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Authors: Dorothy Garlock
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store through a squeaky door. Neatly stocked shelves full of bottles and tins lined the store walls. Barrels full of crackers, beans, and coffee rested on the floor in front of a long oak counter with a shiny brass cash register on one end. Tate’s nose was filled with all of the tempting scents that floated through the air.
They had been in the store for only a moment before Dickson Fulbright, the owner, came out of the storeroom with a warm smile and greeting. A short, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head, bushy mustache, and pince-nez glasses, Mr. Fulbright had been a fixture in Muddy Creek for decades. He’d opened up the store with his wife. She passed away nearly six years earlier after losing a bout with pneumonia. Well respected by the entire town, Mr. Fulbright, a very neat man, obsessively wiped his hands on his apron.
“Did you make the sale?” he asked.
“Yep,” Tate said matter-of-factly. It bothered him that everyone in the town knew everyone else’s business, but he’d never known it to be any other way.
Tate set Emily on the long counter, where she smiled up at the grocer. She kicked her little legs out in front of her, the heels of her small shoes lightly hitting the counter’s paneling.
“How are you, young miss?” Mr. Fulbright asked, wiping his hands against his snow-white apron. Tate couldn’t remember seeing him without the apron. He wondered if the man even wore it to bed.
“Daddy brought me a doll that says ‘Ma-ma. ’ Her eyes close, and she’s got a pink dress just like mine!”
“Now, I’ve seen a lot of things, but I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a doll that closes its eyes.” Mr. Fulbright winked at Tate.
“I’ll bring her next time,” Emily said.
“You do that.” Mr. Fulbright reached into a jar on the counter and handed Emily a stick of peppermint candy. Emily looked at her daddy, accepted the candy, and said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t open it until we are on the way home,” Tate cautioned. “You’ll be sticky clear up to your elbows.”
After Tate had handed the grocer the list Yelena had given him, he scanned the headlines on the stack of newspapers lying on the counter. Mr. Fulbright began to fill the order.
Alpine “Lonestar” Gazette
August 1, 1933
Nazis Pass Law to Purify German Race
Adolf Hitler announced a new program to weed out Germans who are less than perfect. Doctors will sterilize them for the glory of the Reich.
Amelia Earhart Breaks Record
Amelia Earhart flies from Los Angeles, California, to Newark, New Jersey, in 17 hours 17 minutes.
Tate shook his head.
What is the world coming to? This guy Hitler is going to mess around and cause a world war.
Seeing that Mr. Fulbright had not filled his order, he picked up Emily. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
The grocer nodded, reached up to the shelf behind him, and brought down a can of baking powder.
Tate walked back to the truck, perspiring in the hot sun. He noticed that the chickens had given up their pecking and headed for cooler surroundings. Smart chickens. He got into the vehicle, rounded the corner, and drove into the alley behind the mercantile. At the end of the block, he came to a stop in front of the weathered building that housed the feedstore.
“I’ll be right back, and we’ll go to the post office,” he said to Emily as he leaned in the open passenger’s window. She nodded her head absentmindedly as she twirled the candy stick and watched the stripes go around it.
Tate returned to the truck with a bag of oats on each shoulder, dropped the bags into the back of the pickup, and slid behind the wheel. Emily glanced up at her father with one end of the candy stick stuck into her mouth.
“Hey, now. If you’re all sticky, you can’t go into the post office.”
“I won’t get sticky,” she mumbled past the candy.
“Put the paper back on the candy. And wait until we’re headed home.”
Emily silently obeyed but held the candy stick tightly in her
They had been in the store for only a moment before Dickson Fulbright, the owner, came out of the storeroom with a warm smile and greeting. A short, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head, bushy mustache, and pince-nez glasses, Mr. Fulbright had been a fixture in Muddy Creek for decades. He’d opened up the store with his wife. She passed away nearly six years earlier after losing a bout with pneumonia. Well respected by the entire town, Mr. Fulbright, a very neat man, obsessively wiped his hands on his apron.
“Did you make the sale?” he asked.
“Yep,” Tate said matter-of-factly. It bothered him that everyone in the town knew everyone else’s business, but he’d never known it to be any other way.
Tate set Emily on the long counter, where she smiled up at the grocer. She kicked her little legs out in front of her, the heels of her small shoes lightly hitting the counter’s paneling.
“How are you, young miss?” Mr. Fulbright asked, wiping his hands against his snow-white apron. Tate couldn’t remember seeing him without the apron. He wondered if the man even wore it to bed.
“Daddy brought me a doll that says ‘Ma-ma. ’ Her eyes close, and she’s got a pink dress just like mine!”
“Now, I’ve seen a lot of things, but I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a doll that closes its eyes.” Mr. Fulbright winked at Tate.
“I’ll bring her next time,” Emily said.
“You do that.” Mr. Fulbright reached into a jar on the counter and handed Emily a stick of peppermint candy. Emily looked at her daddy, accepted the candy, and said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t open it until we are on the way home,” Tate cautioned. “You’ll be sticky clear up to your elbows.”
After Tate had handed the grocer the list Yelena had given him, he scanned the headlines on the stack of newspapers lying on the counter. Mr. Fulbright began to fill the order.
Alpine “Lonestar” Gazette
August 1, 1933
Nazis Pass Law to Purify German Race
Adolf Hitler announced a new program to weed out Germans who are less than perfect. Doctors will sterilize them for the glory of the Reich.
Amelia Earhart Breaks Record
Amelia Earhart flies from Los Angeles, California, to Newark, New Jersey, in 17 hours 17 minutes.
Tate shook his head.
What is the world coming to? This guy Hitler is going to mess around and cause a world war.
Seeing that Mr. Fulbright had not filled his order, he picked up Emily. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
The grocer nodded, reached up to the shelf behind him, and brought down a can of baking powder.
Tate walked back to the truck, perspiring in the hot sun. He noticed that the chickens had given up their pecking and headed for cooler surroundings. Smart chickens. He got into the vehicle, rounded the corner, and drove into the alley behind the mercantile. At the end of the block, he came to a stop in front of the weathered building that housed the feedstore.
“I’ll be right back, and we’ll go to the post office,” he said to Emily as he leaned in the open passenger’s window. She nodded her head absentmindedly as she twirled the candy stick and watched the stripes go around it.
Tate returned to the truck with a bag of oats on each shoulder, dropped the bags into the back of the pickup, and slid behind the wheel. Emily glanced up at her father with one end of the candy stick stuck into her mouth.
“Hey, now. If you’re all sticky, you can’t go into the post office.”
“I won’t get sticky,” she mumbled past the candy.
“Put the paper back on the candy. And wait until we’re headed home.”
Emily silently obeyed but held the candy stick tightly in her
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