Read Online At Every Turn by Anne Mateer - Free Book Online Page A

town and spied an elderly couple on the sidewalk. I pulled near and lowered my window. The man startled. The woman looked wary. I put on my brightest smile. “I can drive you to wherever you are going, if you’d like.”
    The man looked at his wife.
    “Is it safe, you think?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Best time to find out.” He led her to my Packard. They settled in the backseat.
    I twisted around so I could see them. “I’m playing taxicab. Fifty cents a mile. All the money goes to a missionary couple returning to Africa.”
    Their faces went slack. He reached for the door handle. My stomach tumbled. I wanted to bite my tongue in half. “No, wait. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. No charge. Just a friend doing you a favor.”
    The woman beamed at her husband. I faced forward, set the car in gear, and eased into the street. Keeping to a sedate speed, I followed their directions, finally dropping them off at a ramshackle house outside of town. Back toward the bank I went, asking for customers along the way. But once I mentioned money—even for Africa—few chose to ride. Thunder rumbled overhead. I parked the car near the brick bank building anchoring the strip of storefronts comprising the town of Langston.
    Father chose this town long ago because he felt it would be a good location for his plant that manufactured farm machinery. As he found more and more success in his venture, Mother begged him to move to Chicago—or at least Indianapolis. But Father didn’t budge. He liked being an important man in a small town. So he built Mother an extravagant house and let her take trips whenever she liked.
    Though I’d enjoyed my two years in Chicago, I, too, preferred a more rural life. The slower pace. The knowing and being known. All the things Mother disdained.
    The scent of rain lingered in the air. I savored it before stepping into the stuffiness of the bank. The tinkle of a small bell announced me, but Mr. White’s familiar head, as smooth as one of Father’s billiards balls, was nowhere to be seen. A young man smelling of hair tonic greeted me instead.
    “I need to speak with Mr. White, please.”
    The young man’s eyes darted one way, then the other, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his neck. “He ain’t here.”
    “I can see that, Mr. . . .”
    The man stood up straighter. “Mr. Hill.”
    I stuck out my gloved hand. Pink crept into his face as he shook it. “Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hill. I’m Alyce Benson. Are you new to the bank?”
    “N-new. Y-yes,” he stammered.
    Was I responsible for his discomfiture, or did he always respond to people this way? “And how do you find our fair town?”
    “F-fine. Just fine, Miss Benson.”
    “Good.” I exaggerated my look around the dim room. Thunder growled. A flash of lightning answered. “Now, when did you say Mr. White would return?”
    Mr. Hill nodded toward the door. “There he is now, Miss Benson.”
    Mr. White opened the door as another flash of lightning illuminated the bank. At the loud crack and bang, everyone froze. Then Mr. White wiped a handkerchief across his shiny skull, and we all returned to normal.
    “Miss Benson. What a pleasure to see you.” He hung his hat on the rack and returned his handkerchief to his pocket, his jolly face relaying the truth of his words. “Come to wheedle money from me again?”
    Mr. White had reluctantly parted with fifty dollars after seeing those precious faces from the other side of the world, though he refused to let me earn it by driving him. He and I laughed. Mr. Hill stared at us, mouth agape.
    “Actually, Mr. White, I’ve come to ask a favor of a different sort.” I slipped my hand around his elbow. We started toward the back office as another peal of thunder drowned out our voices and our steps. Then we heard the clang of the fire bell.
    Mr. White bolted out the front door. I followed close behind. The new motorized fire truck sped down the street, autos and horses