Page 7

T resia watched the bank of clocks for sale, counting the minutes until she could walk into Arnold’s office and announce she was quitting.

Anticipation and anxiety made her belly tighten, but she was determined.

She tore her gaze away from the slowly moving minute hands on the grandfather clock, as well as the cuckoo clocks on the wall beside it, and glanced at the little girl who was now her responsibility.

A smile twitched the corners of her mouth.

Avery had awakened from her nap, still clutching one of the store’s dolls.

Now she was busy re-arranging the display of soaps Tresia had arranged earlier—and seemed to be doing a much better job at it.

The display was so much more attractive now, drawing one’s eye and tempting one to pick up a bar and bring it to their nose for a sniff.

She watched Avery take a step back, much as she’d done, cross her arms over her chest despite the doll, and study the display.

She glanced at the clock. One minute to six. It was time. “You stay right here, all right, Avery?”

Avery nodded and went back to moving bars of soap around the little table covered in a forest green tablecloth, which complemented the flowered paper-packaging.

Tresia marched toward the door with the little sign which read ‘office.’ She didn’t bother knocking, but simply opened the door.

Arnold was in the same position she’d seen him in at lunchtime—leaning back in his chair, both feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankle, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling.

One of his beefy hands lay across his big belly, the other held a half-smoked cigar, the end of which glowed red.

Ashes were all over the floor as well as the top of the desk, like he still couldn’t be bothered to use the cut crystal ashtray.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Oh, there was nothing wrong with a good cigar—her father had smoked them all the time—but combined with the aroma of Arnold’s rank body odor and the disgusting cologne he used to cover that odor made her eyes water.

She stepped further into the room even though she didn’t want to.

“What do you want?” His tone bordered on belligerent, but she didn’t take offense. He’d never really spoken to her any other way, not since the moment he’d learned her father had had a stroke and he saw an opportunity to worm his way into Lyle’s good graces.

Every muscle in her body tensed. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, choosing to ignore the manner in which he spoke to her. “I quit.”

He scoffed at her announcement, his beady eyes drifting over her. “You can’t quit. Your father’s will states that I have to keep you gainfully employed.”

“I most certainly can, Arnold.” She smiled, knowing something he didn’t.

“Daddy’s will states that even if you do keep me employed, I don’t have to stay if I don’t want to.

I can quit any time I want. It also mentions that you still need to give me two per cent of the profits, whatever those profits might be, even if I’m not employed here.

I listened to the entire will when Mr. Applebaum was explaining it to us and then I read it. Did you?”

She assumed from the way the blood drained from Arnold’s face that he hadn’t either listened closely to or read her father’s Last Will and Testament, simply too ecstatic that he’d gotten everything he’d wanted—the store as well as the apartment above it.

Finally, the man was going to pay for how badly he and his wife had treated her. “We can walk up the street right now and see Mr. Applebaum if you’d like. He’s the one who drew up Daddy’s will.”

His feet came off the desk and he stood up quickly, making the chair crash into the wall behind him. For a moment, she thought he might strike out at her, but it seemed the effort to stand had taken all the wind out of him. “You can’t quit,” he repeated, his face beginning to redden.

“Of course, I can. I just did.” Her gaze roamed over him, noticing a stain on his vest as well as one on his trousers.

He blinked then brought his hand up and wiggled his pinky in his ear, as if there might be something wrong with his hearing.

The slight action made his cheeks jiggle. It was all she could do not to laugh.

“I will continue to keep the books.” The offer wasn’t made out of pity. It was made out of self-preservation. If she wanted the store back—and she did—she’d be willing to help him, even though he didn’t deserve it. Neither did his wife.

“But…but…” he stuttered, the redness on his face deepening, becoming a little more purple.

She’d only seen that color once before, when he’d found out that her father hadn’t left all his money to him.

Apparently, at the time, he thought he deserved that as well.

He was shocked now though. He probably assumed she’d never leave the store, no matter how badly he treated her.

“When?” he asked, an expression of resignation coming over his face.

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. “As of two minutes ago.”

