Bending Toward the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

food. Didn’t have a cause for it the past four years.”
    “I’d be happy to help.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    Emilie glanced at the list he handed her. “These five items won’t take us long. Follow me, Mr. Cowlishaw.”
    She stopped in front of the empty casks.
    For use in pickling, he chose a kilderkin, which holds half as much liquid as a barrel, then looked at her, concern narrowing his blue eyes. “It may not be my place to ask, but I have a question. Do you mind?”
    Emilie noted his serious tone. “I don’t mind. However, I’ll refuse the answer if the question is inappropriate.”
    “Fair enough, ma’am. Mrs. Milburn from the wagon the other day … did her husband perish?”
    That was the very question Caroline was desperate to have answered. It wasn’t Emilie’s place to discuss another woman’s plight, but the man had endured Caroline’s wrath with grace. “Mrs. Milburn hasn’t heard from her husband since January.”
    “No word of him?”
    “No sir.” She started toward the spice cabinet, and he followed. “As you witnessed, she is desperate to know what became of Colonel Phillip Milburn.”
    His shoulders broadened. “I want to help. I know someone who may be able to find the answer.”
    “You would do that?”
    He lifted his head, his expression one of earnest concern. “I’m a man with regrets, Miss Heinrich, but I’m not a bad man.”
    A knot formed in her throat. Her father wasn’t the only one who struggled with assumptions. She opened her mouth, but closed it and offered a nod.
    “I’d rather you didn’t tell your friend of my efforts. Should they fail, well, Mrs. Milburn doesn’t need added disappointment.”
    Emilie agreed. “I’ll wait to hear from you then.”
    She caught sight of movement and glanced to find her father walking toward them, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “Is there a problem here?”
    “No.” She met PaPa’s brooding gaze, then turned to her customer. “Mr. Cowlishaw, I’d like to present my father, Johann Heinrich. PaPa, this is Mr. Garrett Cowlishaw. He is a childhood friend of Rutherford Wainwright’s.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Garrett shook her father’s hand.
    “And you, Mr. Cowlishaw.” Her father’s face neglected to exhibit the pleasure.
    “Mrs. Brantenberg gave Mr. Cowlishaw a shopping list. I’m helping him find the items for her.”
    “I’ll finish here,” PaPa said. “You’re needed in yard goods.”
    Emilie pressed her lips against her objection, then looked at Mr. Cowlishaw. “Give my best to Mrs. Brantenberg.”
    “I’ll do that, ma’am. Thank you.”
    Her shoes stamped the floor as she made her way to dry goods. PaPa’s insistence had nothing to do with needing help in yard goods. He could’ve cut fabric. Helping customers with a list was customary. Something she did every day. But she was seeing a common thread in her father’s reactions.
    Garrett Cowlishaw may not have been an Irish teamster, but he was a young man, and it appeared her father thought he’d captured her attention.
    And she had endured about all of her father’s assumptions she could take.

Five
    G ood day, Mr. Gut.” Quaid waved at the merchant and climbed onto the wagon seat, proud of himself for remembering the German pronunciation of the man’s name. Another week had passed since he’d seen Emilie. He’d delivered sugar to the soda bottler, various chemicals in gallon jugs to the photographer, and a string-tied bundle of tanned leather to Gut’s Saddlery and Harness. Next stop, Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery for his Tuesday delivery.
    With a flick of the reins, he urged the horses left, up Main Street toward the Old Capitol Building.
    If he were a praying man, he’d ask that Emilie be at the store and her father be away for the time being. Last Monday, when he’d teased her about inviting himself for dinner, she’d said, “I would like that” with a fair bit of emphasis on I . When he’d