared his throat, trying to turn her attention away. Did she think the fellow was going to abscond with a can of beans? “Shall I go fetch those nails, Mrs. Jorgensen?”

“Oh. No, I’ll get them.” With one more glance at the young black man, she hurried back to the storeroom. Returning in record time, she rang up RJ’s purchases. “Will that be all?”

“I believe so. Thank you.” RJ took the box of nails, the wrapped pastry, and the bag of candy. He stepped aside for the newcomer as he brought his purchases to the counter.

Mrs. Jorgensen scanned the pile of canned fruit and beans, crackers, cheese, bacon, a sack of dried beans, and one of cornmeal. “This comes to four dollars. Can you pay?”

RJ winced. He hadn’t known the storekeeper’s wife was so prejudiced, but then, he’d never seen anyone in Salton besides white folks. He nearly stepped in to offer to help, but the young man leveled a smile at the woman.

“There you are, ma’am.” He pulled out a worn pocketbook and counted out a pile of coins.

Mrs. Jorgensen counted it again and then, appearing slightly mollified, wrapped his purchases and handed them over.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The man spoke with a soft Southern drawl. Was he a freedman? Yet his speech didn’t seem quite what RJ would expect from a recent slave. “Might you know where a fella could find work around here?”

“Not sure about that. You’d have to ask around.” Mrs. Jorgensen turned closemouthed again. Never mind that there were at least three building projects going on around town. In addition to the boardinghouse, Mr. Young was adding on to his bank, and RJ had heard something about the schoolhouse moving forward.

But the young man just nodded and turned, nearly bumping into RJ as he headed for the door.

“Sorry, sir.” He ducked his head and hurried past.

RJ’s neck heated at being caught watching the small drama play out. He turned and followed the young man out of the store.

“Forgive me.” RJ’s voice halted the man as he stepped into the dusty street. “But you said you’re looking for work. What kind?”

The young man turned, his face wary. “Most any kind I can put my hand to, I reckon. I can dig, farm, work with horses. I’m best at workin’ with wood. That advertisement for construction workers is what brought me out to these parts.”

“Really?” RJ cocked his head. “I’m heading up a construction project and looking for good workers. If you show up tomorrow morning at the building site on the other side of the church, we’ll see.”

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