Whoosh, clink.

Louise opened the pneumatic tube at the end, pulled out the eight-inch canister, opened it, and gave the change and receipt for the lovely magenta sweater to her customer, Mabel Frost, an attractive woman in her early twenties. “Mrs. Frost, you look wonderful in that color. Just brings out the peaches and cream of your complexion.”

“Oh, I hope so, Louise. Winter just washes me out.” She leaned forward, taking her wrapped purchase.

Louise lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And so many of the ladies put on too much makeup. You don’t make that mistake. It’s why you look so fresh even in winter.”

Louise had to tread carefully since Big Dimps sold cosmetics.

Beaming, Mabel replied, “Thank you, Louise. Remember me to your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Louise liked working at the Bon Ton. In her two years there, her record, quite good, demonstrated her ability to talk to customers. Owner Asa Grumbacher had noticed. He also noticed that Louise got along with the other girls. She even managed to stay on the good side of Sidney Yost, the floorwalker, who lived to find fault.

The same names appeared generation after generation in Runnymede: Yost, Grumbacher, Frost, Anson, Cadwalder, McGrail, Wheeler, Nordness, Rhodes, Rendell, Dexter, Frothingham, Tedia, Constantino, Most, and Wilcox. Though new names also appeared—a Japanese family, the Mojos, had moved in a few years ago—for the most part, the names of the town’s wealthy remained firmly English, with a few Scots and plenty of German names. Chalfonte, Creighton, Thatcher, Rife, Spangler, Finster, and Falkenroth were the main ones, but people formerly of what the upper crust called the middling orders were beginning to make good money. Harvey Moon, for one, had developed a fog light for automobiles. His factory was humming. Of course, as in every American town north, south, east, and west, Browns, Smiths, Jones, Martins, and Carters abounded.

Mostly, whomever you met, except for the Mojos, was related to someone else. Fortunately, everyone pretty much knew everyone else, but one had to teach newcomers who was who before they insulted an old Runnymede citizen’s beloved but slightly potty aunt.

The other odd thing about this small town perched on the Mason-Dixon Line was that people might leave, but they most always came back. Thrilling as New York City or faraway San Francisco was, eventually one longed for the square, or the special celebrations like Magna Carta Day in June. A person might even begin to miss the mad musings of poor Patience Horney at the train station, who would go on and on about how the space people who lived on Saturn’s rings loathed the tiny pink people who lived on Mars. The Saturnians had told her so.

Since the middle of the seventeenth century, generation after generation had built this town, farmed the fields around it, loved the four distinct seasons, the coming of the robins, the honking of the Canada geese flying south in the fall and the sunsets, each one different from ones before and each one spellbinding.

Yes, they bickered over which side of town was founded first, but only a few passionate local historians cared. For the rest, it was an excuse to fuss. Few could resist that.

Those on the Maryland side paid scant homage to Annapolis, an astonishingly beautiful town but the state capital with all that entails. Baltimore exerted greater pull.

For the Pennsylvanians, Philadelphia was the cultural center, the lodestar. Harrisburg, the state capital, was visited only in extremis, and Pittsburgh! Surely you jest. Pittsburgh might as well be in Ohio, and the hell with it.

Celeste would laugh at that. Friends with the Mellons, Mr. Carnegie, and the food fellow, Heinz, she found Pittsburgh rather exciting. After all, Lillian Russell hailed from Pittsburgh, and Celeste knew the beauty and her Diamond Jim Brady quite well. Too well perhaps. They had met in Saratoga in the summers when Celeste was in her twenties. Even though Celeste would bring her adored Ramelle, she found ways to keep her occupied while she disappeared with Lillian or Jim. Or maybe just Lillian, who radiated eroticism to an intense degree.

Now that Ramelle was pregnant and about to marry, Cora, and even the girls, felt the pot was on the stove and sooner or later would come to a boil. Celeste, generous, kind in her fashion, was also a bit spoiled. She was not averse to affection.

