The hot, dusty road gave way to the smoother, well-worn road of the town surrounding the depot. There were far more people here than in Hope Springs, and Emma found herself watching them as they passed. Women strolled together between shops, their children playing around them. She saw men outside the sheriff's office, gun belts slung low on their hips. There were more people dressed in the latest fashions here than in Hope Springs, and she privately wondered how much bigger bustles could get before the women toppled over backward.

"Let's check the station," Papa said, turning the wagon in the direction of the depot. "We're a touch early so he might not have arrived yet."

They trundled down the street, stopping the wagon in front of the platform. Papa hopped down and then helped Emma and Ivy down from the wagon bed. She stretched her tired, stiff limbs, grateful they would likely be here for a couple of days. Papa had to get some new lumber to build a new grain shed and Katie had given them a list of things she needed for the house. Emma knew exactly where she wanted to go first. The bookseller's.

While Ivy went off to look at the wanted posters hanging up inside the depot and Papa inquired about his business partner's train—a Mr. Kent she had learned—she stepped up to the ticketing agent's window, swallowing her nerves. The man had the sad, bloodshot eyes of a basset hound, his bushy mustache covering a rather thin lower lip.

"Excuse me," she said timidly. "I want to inquire about the price of a ticket to Baltimore, Maryland."

"Maryland," the agent mused, using his pencil to skim down the list of prices before him. "Maryland... Ah, here it is. It's four dollars a night plus meals. You'll have to change trains in Saint Louis, though. All told it will probably take you five days."

She quickly added that up in her head. "Twenty dollars total then?"

"Seems like it," the man nodded, not looking up from his price list.

"Thank you," she replied, her stomach twisting. She had the money to pay for her trip to Baltimore, but after she paid college tuition, it would be harder for her to return home. Papa would be more than happy to lend her money, but she wanted to be able to do this on her own.

"I'll find a way to make some money then," she murmured. "There has to be a way."

But what could she do? She could cook, clean, sew, all things that would make her a good housekeeper. But she knew no one besides her family could afford one in Hope Springs. Perhaps she could find work in Baltimore to supplement her income...

"The train hasn't arrived yet."

Papa's voice broke into her thoughts and she turned to face him, pasting a smile onto her face.

"The station master said it was supposed to arrive this morning, but a storm in the Dakota territory delayed them."

Emma nodded. "We can take care of the shopping while we wait."

"I'll see to the lumber," he smiled, handing her some money. "Will you and Ivy take care of the list Katie gave us?"

"We will," she promised as Ivy reappeared at her side. "But I want to stop at the bookshop first."
Papa chuckled at that. "I thought you might. You and Ivy may each pick out something new, there's enough money there."

She gave her father a grateful hug. "Thank you, Papa."

"Let's go already, Emma," Ivy said impatiently. "I heard someone inside say that the mercantile has a camera! I want to look at it!"

Smiling, she let her sister lead the way. While Ivy stared mesmerized at the camera, Emma completed Katie's purchases. New ice skates for Sean and Eimear, vanilla extract from Mexico, and a few other miscellaneous items that the mercantile at home didn't have.

"I want to go to the bookshop," she said as Papa loaded the wagon with their purchases. Ivy nodded her agreement. The two crossed the street toward the shop, Ivy prattling the whole way about the camera. Emma wished they weren't so expensive, Ivy would love one of her own.

The bell tinkled over the door of the shop and she inhaled deeply, the scents of paper and leather rising up to greet her in tandem. She loved the smell of books, within their pages she felt utterly at home. She began looking at the different titles, skimming her fingers lightly over the spines. There were so many, how could she ever choose?

While Ivy browsed the periodicals, Emma stood debating between a volume of Shakespeare and a volume of Keats. She had read pieces of Shakespeare's plays in other books, but Keats was completely new to her. She liked the sound of his words. Beauty is truth, truth beauty...

She approached the counter and the man standing behind it. She remembered him from previous visits. His name was Mr. Anderson, and he liked books almost as much as she did. He had a kind smile and a neatly trimmed walrus mustache. He appeared to be older than Papa, perhaps in his fifties.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson," she greeted him. "How are you?"

"Wonderful, dear girl," he returned. "Are you in town with your father again?"

Emma nodded. "We're waiting for a business partner of his. His train was delayed."

"Ah, so you're needing something to do in the meantime." Mr. Anderson's eyes twinkled in amused understanding. "You've come to the right place."

