The Blacksmith’s Bravery by Susan Page Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

from the kitchen. “Hear what?”
    â€œWe’ve got customers coming. Is the stew still hot?”
    â€œYes, I’ve got it on the back of the stove.”
    â€œWell, heat up those leftover biscuits, too, and put the chicken pie in the warming oven.” Bitsy stuck the shotgun under the serving counter. “I’ll have to stay here to serve them. Tell Trudy.”
    â€œDo you want me to stay?” Vashti asked.
    â€œNo, child, you go on. But I need to get out all the luncheon things we put away. We didn’t have a single customer to lunch. I thought today was the first day of our decline and bankruptcy.”
    â€œThat day happened last year, when we got married and closed the bar,” Augie muttered as he shuffled for the kitchen.
    â€œDon’t pay him any mind.” Bitsy pulled three of the best china plates off a shelf. “Go on now, Vashti. Tell Trudy I’ll be there Thursday, for sure. And you see if you can’t win the prize today.”

    Griffin tore open the envelope as he left the post office on Mayor Peter Nash’s closed-in porch. He felt bad for his sister, Evelyn. Five kids, and no grandparents nearby to help her out. He’d written to her, offering to help in a small way—he could probably send her a few dollars a month if she needed it.
    He pulled the closely written sheet of paper from the envelope and stopped walking to steady it. Squinting down at her spidery writing, he immediately felt a glow of satisfaction. Offering his brotherly generosity had been just the right thing to do. It would help Evelyn and make him feel good.
    My dear brother
,
    I cannot thank you enough for your sympathy and your offer to help us. You cannot know how your letter affected me. I confess, I burst into tears as I read it
.
    Griffin felt the sting of tears in his own eyes, just knowing the good he’d done.
    Dearest Griffin, I think you are aware that Jacob’s father passed on two years ago and left my late husband his property. Since that time, we have lived a little better than before, and I am happy to say that I do not need financial assistance at this time
.
    Griffin frowned over that sentence. If she didn’t need money, what did she need? Just his kind thoughts from three thousand miles away?
    There is a way you can help me immeasurably, however, and that is with my eldest boy, Justin. It grieves me to tell you this, but he has given me great pain this past year. He’s become friends with an undesirable group of youths, and since his father’s passing I’ve not been able to control his behavior at all. He comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t like to mention it, butI fear he stole some money from my reticule last week. Not only that, but he’s taken up smoking. He thinks I don’t know, but the odor clings to him. Dear brother, I fear the worst for my boy, and thus your letter offered a ray of hope to my grieving heart
.
    Griffin’s chest tightened and he feared to turn the page.
    I’ve purchased a train ticket for Justin to depart on Wednesday next. He will ride to Salt Lake City, from where he can get the stagecoach up to your territory. I expect he will arrive in Mountain Home, Idaho, about the fifth of October
.
    Griffin looked up in a panic. People walked along the main street as though everything was normal. A wagonload of women approached from the north. Shooting practice must be finished. Libby Adams and a middle-aged couple came out of the Spur & Saddle, chatting amicably as they headed across to the Paragon Emporium.
    Sucking in a deep breath, Griffin turned and hurried back to the post office.
    â€œPeter!” He threw the door open, but the postmaster-mayor was no longer behind the counter. He stepped to the inner door and pounded on it.
    Ellie Nash, Peter’s wife, opened it. “Hello, Mr. Bane. I thought you came for your mail earlier.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œWell, Peter’s out back