College in Alabama had solidified my ambitions and reshaped my less constructive attitudes as if they were a lump of clay. No longer the broken fifteen-year-old or the self-empowered eighteen-year-old, I accepted the hand Father offered to assist me from the carriage and grasped his fingers as my foot touched the ground.
“Sister would love some horehound sticks,” I said, “and of course I want to see Jim, if he isn’t busy. I’ll pop inside and be right here when you return. That’s all, Father. Nothing too long.”
Father was quick to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Fine and dandy, Gracie, go ahead. Give my best to Jim . . . I won’t go in this time. We should get us over to Millicent’s house directly. I’ll be across the street, but only for a few minutes. If you’re ready to go before that, don’t hesitate to send word,” he said, nodding with a two-term-senator polish to a passerby.
The out-of-doors had a way of doing wonderful things for me. I breathed deeply the refreshing air as I waltzed toward my brother-in-law’s store, my long coat fluttering behind me. Several of the town’s men had gathered in front of Carver’s Grocery and Hardware to exchange news of the day and toss about their ideas on how the turn of events might affect the nation. Most of them were nowhere near recovering income losses that supported their livelihood.
I gave them a passing smile and continued toward the store. My father’s agenda was evident to me, and time wasted was intolerable. I had come to accept the vigorous manner that let his wishes be known.
Inside, a buzz of activity swirled about in immeasurable contrast to the motionless bystanders outside. I went straight to the candy counter without dilly-dallying. My mouth watered in anticipation of the taste of chocolate. “Glorious day, isn’t it, Miss Baxter?”
“It is at that. And I’m just glad as I can be to have you visiting every now and again. Tickled pink, I am, you’re spending another year nearby. Good thing for us folks here in Elkton that Russellville’s just a hop, skip, and a jump away.” A generous smile spread on her face. “So tell me: how’s our young schoolteacher doing?” she said, squeezing her chubby hands together atop the glass case that covered the candy confections.
“Fine, fine. I haven’t expelled anyone in the first two months of this term . . . and not anyone last year either,” I said, grinning, briefly distracted by the appearance of a tall man warming his hands by the potbelly stove at the rear of the store.
Miss Baxter gave a jolly laugh to acknowledge my attempt at humor, and my glimpse of the gentleman ended.
“You’re right. Russellville’s not very far. And you haven’t seen the last of me, unless I start spreading out like Sunday dinner on a picnic cloth,” I said, realizing Miss Baxter resembled my remark. “Then I’d have to stop eating chocolates.”
“Me too,” she said with a never-you-mind gesture, relaxing her forearms farther across the counter. It was clear, she was in no hurry for my candy selection. “Your sister sure tries to keep everybody up to snuff around here. Got her own schoolgirl nowadays. That little Louise is cute as a pie. Second grade . . . Goodness, goodness!”
“I know. It’s certainly amazing how time flies,” I said, focusing on the candies.” Point out what Louise would like, then the usual: three sticks of horehound for Millicent. Now then. Chocolate. Let me . . . um . . . decide between the—”
“Please excuse me for interrupting. May I offer a recommendation for the chocolates before you make your decision?” The smooth voice slid into our conversation like butter on a hot biscuit.
Surprised, I turned to find the tall gentleman from the back of the store standing next to me. Having captured my attention, he smiled a gorgeous smile that momentarily broke my concentration.
“The finest of the fine is right before your eyes—your beautiful eyes, if I may be so bold. I’m something of an expert on the subject.”
Seriously? I thought. An expert on how time flies or chocolate?
“But first things first. My name is Simon Hagan.”
After a slight hesitation, I gave him a brisk once-over during which time his smile never faltered. I’d not ever met a statelier man and maybe not a better-looking one. The weight of his gaze caught me off guard. But only a little, I told myself. I then recast my answer: “How do you do, Mr. Hagan? I am Gracie Maxwell.”
Miss Baxter wasn’t helping the situation’s awkwardness. She no longer rested against the candy counter, but rather leaned in to hear what she could hear. Her mouth had dropped, and I warned mine not to do the same.
I tried to give as little heed as possible to Mr. Hagan’s remark about my eyes and forced myself to look straight at him as he continued to speak of how glad he was to meet me. Perhaps he missed the cold shoulder that I thought I was presenting. He proceeded to select a bar of chocolate from the case with one hand, then gave coins to Miss Baxter with the other.
Father passed the window. A tip of his hat indicated he would just as soon be on his way.
I stood dumbfounded as Mr. Hagan handed me the chocolate bar.
Jim Carver’s voice rose above others, dickering politely with a woman who had doled out produce and eggs for his consideration. Their transaction seemed to be coming to an end, and my brother-in-law turned toward us at the front of his store where Mr. Hagan continued to stand at my side.
Miss Baxter’s smile was way too big.
Flustered by the simultaneous doings, I offered a quick thank you to the tall stranger, snatched the horehound that Miss Baxter had laid on the counter—forgetting to pay for the candy sticks—forgetting the candy treat for Louise—then darted straight out the front door without a backward glance.
“Gracie!” Father was waiting outside when I emerged. “Guess I should have come inside . . . I’d already unhitched us, though. Here, let me help you up. When you see Jim later today, do remember to give him my regards.”
I hopped up onto the seat, and Father steered the horse around the town square, its hooves plodding noisily on the cobblestone street. The ride was quieted as the buggy rolled onto the dirt road leading to Millicent’s house.
“Glad you didn’t, Father. No need to come inside,” I said without knowing why. “It will be a good visit with Jim tonight at supper.”
He peered over at me. “You seem preoccupied, Gracie. Everything all right?”
I didn’t look at him. “Of course. Just met a gentleman . . . He must be related to Mr. Hagan who got me my teaching job.” Slightly embarrassed, still puzzled by my own doings, I held up the chocolate bar and waited for Father’s reaction. “I believe he said his name is Simon. Yes, Simon Hagan.”
“Ah! For sure. Simon’s been away from Todd County for quite some time. Didn’t realize he was back.” Father shot me a suspicious gander, then signaled the horse to pick up speed, giving the reins some slack with a nimble foist from the driving whip.
The surrey’s wheels creaked in objection to the horse’s surge, and the forward jolt startled me. I wondered if the timing had not been right to exhibit the chocolate. “Oh, Father, he just happened to be at the counter as I was deciding. All of a sudden, he was there. He simply insisted on making this a gift.”
“Hardly proper for him to cover your purchase of chocolate.” Father glanced at the horehound sticks. “He
