Courting Trouble Read Online Free

him out as her next ‘‘project’’?
    Whatever the case, he needed to politely but firmly inform her that if he wanted help, he could well afford to hire someone. And that someone would not be an old maid who was notorious for wearing outrageous hats and who scandalized the town matrons by riding on a bicycle with her skirts hiked up to her knees.

chapter TWO
    THE MORNING BROUGHT few customers, giving Essie plenty of time to dust the shelves, polish the scales, wash the windows, and grind the sugar. Mr. Crook sequestered himself in the back corner, nose buried in his papers. Essie hoped the smell of a clean store and a fresh pot of coffee brought a token of pleasure to his tedious task.
    As she worked, Misters Vandervoort, Richie, Jenkins, and Owen took turns sliding checkers back and forth across a grimy board. Sometimes they pondered each move and sometimes they pushed the little discs without any apparent thought, but all the while they debated everything from the destiny of man to the finest bait for catching fish. No matter where the conversation strayed, though, it always came back to the topic on everyone’s mind, the question of Corsicana’s economic future.
    ‘‘Wall, we gotta do somethin’,’’ Jenkins was saying. ‘‘With cotton prices droppin’ ever’ day and Mr. Neblett’s seed house shut down, this town’s gonna shrivel up and die.’’
    ‘‘What about putting up some brick buildings in the square?’’ Owen suggested. ‘‘That would attract businesses to town.’’
    Vandervoort harrumphed. ‘‘Who’s gonna want to build shops in a town with such a pathetic water supply?’’
    The bell on the door tinkled and the Gillespies’ oldest boy ventured inside with a roll of hides under his arm. He wore a tattered corduroy coat with pockets vast enough to hold small game and oversized trousers folded up to reveal worn-out boots with so many holes it was a wonder they offered any protection at all.
    ‘‘Good afternoon, Jeremy,’’ Essie said, making her way to the counter. ‘‘What brings you into town today?’’
    The scrawny teener nodded slightly and doffed his old felt hat from his head. ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer. I come to ask Mr. Crook fer some oatmeal, rice, and cod liver oil, please, ma’am.’’
    She smiled and patted the flat surface in front of her. ‘‘Well, Mr. Crook is working with his ledgers. Why don’t you show me what you have.’’
    Jeremy exchanged nods with the old-timers, then laid his hat on the counter. The checker game resumed and Essie caught a whiff of the young man, coughed a little, then tactfully breathed through her mouth.
    One by one he unrolled his hides the way a fortune hunter might unfurl a treasure map. He smoothed out two raccoon skins, one rabbit, and one possum.
    It was the possum that did it. Wrung out her chest like a tightly twisted mop. For she’d never known anyone to bother with skinning a possum. Most folks scalded them in boiling water, then scraped them hairless. And yet, the Gillespies had sent their eldest to town with an actual possum hide, of all things.
    She fingered the raccoon, careful not to show signs of anything but admiration. She needn’t look at the boy to recall how big his brown eyes looked within his hollowed-out face.
    ‘‘Why, these are mighty nice, Jeremy,’’ she said. ‘‘Did you do the skinning?’’
    ‘‘Yes, miss.’’
    ‘‘Well, you’re quite talented with a knife. I do believe these ear holes are some of the best I’ve ever seen. Should raise the value of these skins by a good twenty cents each.’’ Her fingers moved to the animal’s snout. ‘‘And would you look at that nose button? Still attached and everything.’’
    He straightened slightly. ‘‘It all starts with how you insert the gamblin’ sticks, miss. You gotta grip right firm-like and the tail will slide off the bone slicker ’n calf slobbers.’’
    She stacked the hides carefully. ‘‘You don’t fool me, Jeremy