After a mile or so, I started to relax. Lady May kept her gentle, steady pace. A soft breeze stirred the sea of grass beside our path, bowing the blades like ocean waves. Birdsong floated across the open fields in high, happy trills. Even the warm, musky scent of the horse wasn’t exactly unpleasant as we clopped along the gravel road that ran around the woods.
My gaze skimmed over the dense trees. The trunks, straight and close together, were very nearly black. I thought of the bars that lined the windows of my father’s room at the asylum, and despite the growing heat, I felt a chill crawl down my spine. I was almost thankful for the belligerent sun.
Once in Wheeler, I tied Lady May to a hitching post and followed the directions Hettie had given to the Dry Goods and General Mercantile.
A bell above the door jingled as I entered. I stepped around a large barrel sprouting a bundle of brooms for sale, bristles up. Shiny brass cookware hung from the ceilings in neat rows, and the biting aroma of snuff mixed with the sweet, savory smell of gingersnaps. Signs on the rough plank walls advertised coal oil and Navy Star plug tobacco. Rows of tonics and bitters perched on a shelf under a poster proclaiming the virtues of quinine for curing the chills.
“Oh, hello.” The clear, sweet voice drifted from the back of the store. I spotted a young woman dusting the glass-topped counter and recognized her as the girl who’d waved at me from the sheriff’s buggy. Seeing her now without a hat, I realized she had astonishing hair. Shiny and black, it rose from her forehead toward high Heaven before sweeping back in a carefully rounded pouf. I schooled my face to neutral blankness a split second too late.
Her hand went to her coiffure. “Do you like it? Mama said rats are all the rage now. But I expect you know all about that, being from a big city.”
I’d known my fair share of rats in New York. For a short time, Lilah and I had stayed in a tiny apartment on Mulberry Street that had an entire colony living in the walls. I had to keep the cutlery closed tight in a tobacco tin if I didn’t want to find droppings on the forks each morning. “Um … I…”
“I don’t know why they’re called rats either,” the girl said with a laugh, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I think ‘hairpiece’ would do just fine, but I suppose that sounds like a man’s toupee.” She wrinkled her nose. “Still better than calling it a rat, if you ask me.”
“Yes!” I half shouted the word, relieved to be at grips with the conversation. “Yes, I’d say so. And you look very nice,” I added. It was true, in spite of the over-the-top hair. Her brown eyes sparkled and the apples of her cheeks shone pink, but not in the blotchy way mine surely did after a ride in the heat.
“I can show you how to make one, if you want. All it takes is old hair from your brush rolled into a little bundle.” While I didn’t fancy a style that made low doorways potential hazards, her offer was kind.
“It probably wouldn’t work for me. My hair has a stubborn, hateful mind of its own,” I said.
She tilted her head to one side, then quickly leaned over the counter and removed my hat. I blinked in surprise as she studied my tight, wiry brown waves like an architect eyeing a building slated for demolition. “It’s not so bad as all that,” she said after some consideration. “But I hate to tell you, this humidity isn’t going to help a thing.” She set the hat back on my head, smoothing my braid as though we were old friends. “Goodness! Where are my manners? I’m Della Loftis.” She came around the counter and extended a delicate hand.
I shook it carefully, feeling my own was suddenly big and awkward.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the way my daddy acted when y’all first got into Wheeler,” Della said. “You had every right to get upset, being taken away from your sister like that.”
“No harm done,” I muttered, feeling my face redden. I hadn’t realized Della saw my outburst at the court square.
I cast around for any distraction, and noticed a family portrait on the wall. Sheriff Loftis frowned in sepia tones next to a blandly pretty woman holding a solemn toddler on her lap. At the woman’s shoulder was a younger Della, sporting a gap-toothed smile. “That’s a lovely picture. Does your family own this store?”
“Yep. Me and Mama run it, mostly, while Daddy’s off sheriffing.” She twirled the feather duster. “The grapevine said you ended up with the Weatheringtons. They’re good people. I bet Mrs. Hettie sent you to pick up something.”
“Ten pounds each, flour and salt.” I handed over the money Hettie had given me.
The cash register dinged as Della opened the drawer and counted my change. “Miss Maeve got your little sister, I heard,” she said cheerily. “I think it’s wonderful that y’all got to come here and start over.” She stepped into the back room and returned carrying two burlap bags filled with Hettie’s order. Della tied them with twine, her left cheek dimpling with a smile. “Anything I can do to make you feel welcome, you just holler, all right?”
“I appreciate that,” I said, awkwardly hoisting the bags. “I should be going. I’m supposed to visit my sister at the schoolhouse, then hurry back to the farm.”
“Hold on a second and I’ll get you something to carry those.” Della searched under the counter and handed me a worn leather satchel. “This is Abel’s. I’m sure y’all are acquainted by now.” She must not have noticed the stiffness in my nod, because she said without any hint of embarrassment, “Abel and me have been thick as thieves since we were little bitty.” The flush on her cheeks deepened slightly. I cast a quick glance at her slim waist. This wasn’t the mother-to-be then. It seemed Abel got around.
“Anyway, sometimes I’ll pick up his books when they come in at the post office, so he leaves the satchel here. He’s forever ordering something new to read. Always said he’d love to be a teacher, if his aunt and uncle didn’t need him on the farm.” She twisted a loose curl around her finger absently. “When you came in, I was about to go deliver some things to a widow lady who lives outside of town. Do you want me to show you where the schoolhouse is on my way?”
“Thank you, that would be nice.”
I shoved my purchases into Abel’s satchel while Della grabbed a basket laden with bread and fruit preserves. Then she flipped the store sign to CLOSED and steered me out into the searing sunshine. We stopped to secure the satchel to Lady May’s saddle, and I retrieved the pen and papers Lilah had left in our trunk from inside the saddle bag before we set out down the sidewalk.
Della greeted every person we met by name, and received replies that were just as familiar. I got polite nods and smiles until we encountered a lanky boy of about our age, who cut across the square from the direction of the courthouse, stuck out a hand, and shook mine like a one-man welcoming committee.
“I’m Jasper Ausbrooks,” he said. “I just wanted to say we’re all so glad to have you in Wheeler. You must be Verity.”
“I am. How’d you know?”
“My father’s the mayor.” He pointed back toward the courthouse. “I saw the list of everyone’s names and ages. Sorry to hear about your sister and you getting split up.” He withdrew his hand and pushed a shock of light brown hair from his forehead. His narrow shoulders rose in a shrug as he added, “And I’m also sorry that we’re all in everyone’s business around here. Small towns are like that, you know?”