"I can't decide between these two," she sighed, studying each of the two books she held carefully. "Which one would you read?"

The bookseller smiled at her. "Why not read both?"

"Oh, but I can only afford one," she replied, casting her eyes down to the books again.

"You misunderstand me," he said. "You may borrow one of them and bring it back and you can borrow the other. Then you can decide which one you want to buy. Or buy something new altogether."

Her eyes widened at his generosity. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!"
"You're quite welcome, my dear," Mr. Anderson replied, his eyes crinkling kindly at the corners. "A fellow book lover is always welcome in my shop."

She nodded, picking up Shakespeare. Clutching the volume to her chest as they walked back to the hotel, she immediately curled up on the bed and began to read. She soon found herself so engrossed that Papa had to gently prod her to eat supper, and then prod her again to go to sleep. Emma waited until Papa and Ivy were asleep before lighting a candle once more. She didn't stop until well past midnight, finally turning the last page. She closed the book, setting it gently on the side table before blowing out the candle and going to sleep.

***

The next morning brought word that the train would be arriving some time today. Emma ate breakfast with Papa and Ivy in the hotel before setting out for the bookshop once more. The air was crisp and cool and she enjoyed the feeling of sunlight splashing down on her shoulders. She stopped at the millinery and eyed the dresses in the mercantile's window before finally rounding the corner and entering the book shop.

"Good morning," she said as the bell over the door tinkled merrily. "I've come to return the book I borrowed."

Mr. Anderson chuckled. "Finished already?"

"I couldn't put it down," Emma smiled. "Books make our small corner of the world feel big."

Nodding, he replied. "That it does. Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "I liked it very much."

"If you liked that one, you should try Keats."

She turned, for the first time realizing there was someone else in the bookshop. He was tall and handsome and distinguished-looking, with neatly combed dark hair and a small moustache that gave him a sophisticated air. His dark eyes twinkled at her as he held out the very book Emma had been eyeing yesterday.

"Oh, did you like it?" she asked, taking the book. "I'm debating between this one and that one."

She inclined her head to the book on the counter.

"I liked them both, but I must confess that Keats is my favorite."

The words were very commonplace, but in his meltingly deep timbre, they almost sounded like music. And the smile which accompanied them! Emma found her heart beating strangely fast.

"Well then, I think my decision is made," she smiled, handing Mr. Anderson some money. "After such a glowing recommendation, I fully expect this book to be marvelous."

The unknown man chuckled. "I feel like I've raised expectations so high you'll be disappointed."

"Not at all. I love books. Even if they aren't my favorite, I still enjoy reading them."

The unknown man nodded his agreement. "May I walk you back to wherever it is you need to go? We could discuss books along the way."

Her heart tripped over itself and she found her smile growing. "Of course. I just need to return to the hotel."

"What a coincidence, that is where I'm headed as well. I'm supposed to be meeting a business partner."

Emma's eyes widened. "You're Mr. Kent?"

"Yes," Mr. Kent replied with a raised eyebrow. "And you are?"

She felt pink surge into her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Emma Archer. I believe you're here to meet with my father."

"Ah," understanding dawned in the man's eyes. "I'm actually Peter Kent junior, my father was ill and couldn't make the trip. As his partner, I was assigned to come instead."

A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. "That makes more sense. I was wondering how my father had partnered with someone so young."

"I'm a very sophisticated twenty-six, thank you." Mr. Kent's pretended indignation was quite ruined by the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We've met before actually, when you still lived in Baltimore. You were quite small, but I remember you and that little sister of yours."

Twenty-six. The same age as Finbarr.

She batted the thought away in annoyance. Finbarr had made his feelings about her quite clear. She was so tired of circling back to him time and time again.

"I see," she put on a mask of equal solemnity. "My apologies then."

They walked together toward the hotel, talking of little things. He made her laugh and smile, both things she had missed over the last few weeks. By the time they reached their destination, they were firm friends.

"I'll let my father know you are here," she said, taking a step toward the stairs. Before she could make it any further, Mr. Kent reached out and caught her hand, giving her knuckles a kiss that made her heart flutter.

"It has been enchanting to meet you, Emma."

Smiling, she nodded. "You as well, Mr. Kent."

"Please, call me Peter," he insisted. "Mr. Kent is my father."

"Alright then," she agreed. "It has been a pleasure as well to meet you, Peter."