This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [11]
After looking over the yard goods and thinking how nice it would be if she could afford to buy the blue for herself, the green for Sadie and the sunny yellow for Mary, she put the thought from her mind and moved to the now-vacated counter.
“Mornin’, miss.” A youngish clerk with a large Adam’s apple, which rose and fell as he spoke, stood wiping his hands on a once-white apron.
“Morning. How much are the seeds?”
“The seeds? Oh . . . they’re ten cents for this scoop.”
“Ten cents?” Disappointment and uncertainty tinged her voice. “You’d pay two cents for that scoop back in the Piney Woods where I come from. Ten cents, you said? Well . . . give me a scoop full of bean, beet, turnips, corn and okra. I’ll also need some potatoes to eye.”
The clerk looked over her head. “If you’re the lady Bulldog got the supplies for, ma’am, you ain’t gonna need none. Bulldog said you ain’t . . . he said that . . . well, he gave me a bill of what to lay out, and warn’t no potatoes on the bill. He said you ain’t goin’ to need . . .”
“Is that stuff out there all for us?”
The clerk’s face turned a beet red. “Well . . . I was told to lay out a stock; I was given a bill to fill.”
“I can’t pay for those things.” Her voice was flat, angry. “I can’t pay for them now, and maybe never!”
“They’re paid fer, miss.” The clerk smiled broadly, but Summer didn’t.
“Bulldog paid for our supplies?”
“Mr. McLean paid, miss.” For some reason the clerk’s face burned a bright red again, and he kept his eyes on his hands.
Summer’s lips tightened. “I’d like a copy of the bill, please.” She stood proudly, looking steadily at the fidgeting clerk who stood as if cemented to the spot. “The bill.” Summer held out her hand.
The clerk’s eyes roamed the store, looking everywhere except at her.
“I’ll make it out and give it to Bulldog—later.” He began to scoop out seeds, wrapping each batch in a piece of brown paper.
Summer regretted her quick remarks. She had no doubt the story would be all over town by noon—if not spread by the clerk, then surely by the tall customer. Pretending to look closely at the bins of dried beans and rice behind her, she let her eyes wander until she located him. He stood with his back to her, and it was something in his stance, in the way he held his head, that drew her eyes to him again and again. He bent his head to light another cheroot, and she knew. He was the tall man from the street, the one Bulldog had talked with the night before. She turned to face the counter; her heart had started to beat at an alarming rate and her face felt suddenly flushed.
“Two sticks of peppermint candy, please.” For some reason she lowered her voice to a mere whisper.
When Summer left the dimness of the store, she was aware that the crowd of loafers had increased. She was also aware that the sun was higher, and that it had grown warmer. All this she knew, but in a secondary way, for her attention was on the handsome buggy, escorted by half a dozen riders, pulling up in front of the store. The driver eased his long length out of the seat, and reached up a hand to help the woman who was sitting beside him. She was lovely, and her clothes were the finest Summer had ever seen. She was dressed all in gray, from the soft, high-button shoes to the wide-brimmed hat set atop high-piled blonde curls. She lifted gray-gloved hands, deftly folded back a gauze of gray veil up and over her hat brim, and laughed softly into the man waiting to help her. He reached up and encircled her narrow waist with both hands and lifted her gently to the ground. He handled her as if she were a piece of priceless porcelain, and Summer marveled because he was a large-framed man with a stern, unsmiling face.
Summer headed for the steps, hoping to slip past the party unnoticed. To her embarrassment, the woman stopped and smiled at her.
“Hello.”
Her voice was musical and seemed just the right