Page 1 of The Formation of Us
Chapter 1
Fredonia, New York
June 1879
The tangy scent of soaps and spices made Duke sneeze as he entered Brown & Shepherd’s store. His breath hissed out, and he clapped a hand over his aching shoulder.
Wayne Archer looked up from the package of medicine he was delivering to the store owner, Agatha Brown. The stocky apothecary propped his fists on the counter and eyed Duke with suspicion. “Are you ill, Sheriff?”
“Morning, Archer.” Duke ignored the man’s question. Archer didn’t care about Duke’s health. He wanted to get elected sheriff in November. Six men were running for the position against Duke, who had been the sheriff of Chautauqua County since he was twenty-three years old. Five of the seven candidates could handle the position. Duke was one of them. Wayne Archer wasn’t.
Duke stepped away from the soaps and spices and greeted Agatha Brown, a kind, elderly widow he’d known since he was a boy.
“You’re too late for licorice sticks,” she said. “I sold the last one yesterday afternoon to your niece, Rebecca.”
“That qualifies as a crime, Mrs. Brown.” He’d been buying or begging licorice sticks from her since he was old enough to ask for them, and he was still one of her best customers.
“My next shipment will arrive tomorrow. Will that keep me out of jail?”
“This time,” he said sternly.
Her laugh lit her eyes and transformed her somber demeanor into that of a softer, more youthful-looking woman. Agatha Brown was six years older than Duke’s mother, and could make some man a good companion, but Duke suspected she would choose to remain a widow. He’d been a boy when her husband died, and he barely remembered the man, but Agatha had never forgotten him. She seemed content to live with his memory and to run their store on Main Street in the Village of Fredonia.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Something to relieve a headache.” His nagging shoulder pain was bringing it on, but the last thing he would do was announce that fact to Archer. Which was why he wasn’t buying the powder in Archer’s apothecary: Archer would use the information to sway the voters.
Mrs. Brown pointed to the opposite wall of the store. “Top shelf on the left.”
“Thank you.” The pine floorboards sounded hollow beneath his boot heels as he wove his way past a rack of ready-made clothing. Heavily laden shelves sagged beneath tins of food, and wooden bins overflowed with everything from shovels and rakes to bolts of fabric. Brown & Shepherd’s carried anything a man or woman could need.
But as Duke surveyed the medicines, he felt a sharp poke in his ribs.
“Grayson.” Archer scowled at him. “For being a sheriff, you’re sadly unobservant.” He jerked his chin toward a boy who was examining a lady’s comb and brush set. “That young man is attempting to fill his pockets.”
The boy took a fancy lady’s brush from the oak box and slipped it inside his shirt. Duke’s heart sank. He hated this part of his job. The boy cast a furtive glance at Mrs. Brown, who was dusting trinkets, then ducked outside.
Duke ignored Archer’s snide look, and quietly followed the boy. A few paces outside the store, he brought his hand down on the boy’s thin shoulder. “Hold up, young man.”
The boy yelped and spun to face him. The movement jerked Duke’s arm and sent a hot spear of pain into his shoulder socket. Damnation! His shoulder was so torn up he couldn’t even detain a child.
The skinny, long-limbed youth stared at him, dark eyes wide with fear as they locked on the silver sheriff’s badge pinned to Duke’s leather vest.
“I’m Sheriff Grayson,” Duke said. “You didn’t pay for that hair brush you’re hiding under your shirt.”
The boy’s gaze darted to either side, as if he were deciding whether or not to run.
“I’d rather not handcuff you, but I will if you try to run off on me.”
“I’ll put it back,” the boy said, his voice cracking into a fear-filled falsetto.
“Looks like you could use the brush.”
The boy lowered his eyes and raked bony fingers through his mop of brown hair. “It’s not for me.”
“Are you stealing it for your girl?”
“I don’t have a girl.”
