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    Sugared Florets and Bayonets
    Sugared Florets and Bayonets
    Sugared Florets and Bayonets
    Ebook101 pages1 hour

    Sugared Florets and Bayonets

    By Jennie L. Morris

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A CLEAN, HISTORICAL ROMANCE SET IN THE AFTERMATH OF THE GREAT WAR.

    Minerva, Ohio, 1919

    The mortar rounds and trenches of the Great War echo in Joe Conley's head. Returned a hero, he is a great thespian. Inside, an imposter lurks. His heart ripped from his ribcage by the savage, brutal gallantry of battle. He no longer fits into his charmed life.

    Sally Smith, the village's curious introvert, has mastered the art of self-reliance. To supplement her paltry income, she applies her gardening skills to her advantage, selling sugared flower petals to the local bakery, café, and mercantile to decorate cakes and teas. While locals gladly accept her beautiful floral creations, they keep her at arms-length, unwilling to forget or forgive her family's past.

    As school cohorts, Sally and Joe despised one another. With childhood put to bed, the war hero, a changeling by circumstance, discovers a friendship without demands. And Sally, finally, feels the comfort of companionship.

    With the summer heat rising and their friendship blooming, Joe and Sally fall under society's scrutiny. Can they weather the storm of small-town rumors, or will they succumb to the pressure? Can either truly put aside their past?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJennie L. Morris
    Release dateJun 10, 2020
    ISBN9781393958406
    Sugared Florets and Bayonets
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      Book preview

      Sugared Florets and Bayonets - Jennie L. Morris

      Chapter One

      Summer, 1919

      The air clung to the skin and in the lungs like a coal forge. Sally rolled up her sleeves and wiped the sweat from her face. During this time of day, she was the sole attendant in the one-room allotted to them in the three-story Minerva High School on North Market Street. Her superior, Mrs. Collins, worked in the mornings during the summer months, leaving Sally to fend off the oppressive afternoon heat.

      She used a rag to dust off the books, a monthly task. She wobbled on the edge of a rickety chair, leaning forward to reach the top shelf. The Minerva Library, although small, boasted an excellent collection of books. She took pride in their selection, thinking it a fine as any in the surrounding counties.

      The patrons, however low in number, kept up a steady stream of borrowing books and pamphlets. In this heat, she didn’t expect many people to visit. She enjoyed the solitary hours in the library, alone among famous authors’ works.

      After finishing the dusting, she paused to catch her breath. She went to the door and opened it, finding no relief. She longed for a few shade trees but found only the sun-baked brick walls.

      Pressing a handkerchief to her brow, she propped open the door and went back inside. She tried again, for the twentieth time, to open the windows. No luck.

      Hot and sticky, she plopped down in the metal chair behind the circulation desk and waited. Sally considered starting Little Women again, but couldn’t concentrate. Usually, the book was a comforting friend. Not today, not in this heat.

      The scrape of shoes hitting the wooden floor brought her eyes up from the book’s cover. She watched as a man wearing a black cap with blue trim make his way around the U-shaped shelving. Sally withdrew a paper pad from the desk and a pencil. Staring outside into the shimmering waves of heat, she began a grocery list.

      Excuse me? called the man from behind the left side shelves. She looked up, seeing nothing but the outline of his hat in the window’s glaring light.

      Yes, are you in need of assistance? she asked, setting aside her pencil.

      I need a book on gardening. Do you have any?

      She tapped her finger in thought. We’ve several. Bottom shelf, two cases over.

      He moved, bent down, and retrieved two books. Sally returned to her list, adding thread and buttons. Yesterday she lost a button on her favorite shirt, and she needed to replace it. The sooner, the better, she couldn’t afford to lose one work shirt.

      Startled, Sally found the man standing at the desk. She flipped over the paper and dropped the pencil. Find what you needed?

      Taking care, he pushed two books to her, both sturdy leather-bound specimens with crisp lettering on their covers. A white library card rested on top.

      If you’re setting up a vegetable garden, you’re late in the season. I recommend planting fast growers like pole beans, peas, cucumbers, and maybe some turnips. Oh, but you should put in your onions and potatoes, cabbage too. She kept her gaze down and recorded the information in the library’s ledger. As she read the name on the borrower’s card, her hand faltered.

      Joe Conley.

      Joe Conley, the merciless bully.

      Joe Conley, the war hero.

      She recorded the name and returned the materials. These are due back in two weeks, Mr. Conley. Flushed, she peered at him and met dark brown eyes staring at her.

      Thank you, Miss Smith, for the help and the books. I won’t be late in returning them. He left without a backward glance.

      Old feelings crept up on her, turning her stomach into a rolling mess. Throughout her years at Union School, she’d suffered endless teasing and ridicule. And at the forefront, leading the throngs of vicious children, was Joe Conley.

      A dull headache, born of reminiscing, formed behind her eyes. Sally wanted to go home, drink a glass of tea, and forget Joe Conley. Unfortunately, ignoring him was impossible. His name was everywhere. All the summer social functions planned on honoring him. Lucky for her, she didn’t frequent village gatherings.

      One small part of her hoped his garden failed, becoming a ruined mess of weeds and crabgrass. That little ill wish made her giggle. Petty, yes, but she believed the Lord would forgive her the thought.

      She locked up at five o’clock without seeing another library patron. List in hand, Sally entered Hart’s Grocery. Ten minutes, she could get all her shopping done and be on her way. Having lived in Minerva her whole life, Sally swung by the shelves, plucking up buttons, thread, soap, and cans of sardines. Mr. Hart, a generational shop owner, was a nice man in his late thirties. He greeted her with a smile, as usual. The last thing on her list was a pound of sugar to fill several orders.

      During the war, she earned extra money selling candied flower petals to the local bakery, restaurants, and housewives hosting parties. The colorful blooms from her garden graced cakes, cookies, and other pastries around Minerva. At the moment, she had numerous plants ready to harvest: purple pansies; yellow, orange, and red nasturtiums; cheery yellow calendula; and a variety of blush, cream, crimson, and lavender roses.

      After weighing up the sugar, Mr. Hart tallied up all her items. That’ll be one dollar and twenty-five cents, he said.

      She reached into her pocket, and her heart fell. She’d forgotten her change purse. Heat flushed her cheeks in embarrassment. How often during her childhood had mother or father been penniless? How often had they sent her, hoping the shopkeepers wouldn’t turn away a starving child, to beg for scraps?

      I’m afraid I left my money at home, Mr. Hart. I’ll have to come back later. I’m terribly sorry for the trouble. She turned, tears threatening to spill, and sped to the door.

      Without warning, she hit a solid object, knocking the air out of her. Flustered, Sally looked up and met the same deep wells of wonder watching her. Oh no, not him. Anyone but him.

      Excuse me, she whispered, trying to maneuver around him to the door. A firm hand gripped her upper arm, holding her in place. Fear kept her from meeting his gaze, so she stared wide-eyed over his shoulder.

      He applied light pressure, causing her to spin and follow him back to the counter.

      I believe this should cover Miss Smith’s purchases, Mr. Hart. Joe reached into his pocket and retrieved a few bills. Is there anything else you need to add to your order, Miss Smith?

      No. Her voice cracked, and she licked her parched lips. She felt as if she were ten years old, so awkward and shy.

      Mr. Hart gave

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