A shadow of this crossed over Louise’s face when the elegant beauty entered her department.

“Mrs. Chalfonte, how good to see you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the Bon Ton. Mr. Grumbacher will be happy.”

The older woman smiled. “Your mother tells me you’re doing very well here.”

“I am. All the clothes, the seasons, the buyers going to New York.” Her eyes widened. “It’s so exciting.”

“That it is.”

“Can I interest you in something?” Louise was on duty, after all.

“Yes, you can. My sister Carlotta’s birthday is in March. I usually get her something from Paris but I ran into Big Dimps yesterday. She wore the most becoming coat which she had bought here. She told me about her employee discount as well.”

“I know the coat. That’s Georgina’s department. I’ll walk you over.”

“Thank you, don’t leave your department. Just discreetly point.” She paused. “My sister will be at the wedding. That was like negotiations between France and Germany.” Celeste halted that train of thought because Louise was devoted to her sister, the headmistress of Immaculata Academy. “I need your help.”

“Me?” Louise was surprised.

“You are one of Carlotta’s most successful graduates and you two…how to say this? You two seem quite attuned on religious matters.”

“Yes.”

“She disapproves of my brother and Ramelle getting married. Could you find a way to occupy her, so she doesn’t make a scene and spoil a special day? That’s a lot to ask, Wheezie, I know, but you are one of the few people who can handle Carlotta. God knows Herbert can’t.” She named her sister’s husband.

“I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” Celeste squeezed her shoulder, then left for the coat department.

Asa, who could look down into the main floor of the store from his office, beheld the exchange. Hurriedly he trotted down the stairs to Louise’s department. Every clerk watched, shoulders back. Sidney Yost pasted on a smile and moved closer to Louise’s department, hoping to hear a tidbit. As Sidney was a war vet, the girls put up with him but they didn’t like him. However, all felt that one should try to get along with any veteran.

Asa noticed his snooping. “Sidney, I have business with Louise. Not you.”

“Yes, Mr. Grumbacher.”

“Louise.”

“Yes, Mr. Grumbacher.”

“How did you get Miss Chalfonte into the store? I’ve been trying for years and she waves me off saying she buys her clothes in Paris or Milan.”

Quick on her feet, Louise replied, “She saw Big Dimps Rhodes wearing that polo coat, the winter one in navy-blue cut for a woman. She thought it might make a suitable gift for her sister and be far more reasonable than the cost of something from overseas.”

He smiled at her. “Good work. Good work.”

Sidney didn’t hear the exchange, but it was obvious Asa was pleased. The owner paid attention to young, pretty Louise, but he, Sidney, kept the place running and stopped thievery before it happened.

Noting the odd quiet among the staff, Celeste turned to see Asa talking to Louise. She’d picked out the coat, paid for it, and swept by the stocky man. “Asa Grumbacher, you do know how to run a business.”

Floored, he found his voice. “You’re too kind.”

“I’ve been foolish thinking only the French and the Italians know fashion. You have some lovely things right here.” She leaned toward him, her eyes hypnotizing him. “If you would be so kind as to send fabrics to me with Louise from time to time, I would be most grateful.”

“Of course, Miss Chalfonte, of course.” He smiled expansively.

Celeste nodded to him then left. Asa looked at Louise, the grin plastered on his face.

Louise, grateful to her mother’s boss and to the woman she’d known since her cradle days, said in a low voice, “You do know how to run a business, Mr. Grumbacher.”

Beaming, thrilled, blissful, Asa Grumbacher climbed the stairs as though a Roman general celebrating a triumph.

—

At six that evening, Louise left the store. Standing outside, scarf wrapped around his neck, lad’s cap securely on his thick black hair, Paul Trumbull tipped his hat.

“Hello. You could have come inside.”

He offered Louise his arm. “I don’t mind the cold. People don’t like people in stores who aren’t buying stuff.”