And with those words, she turned on her heel and left his office, softly closing the door behind her.

The feeling of satisfaction made her smile as she heard him fall back into his chair through the panels of the door.

She imagined he put his face in his hands, wondering what he was going to do now.

He had depended on her love of Sullivan’s Emporium—and her late father—to do whatever he wanted her to do, never considering that he might be wrong.

“Come on, Avery, let’s go home.”

Avery started to put the doll back where she belonged, but Tresia stopped her. “You can keep her.”

Avery grinned and clutched the doll even tighter, a look of pure happiness on her face.

Tresia held out her hand and Avery scampered in her direction, slipping her hand into hers. Together, they left the store and headed up the street, then turned a corner.

The Wagon Wheel Restaurant was crowded when they entered, almost all the tables were full, the sounds of customers enjoying their meals, chatting with each other, cutlery clanking against plates, and Oscar calling out orders almost overwhelming. Tantalizing aromas wafted from the kitchen.

She caught Elsie Blake carrying a tray of dirty dishes toward the door that separated the dining room from the kitchen. “Hello, Elsie.”

Elsie stopped in mid-stride. “Tresia! So nice to see you!” She looked over the edge of the tray. “And who is this darling little girl?”

“This is Avery Goodrich, the new marshal’s daughter. I’ll be taking care of her.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she put down the heavy tray and placed her hands on her hips. “You quit the store?”

“I did.” Oh, how wonderful it felt to say those words. And how utterly devastating at the same time, as it was something she never thought she’d do. For so many years, Sullivan’s Emporium had been her life, her solace after her mother, then Brett passed.

Elsie nodded. “Serves Arnold right. He shouldn’t have treated you so badly.”

“No, he shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “And now he’s going to find out how difficult running Sullivan’s Emporium really is. He won’t have me to do everything.”

“Good for you.” She laughed. “And bad for Arnold.” She glanced at Avery, her eyes lighting up as a big smile crossed her face. “So, you’ll be taking care of little Miss Avery here.”

“I will.”

“Well, it’s about darned time!”

Tresia cringed a bit, knowing how the explanation was going to sound even before she admitted, “Actually, Lucy suggested that I work for Marshal Goodrich.”

Her smile widened. “Lucy, huh?”

“It’s not a matchmaker thing,” she insisted, immediately trying to put Elsie’s suspicions to rest as they both knew Lucy’s main objective in anything was to have two people meet and fall in love…

with her gentle encouragement. And a bit of conniving.

She’d done it for so many now that she even had a sign below the Photographer one next to the front door of her home.

“I have no intention of falling in love with Devlin Goodrich,” she asserted, but wondered if her words fell on deaf ears.

It was apparent by the expression on Elsie’s face that her explanation was not believed.

She quickly changed the subject. “I was wondering if I could pick up three fried chicken dinners to take home.”

“Of course. It’ll be a minute.” She gestured to the crowd. “We’re packed tonight. What do you want with them?”

Tresia looked at Avery. “Green beans? Or corn?”

“Corn,” she whispered, which was hard to hear over the sound of the Wagon Wheel’s patrons.

“And some of those potatoes you make, Elsie—the ones that look like little pillows. Biscuits, too, I think.”

“Excellent. Have a seat.” Elsie glanced around and pointed to a table beside the big picture window. “There’s an empty table right over there. I’ll be right back.” She picked up the heavy tray and went off to the kitchen.

“Come on, Avery.” She ushered the girl to the table Elsie suggested, acknowledging the friendly smiles and greetings from people she’d known most of her life, though some gave her an inquisitive look.

By tomorrow afternoon—or maybe even sooner—it would be all over Serenity that she was no longer working at Sullivan’s and that she was taking care of the new marshal’s daughter.

She smiled to herself a little as she took her seat—word spread fast in a small town—like wildfire.

Avery sat across from her and gently rocked the doll in her arms. She didn’t speak, but she did croon to the porcelain doll that looked a little bit like her, a sweet, low-pitched hum that signaled her happiness with the gift.