Micah saw Fay the moment he stepped into the general store. The Bell sisters, Edith and Arlene, were at the counter paying Mr. Tucker for the goods they wished to purchase, and Fay stood back away from them waiting her turn. At first Micah thought she held only a bag of flour, but with a smile, Fay lifted a six-inch strand of red ribbon. It was a joke between them how well Micah liked her hair pulled back and tied with a red ribbon.
When Micah came in, Mr. Tucker glanced up from his pencil-work. He always provided his customers with meticulous receipts. “Morning, Micah,” he said in his crisp New England tones. He had arrived in town three years before when Micah put the store up for sale, and Mr. Tucker, who had experience in Vermont at the storekeeping profession, bought the store and all of its inventory without any haggling at all. Micah offered it at a fair price, but he had expected at least some negotiation. It seemed Mr. Tucker was more skilled at selling than he was at buying.
The women at the counter turned at the storekeeper’s greeting and chimed, “Good morning, Micah.”
Micah smiled and nodded to Mr. Tucker. To the women, he took off his hat and said, “Ladies.” He turned to Fay. “Good morning, Fay,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
“Mr. McConners,” she answered, dropping her eyes. There was always more of the South in Fay’s voice when she spoke in public than there was when they were alone. Micah couldn’t understand why she did that, and once he mentioned it to her. All she would say was, “The whites expect it.”
Micah had come in to buy cigarettes, and he was in a hurry. Cedra Pratt was due in his office in less than fifteen minutes. They were to discuss the filing of her divorce.
“Now are you sure you ladies can carry all that?” Mr. Tucker asked. “I’d be glad to have Jamey take it to your house.” He jerked his head toward the hired boy who was in the corner stacking shelves.
“That won’t be necessary,” Edith said. Edith was the more talkative of the two spinster sisters. “We have our basket.” She patted the handle of a large wicker basket she had resting on the counter. “We’ll do fine.”
Micah stepped to the tobacco counter, picked up two packages of Cyclones, and started back. It would be more economical to buy tobacco and rolling papers, but Micah liked the convenience and the snug packing of the factory-rolled cigarettes.
As he made his way to the front, the Bell sisters were leaving, and Mrs. Henry Thompson came in. “Why, as I live and breathe,” she said, “if it isn’t Edith and Arlene.” Mrs. Thompson was the mayor’s wife and among the elite of Probity society. “We missed the two of you at the box luncheon after church last Sunday.” She shook her finger at them. “Reverend Boyson took me aside personally and asked me wherever could the Bell sisters be.”
“Oh, Muriel,” Edith said, “we hated to miss it, but we had to leave right after the sermon. Arlene, the poor dear, was having terrible . . .” She glanced around, leaned forward, and whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear. From all the way across the room, Micah could see Arlene Bell redden.
“My, my,” said Mrs. Thompson, giving Arlene a consoling touch on the shoulder, “I do so hope you’re feeling better now.”
“Yes,” Arlene said in a near whisper. “Thank you.”
As the women conversed, Fay placed her flour and ribbon on the counter. Mr. Tucker hefted the bag of flour onto his scales. “All right,” he said peering over the tops of his spectacles, “that’s right at five pounds of flour.” He folded the top of the bag over and put it back on the counter. “And one piece of ribbon. Will there be anythin’ else for you, girl?” Tucker asked.
“No, sir, that’s all.”
Tucker was adding it up when Mrs. Thompson bade her farewells to the Bell sisters and came to the counter. “Good day, Mr. Tucker,” she said. Looking past Fay, she said, “Micah.”
Micah nodded.
“Would you please fill this list for me, Mr. Tucker?” She handed him a piece of paper that was covered in her swirly cursive.
Tucker took the list. “Of course, Mrs. Thompson. I’d be glad to.” As a rule, customers gathered their own merchandise and brought it to the counter to pay. Some patrons, though, chose to have it done for them.
“And if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Thompson said, “I am in quite a hurry.” She stepped from the counter to examine the bolts of material stacked on the shelves along the far wall.
Tucker turned to Micah. “What do you have there, Micah,” he asked, “two Cyclones?”
“Yes, I do, but—”
“I’ll need a few minutes to fill this order. Go on and take ’em. You can pay me when you come in next time.” He ducked his head to the list and made his way around the counter toward the back of the store.
“But, Mr. Tucker,” Micah said, “Miss Charbunneau was—” He stopped when he felt Fay’s hand on his forearm. He turned to look at her. Her face was stern.
“Hush, Micah. It’s all right,” she whispered. “I’m not in any hurry. Please, let it go.”