The Bon Ton commanded the corner of Hanover Street on the north side of the square. The two walked to the western corner to Cadwalder’s drugstore.

“Wheezie! Wheezie!” Juts shouted as she ran through the cleared path in the Square.

“Oh, no.” Louise groaned. “I’ll get rid of her.”

“How about if I buy her a hot chocolate and then you can send her along? It will put her in a good mood.”

She squeezed his elbow. “You must have a little sister.”

“Not like that one.”

Now even with them, Juts told them, “Momma sent me down to Brown’s meat market.”

“Looks like a heavy package,” Paul remarked, looking at the white paper wrapping.

“A pot roast for Celeste. It’s half a cow, I swear it, but you can’t believe what happened to me! Dimps Jr. tried to steal Dickie Yost, and he’s my date for the Saint Patrick’s Day dance. She said in front of everybody, why would he bother with me? She called me a smart mouth and then she said I didn’t have good clothes, I’d look out of place at the dance. I’m going to kill her.”

“Why don’t you wait on that?” Paul suggested. “Sounds like she’ll do herself in. Come on, I’ll buy you hot chocolate then you can go back to Miss Chalfonte.”

Juts looked at Louise, who affirmed, “You can come with me. I thought I’d sit and talk with Paul, but come on, Juts, a hot chocolate is a good gift.”

Paul brought three hot chocolates, welcome in the cold. They sat in a nice booth while Flavius, the owner, occasionally came over to bring little dishes. He also wanted to keep his eye on Paul. Louise Hunsenmeir had better be properly treated.

Juts chattered, feeling so grown up to be with her sister and Paul, who seemed very mature. Really grown up. Once she’d downed her hot chocolate, Juts left the couple alone.

Paul wanted to take Louise to a nice place to eat but he’d spent most of his money buying her the flowers and all the movie tickets. He asked Knute Nordness at work, a fellow becoming a pal, what should he do? Wait until he had the money again and treat her to something special or walk around the square and go to the drugstore? He didn’t want Louise to think he was cheap.

Knute advised not waiting. “Girls hate to be put off. They think you don’t like them. If she’s any kind of girl, she’ll be happy to see you. I know the Hunsenmeirs. They aren’t gold diggers.”

Knute was right. Once Juts left, with prodding from Louise, the two sat there and talked about everything. He ordered more hot chocolates because he didn’t want to make Flavius mad. Flavius just smiled. He was starting to like this guy.

“And the boss was happy.” She beamed.

“That’s swell.”

“I really like fashion. I read everything I can.” She thought a moment. “When you came to visit, you said you liked house painting. Boy, did you surprise us.”

“Surprised myself.” He laughed. “I do like house painting. I want to learn everything. Different paints give you different results, and I tell you, Louise, buying a cheap paint is throwing your money away. Doesn’t hold up.”

She leaned her elbows on the table even though it wasn’t proper. “Ever think about the future?” She rested her chin on her hands.

“I sure did in the trenches. I told myself if I made it home, I’d learn a trade and if I worked hard, saved my money, I’d start my own business. I’m going to do it. I know I don’t look like much now but I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Me neither.” She looked right into his warm brown eyes. “You’ll do it.”

Pleased by her confidence, he blushed a bit. “You make me feel like I can.”

Louise volunteered, “I don’t want to start a department store but I’d like to work as long as I can. Even if I marry.”

“Really?” His black eyebrows rose.

“It costs a lot to live and, well, my father ran away in 1907 and left Momma and she didn’t have a dime. I want to put some money away.”

“No man who’s worth anything would leave you.”

Now it was Louise’s turn to blush. “I hope not. You’re sweet to say so.”

“I know so. I haven’t heard many girls say they want to work.”

“I bet Lottie or her harridan of a mother tried to pry out of you what they could. Lottie intends to marry and that’s it. Money, money, money.”

He waited a long time, then spoke. “I feel sorry for her.”

