The Hardin tribune-herald., 1936-03-13
Salvage

wondering, as she had ever since nef
own marriage. Could it be possible that
their memories remained as D!ank ,sis as
voices? If she and Bob should separate
she didn't believe-after Is years-no,
not after 100 years, that her heart
would not give off, some warmth OF
recognition as it did when she saw
him on the street, or else 1t Wouid
tremble with her hurt, but there would
be some sensation, surely there must
be some! This was question she couIo
not ask her mother.
She got off the stool, crumpling her
paper napkin. Dads coming to supper.
If don't hurry We'll be late Tor the
basketball game, and Bob and junior
won't speak to me again. really pc
lieve we have team this year. Nom
ma, I wish you could see now ,.Gfy, they
last week! If act like customer will
you sell me one of your butterscotch
pies, Mrs. Plummer?"
you're not customer, you're a
creditor"
June threw the crumpled napkin.
Dodging, Mrs. Plummer reached over
] the counter and swished at her with
the damp cloth. She went into the
rear room and came out with pie tin
under folded dish towel She watched
June step off the high curb. Her faith
er had already got in the car. He
opened the door for her and took the
tin. The straining sing-song of the
car downhill died away.
| It was dark under the old-fashioned
arcade on this side Of the square. To
the weSt s;y h9Meyer rn1Es breath OF roSf
branches, as it were, a colored haze
exuded by the hills. The sky did not
appear to move or change, but mo-
ment later the rose had aged, like the
fresh color of cheek, into ashes OF
roses, into a lemon-yellow, darkenlng
rapidly thereafter while the trunks OF
the naples in the park turned black.
They still held up their leaves, pale
and glimmering in the headlights of the
cars, but with an air of hard gallantry,
the brave challenging fate which they
did not wear in spring.
Mrs. Plummer Strengthened up. TOO:
She picked up the paper napkin and
rear room; she sliced some cold ham
for herself, added potato chips from a
big bowl, and took her plate out to
the counter to eat and wait. Surely
someone would come, even on night
when there was no picture show and
the basketball team played out of
town. She could not bring herself to
|
be disappointment. It was to have
been something different for a small
town, a sandwich shop in city fashion.
But the young people preferred the
drug store and coke; their elders,
chilli con carne at Doane's; the buses
stopped at Millions, and passing cars,
upon which she and June had counted
for most of the trade, would pause at
restaurants on the highway that never
had heard of sandwiches other than
ham or cheese or barbecue. Besides,
she had not liked to borrow more from
June's husband than she had to; her
arrangements were incomplete, and no
more had a customer entered than he
was beset by desire for what she did
not keep, for beer or cigarets.
She had been glad Of a chance to
settle near June: Not that she would
admit she minded working in st. Louis
and living alone. But June thought
that, at her age, she ought to mind,
ought to want an anchorage perhaps
and matronliness, however, there were
still some things that June did not
understand. Mrs. Plunmer hoped she
would never have to. For instance, these
meetings with June's father. Well, after
the first 100 years, which were the
hardest, one got over exclaiming at
freaks of circumstance, one accepted
the queer as the normal and stolidly
lived with it. Was it any more odd to
meet ones first husband as stranger
in the presence of their daughter than
to bear, probably for life, the name of
man, her second husband, whom she
had divorced with relief and never laid
eyes on since? Was it any more curious
than her return to this very town
(Which she had left, she supposed, for
ever, nearly 80 years ago. to settle
down contentedly to keep restaurant
and be grandmother?
How her heart used to lurch and
the skin Of her cheeks prickle at first
sight of the town when, at intervals,
| Her mother-in-law had brought June
| up here. She had been fond Of the old
lady-she had no people of her own
| and June's father had behaved very
well. So had she. They met and they
talked of June's future. But for sew
eral years, on her visits, she used to
avoid passing the little yellow house
had gone as bride, where June had
been born June lived out that way
| now. Mrs. Plummer passed the cottage
often. It was empty, the siding warped
| and the roof full of holes. She looked
| at it as she might have looked at the
moon mo- 1T; through field glasses, DISTINGUISH.
remote for contact. In the same way
| she looked at June'S father
While the weather stayed warm Mrs.
Plummer slept in the rear room. 1t had
plenty of space for a camp bed along
| with the refrigerator, the electric stove,
| and the rest of the equipment, and she
was so tired at night that it was a
blessing to have just a few steps be-
tween the shop and bed.
There were no customers to keep her
up. She closed at nine and fell asleep
at once.
What sounded in her dreams like the
mooing of a COW awoke her. She was
startled to hear the sound quite close,
far too shrill and too continuous to be
made by COW. Besides there was an
| other sound which she recognized The
| cheese factory whistle.
She jumped up. A reddish light,
neither sun nor moon, quivered along
tho yxri1arlox11 loolxoS