the driver of the freight wagon plopped yet another crate onto the pine table Carrie had just finished dusting.
The driver pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Nate. “That there’s the last of the load, I reckon. How do you want to settle this bill, Mr. Chastain?”
Nate set down his crate and mopped his brow. “Just a minute. I’ll get the cash box.” He retrieved it from beneath the counter and paid the driver. “Appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.” The driver folded the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “You and Mr. Pruitt over at the mercantile are just about the only cash customers I’ve got left.”
“Things have gotten worse and worse here ever since seventy-three,” Nate said, “and unfortunately, I don’t see how they’re going to improve.”
Carrie closed the cash box and put it away. “I suppose we’re all counting on the horse race this fall to liven things up.”
The driver nodded. “Everybody’s talking about that new fellow riding Mr. Gilman’s horse. Folks say he won Race Week nearly every year, back in South Carolina. He was some hero, all right.” He scratched his head. “Hard to fathom why a city fellow like that would come to a quiet place like Hickory Ridge.”
Nate pried the top off another crate. “If you ask me, it takes more than winning a horse race to make a man a hero.”
“Right enough, I reckon. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Chastain.” The driver tipped his hat to Carrie and headed for the door. “Ma’am.”
When the door closed behind him, Carrie joined Nate at the table and began lifting books from the crate, dropping them onto the counter with more force than was necessary.
“Whoa, there,” Nate said. “What’s got your petticoat in a twist?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re cross as a wet hen.”
“I’m not cross.”
“Could have fooled me.” He set the last of the books on the counter and shoved the crate aside. “It was because of what I said about Rutledge, wasn’t it? I don’t know why you’re always defending him.”
“Maybe because you’re forever criticizing him. You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“Whereas you know everything there is to know about the mysterious Mr. Rutledge.”
“I don’t know much more than you do. But I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Rutledge has done nothing to deserve your ill opinion of him.”
“And nothing to earn such admiration from you.” He studied her face. “At least nothing I know about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held up both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. I’m dog tired, and there’s so much more to do.”
“You’re right.” As much as she resented his attitude toward Griff Rutledge, she understood Nate’s concerns for his shop. She hated seeing him so worried. And he was paying for her help, after all.
“I’m sorry too.” She indicated a stack of law books she’d shelved earlier that day. “Those won’t sell to anyone except maybe the men at the college. I was thinking we should set up a textbook section in the back, by the storeroom, and use these front shelves for the more popular books.” She indicated a stack of novels by Jules Verne, Mark Twain, and Bret Harte. “All of these are new, within the last two years.”
He nodded. “Good plan.”
“And there’s something else. I want to start a ladies’ book discussion society.”
“A book—what?” He took off his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief.
“They’re very popular in Memphis these days. I was reading about it in the paper only last week. A group of ladies meets once a month to talk about the books they’ve read. The article said the discussions are quite lively. And the meetings stimulate a lot of interest in books. Perhaps our society will encourage more customers to come in and look around.”
“And what will they use for money, even if they find a book that suits
The driver pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Nate. “That there’s the last of the load, I reckon. How do you want to settle this bill, Mr. Chastain?”
Nate set down his crate and mopped his brow. “Just a minute. I’ll get the cash box.” He retrieved it from beneath the counter and paid the driver. “Appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.” The driver folded the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “You and Mr. Pruitt over at the mercantile are just about the only cash customers I’ve got left.”
“Things have gotten worse and worse here ever since seventy-three,” Nate said, “and unfortunately, I don’t see how they’re going to improve.”
Carrie closed the cash box and put it away. “I suppose we’re all counting on the horse race this fall to liven things up.”
The driver nodded. “Everybody’s talking about that new fellow riding Mr. Gilman’s horse. Folks say he won Race Week nearly every year, back in South Carolina. He was some hero, all right.” He scratched his head. “Hard to fathom why a city fellow like that would come to a quiet place like Hickory Ridge.”
Nate pried the top off another crate. “If you ask me, it takes more than winning a horse race to make a man a hero.”
“Right enough, I reckon. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Chastain.” The driver tipped his hat to Carrie and headed for the door. “Ma’am.”
When the door closed behind him, Carrie joined Nate at the table and began lifting books from the crate, dropping them onto the counter with more force than was necessary.
“Whoa, there,” Nate said. “What’s got your petticoat in a twist?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re cross as a wet hen.”
“I’m not cross.”
“Could have fooled me.” He set the last of the books on the counter and shoved the crate aside. “It was because of what I said about Rutledge, wasn’t it? I don’t know why you’re always defending him.”
“Maybe because you’re forever criticizing him. You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“Whereas you know everything there is to know about the mysterious Mr. Rutledge.”
“I don’t know much more than you do. But I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Rutledge has done nothing to deserve your ill opinion of him.”
“And nothing to earn such admiration from you.” He studied her face. “At least nothing I know about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held up both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. I’m dog tired, and there’s so much more to do.”
“You’re right.” As much as she resented his attitude toward Griff Rutledge, she understood Nate’s concerns for his shop. She hated seeing him so worried. And he was paying for her help, after all.
“I’m sorry too.” She indicated a stack of law books she’d shelved earlier that day. “Those won’t sell to anyone except maybe the men at the college. I was thinking we should set up a textbook section in the back, by the storeroom, and use these front shelves for the more popular books.” She indicated a stack of novels by Jules Verne, Mark Twain, and Bret Harte. “All of these are new, within the last two years.”
He nodded. “Good plan.”
“And there’s something else. I want to start a ladies’ book discussion society.”
“A book—what?” He took off his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief.
“They’re very popular in Memphis these days. I was reading about it in the paper only last week. A group of ladies meets once a month to talk about the books they’ve read. The article said the discussions are quite lively. And the meetings stimulate a lot of interest in books. Perhaps our society will encourage more customers to come in and look around.”
“And what will they use for money, even if they find a book that suits
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