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The next morning Jemima stood outside, shivering in the early morning chill. The lanterns on the buggy threw off a ghostly light in the predawn darkness.
Her father came striding out across the porch to the buggy, and his big shoes made a thunderous sound. When he climbed up into the driver’s seat, the whole buggy leaned to one side.
He stuck his head out. “Hoist the boxes up, Mima,” he told her, and held out his hands.
Jemima lifted up the boxes, and he stacked them in the back seat of the buggy. Then he extended his big hand, and Jemima took it. One pull from his muscular arm was all it took to catapult her into the seat. She shrieked, and laughed, and almost went tumbling into her father’s arms.
“Steady on,” he told her indulgently. “All in?”
She adjusted her cap and nodded, and he flicked the whip. Their dark chestnut, Rufus, swished his tail and started down the road at a smart clip.
“I have some business to do in town,” Jacob told her, “But I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’ll park outside the store, and meet you there when I’m done. I should be there before you’re finished.”
Jemima nodded.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do with the money, Mima?” he teased her.
Jemima shook her head. “Save it, I suppose,” she told him.
“That’s a smart girl,” he replied approvingly. “You’ll likely need the extra money before the year is out.”
Jemima smiled, and went pink.
By the time they had reached town, the sun was just rising. At that early hour, the shopkeepers and festival organizers were the only ones in town. A few people were raising a big tent in the town square, and vendors were setting up tables in preparation for the crowd.
There was even a truck with a news logo on the door parked on the far side of the block, and seeing it, Jacob muttered impatiently and turned Rufus’ head. The buggy disappeared down a side street.
“You can knock on the back door of the shop,” Jacob told her. “I’ll stay until Mr. Satterwhite lets you in.”
Jemima jumped down from the buggy and knocked softly on the back door. After a few minutes Mr. Satterwhite opened it and greeted her with: “Up early, eh, Jemima? Got some dolls for me?”
Jemima smiled and nodded.
“Well, I’ll help you get them in. I expect they’ll sell out quick, with all the folks expected in town today.”
When they had carried all the dolls inside, her father raised his hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Jemima,” he called.
Jemima put up her hand and then returned to the shop.
Mr. Satterwhite closed the back door behind her, and led her through the stock room up to the sales floor. He put the cardboard boxes on the counter. “So, three boxes, that makes 30 dolls this time, I guess,” he muttered. “That’s $150 American.” He opened the cash register and counted out some bills.
Jemima drifted away from the counter as he talked. She let her eyes wander idly over the merchandise – mostly rustic knick-knacks, handmade quilts and crafts, like her dolls, and a smattering of antiques. She picked up a little stuffed rabbit with floppy ears and smiled into its button eyes.
“Here you go, Jemima,” Mr. Satterwhite called.
She put down the stuffed toy and went to the counter. The elderly man counted the money out and put it into an envelope. “You do good work, Jemima,” he told her. “If this batch sells as well as the others, I’ll want three boxes every month.”
Jemima smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Satterwhite.” She tucked the envelope into a little bag. “Would you like me to open the front door for you?”
He craned his neck, looking out through the shop windows. “Thank you, yes, it is getting on toward opening. Go ahead.”
Jemima walked to the shop doors and threw them open. The square was beginning to come alive with food and art vendors. Someone was setting up a P.A. system, and was testing the mic. The first festivalgoers were beginning to arrive.
She turned back, and her eye was caught by a small wooden wall clock sitting in a cardboard box by the door. It was plain and looked old, but it was made of a rich cherry wood, and the dial looked hand painted. Its fine, curving numerals scrolled delicately over the yellowed dial.
She picked it up, turned it over in her hands, and remembered Deborah’s tantrum about her broken clock. She smiled ruefully. It probably was hard on her, to have to live with so many hand-me-downs.
She looked up at Mr. Satterwhite. “Is this clock for sale?” she asked.
He squinted. “That old thing? My wife got it at an auction yesterday. I haven’t really decided what to charge for it. I can’t imagine it would bring much. Why, were you interested in it?”
Jemima looked down at it. “I was thinking I might buy it for my sister.”
“Well... I guess you could have it for five dollars, if you want it.”
Jemima brought it up to the counter, and handed the shop owner a five dollar bill. He scribbled out a receipt, and she stuck it into her bag.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know why you want it,” he said candidly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jemima answered softly. “I think it’s pretty. It has a – a look. As if it’s been worn soft.”
“Hmm.” He looked over her head and nodded. “Looks like your father is back.”
Jemima turned to see the buggy parked on the street outside. She picked up the clock and nestled it in the crook of her arm. “Thank you, Mr. Satterwhite. I’ll have your order for you next month at the same time.”
He threw up his hand and she walked out of the store.
The square outside was coming alive with people. A band had started to pick out notes over the P.A. system, and the scent of funnel cakes sweetened the air. Jemima turned her eyes in the direction of the music, and took them off of where she was going.
A sharp, sudden collision brought her back to her surroundings – too late. She smacked into another pedestrian, hard. The clock jumped out of her arms, fell on the sidewalk, and cracked open.
Jemima put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Oh no!” she wailed.
She lifted her eyes to the other person, and found two bright, humorous eyes trained on hers.
“I’m so sorry!” the man said apologetically. He bent down to pick up the clock. “I didn’t see you coming. Here’s your clock.” He picked up the pieces and handed them to her. “It looks like the back popped off, but I don’t think it’s broken.” His eyes returned to the sidewalk. “I think this came out, too.” He bent down and picked up a folded piece of paper.
Jemima took it from his outstretched hand, and looked up fleetingly into his face. The stranger had light blue eyes shining from underneath bushy brown eyebrows, a wry, strong mouth, and a thick mop of curly, brown-blonde hair.
Her glance flitted down. To her horror, he was wearing a blue oxford with the logo of a local newspaper stitched into the collar.
She turned without a word and jumped up into the buggy, and her father whipped up the horse instantly. Rufus jumped into a canter, and the buggy lurched away. Jemima hugged the clock to her chest. Her heart was pounding.
But when she looked back over her shoulder at the shop entrance, the stranger was still standing on the sidewalk, staring after her.