“You weren’t—”

He shook his head. “Sure, I noticed her. I didn’t know anyone in town. Her mother didn’t like me, like you said, because I had no money. I’m just a working fellow. Lottie only went out with me to irritate her mother. That’s no way to live.”

“But you kissed me thinking it was her.”

“I did. Lottie was, uh”—he thought and thought—“somewhat free with her favors. I liked her but not that much.”

“I will never understand men.”

“It’s kind of hard to explain but I didn’t take advantage of her, Louise. You gave me the way out without hurting her feelings. I owe you and that box of popcorn.” He laughed.

She laughed back. “We’ll both work and see where it takes us.”

“What if you get married?”

“Unless he’s a Rockefeller, I think I should work to help out. It costs so much to establish a household. Celeste tells me these things. I know she’s trying to prepare me for the day when I leave Momma. She sure helped me out today at the Bon Ton.”

“If you work, won’t you feel your husband is letting you down?” Pearlie wondered.

“No. We’ll work it out together. We’ll save our pennies. I don’t want someone to think I’m a deadbeat.”

“What if you have children?”

“I can work up until I have them. Then I’ll stay home until they’re in grade school. Paul, I see some of the girls I went to high school with and they’re married, one kid already, and they’re bored, they complain. That’s, uh, tedious.” She used one of Celeste’s favorite words when someone or something bored her.

“You’re different, you know that?”

“I’m not going to be a burden and I don’t ever want to be in the position of my mother.”

He nodded. “Your mother is such a sweet woman. Someone should horsewhip your father.”

“If we knew where Hansford was, we would.”

Flavius came over, and Paul said, “Nothing more, Mr. Cadwalder. We had three hot chocolates and took up this booth.”

“I can see you two have a lot to talk about.”

“We do,” Louise agreed enthusiastically. “We can talk about anything.”

Flavius picked up the cups. “Honey, that’s a great gift.”

Paul walked her down the Emmitsburg Pike to stand at Celeste Chalfonte’s imposing door. It was just about time for Cora to finish her work for the day. “I had a wonderful time.”

“I did too.”

“May I ask you out for next Saturday? I could take you to the movies and a place to eat.”

“Pearlie, I’ll take you to the movies. I have all the tickets.” She laughed.

“Guess you do.” He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.

Instead he tipped his hat. “Pick you up at your house.”

“Okey-dokey.”

Louise stepped inside the door as Juts ran up to her in the Chalfontes’ grand foyer.

Apron on, Cora called out, “Have a good time?”

“We sure drank a lot of hot chocolate.” She laughed. “But we had such a good time. He’s not flighty, Momma.”

“I suspect he’s not,” came the alto reply.

Celeste, followed by Ramelle, descended the curving staircase with the big landing, passing the full-length portrait of Celeste painted by John Singer Sargent. “It’s getting so cold. Don’t take the trolley tonight, Cora. I’ll have the chauffeur drive you home.”

“That’s a treat.” Cora stuck her head out of the kitchen.

Seeing a new audience, Juts launched into a blow-by-blow of the dreaded Dimps Jr. and her trying to steal—yes, steal—Dick Yost.

“How dramatic,” Celeste replied.

“She’s jealous,” Ramelle said. “Ignore her.”

“And she rouges her nipples.”

“Juts, that is enough out of you.”

Celeste, amused, countered her employee and dear old friend. “Cora, I think I should hear this.”

“Yes, me, too.” Ramelle laughed. “Sounds very daring.”

Juts could never resist an audience. She told her tale, an embellishment here and there. Dimps Jr.’s protuberances grew in cup size with each telling.

“I’m surprised the poor girl can walk. She must be a triumph over gravity,” Celeste replied.

As this was over Juts’s head, she tried to come up with another insult for the lewd boyfriend pouncer. “She’s always tilting at windbags.”

Celeste burst out laughing. “Windmills, dear.”