Yellow Rose Bride. Lori Copeland

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      “Sounds like the Bennett wedding is going to be quite a shindig.” He transferred a bolt of tulle to the cutting table. “Twenty more yards, you say?”

      “Mmm, better make it twenty-five, just to be sure.”

      “Twenty-five it is.”

      While he measured and cut the silk net, Vonnie browsed. Outside, the sun was beaching the horizon. Most of the stores were closing, while the bars and bawdy houses were just starting their business day.

      Beasley’s was one of the first delicatessens in the town. The idea that you could buy ready-to-eat products and dry goods at the same time was a real hit with the customers.

      Closing her eyes, she sniffed the tantalizing mix of cured hams, loose spices and fresh pies. Freshly ground coffee and hot cinnamon buns.

      The countertops brimmed with a colorful array of foods. Glass cases full of cakes, pickles in trays, and a big tub of sweet creamery butter added character to Beasley’s Grocery. Sitting beside buckets of salt herring and salt mackerel were barrels of crackers, cookies, nuts and other dried condiments. There were big bushels of apples and a crock of mincemeat. Bunches of long bolognas and fat cheeses wrapped in netting dangled from the ceiling. The store was charmingly chaotic.

      “Yep, seems like everybody’s decided to get married at the same time. Looks like Adam and Beth will be next,” Beasley continued as he cut the fabric.

      “Looks that way.”

      “Fine young men, those Baldwin boys. Fine young men.”

      Vonnie picked up an ornately carved music box and carefully wound the little key at the back. A boy and girl in a swing turned slowly to the strains of “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”

      “Yes, Beth and Adam make a handsome couple,” Beasley rattled on as he wrote the price of each item on the back of a bag and totaled it. “Reckon P.K.’s hopes are high on having his first grandchild by this time next year—”

      “I’ll also need six packages of seed pearls, Mr. Beasley.”

      If he thought anything about her interruption, it didn’t show.

      “White or ivory?”

      “The white, I think.”

      He tore a long sheet of brown wrapping paper off the roll he kept under the counter. “How’re your folks doing? Saw Cammy the other day.”

      “Good, thank you.”

      “And the birds?”

      “We have a new batch of babies.”

      “Is that a fact? My goodness, those birds must be interesting to raise.”

      “They are indeed.”

      The community knew how proud Teague Taylor was of his ostriches. Little did Teague know that when he got the pair of adult, pure North African ostriches, he had hit the jackpot. When he’d come home dragging the two birds behind him, rumor had it Cammy was miffed over having another pair of mouths to feed but had quickly changed her mind. The birds developed into a profitable business, with over a hundred birds now at the Flying Feather. The feathers and meat provided the Taylors with a comfortable income.

      The store owner peered over his glasses at Vonnie. “What’s that your father calls the chicks?”

      “Waddlebabies.” Vonnie laughed, thinking of the newly hatched ostriches. They were curious things, playful as week-old kittens. When they walked across their pens, it was clear why Teague had pinned them with the nickname.

      “Waddlebabies. That Teague. He’s quite a character. Always has been.” He tied the string on the package of material. “That about do you for today?” He wrapped the buttons in a second bundle.

      “That should do it. Thank you so much.”

      Anxious to be on her way, Vonnie paid for her purchases. She’d gotten a late start today, and Mr. Beasley had stayed open later than usual to accommodate her.

      Twilight was gathering when she stepped onto the plank sidewalk.

      The heavy scent of cattle fouled the air tonight. Cattle.

      Cabeza Del Lobo.

      Adam Baldwin.

      Why did her thoughts always stray to Adam?

      Franz Schuyler slowly made his way down the sidewalk, his stool hooked over one arm and his long-handled lighter held like a scepter. He lit the gas lanterns, one by one, until the dusty street resembled a brick-paved city avenue.

      Lamplight had always been a delight for Vonnie. Franz was like some wizened elf who quietly went about his work without fuss or bother. With a touch of a wand, the town’s gas lanterns sprang to life.

      “Evening, Franz,” Vonnie called.

      The old man had always been a favorite town character. Of Dutch and German descent, his parents had cursed him with a strange little body. Squat and decidedly rotund, he reminded Vonnie of Santa Claus pictured in the books Cammy had ordered from back East. His snow-white hair and twinkling blue eyes made her want to sit on his lap and recite her Christmas list. Wouldn’t that have raised a few eyebrows!

      The lamplighter glanced up and waved. “Shopping again?” He made his way down the street toward her, carefully trimming and lighting each of the lanterns. The sun had disappeared now. The mellow lantern light gave the street a golden glow.

      “My, my,” he said, standing back to admire her. “Has anyone told you that you get prettier every day?”

      Vonnie’s smile was one of deep affection for the man who, she was sure, was not as old as he appeared to be. “No, but it’s sweet of you to say so.”

      “It’s true.”

      “You say that to all the girls.”

      “Not to all of them,” he denied. “Only the prettiest ones.”

      They shared a comfortable laugh, then turned toward the north as a cool breeze suddenly sprang up.

      “Nice weather today,” he commented.

      “Yes, it’s been so hot.” At times the sun seemed cruel. “How’s Audrey?”

      Sadness touched Franz’s eyes, and he slowly shook his head. “Not good, little one, not so good.”

      “I’m sorry.” Vonnie rested her hand on his sleeve.

      Audrey Schuyler was dying, slowly but surely. Everyone knew it. With a quiet dignity she bore the knowledge that she hadn’t many days left. Audrey and Cammy Taylor had been friends since childhood. Vonnie couldn’t remember a year when the Schuylers hadn’t been at the Taylor house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Audrey’s special cherry-rum fruitcake was a treat they all looked forward to sharing on Christmas Eve.

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