9. Shop ’Til You Drop

9

SHOP ’TIL YOU DROP

Any hopes of treating my stay in 1926 as a mini-vacation were dashed the next morning when Ruth McAllister knocked on my door before the world was even light outside my window and said, “Breakfast in half an hour!”

I sat up in bed, blinking, and pushed my disheveled hair away from my face. In that moment, I realized she’d allowed me to sleep in the day before because I was newly at the house and still probably in shock over losing my memories, but now I needed to conform to the household schedule.

Which apparently included getting up at o’dark thirty.

After allowing myself a small curse, I shoved back the covers and got out the day’s clothes, then headed over to the bathroom. I supposed it was something of a comfort that there were two upstairs, so at least I didn’t have to share with Ruth and Timothy. Still, it was a heck of a rush to get the bathtub filled enough so I could have a quick splash, and as for my hair, forget about it. Luckily, I didn’t have an oily scalp and could go three or four days before it started to look kind of nasty, but I knew I’d have to wash it tomorrow, even if that meant getting up at four in the morning.

Perish the thought.

My reward for being so quick about my morning prep was a bowl full of scrambled eggs and a plate piled high with bacon, along with toast from sourdough bread I knew Ruth must have made right in this kitchen. Timothy already sat at the table by the window, a newspaper spread before him and a cup of coffee in one hand. Judging by the way he barely tilted his head at me before he returned to his paper, I got the feeling he wasn’t too interested in small talk before the stimulants kicked in.

That was fine by me. I never felt fully human until I had my coffee in the morning.

But Ruth handed me a cup almost as soon as I walked into the kitchen, and I took a few sips, being careful because it was still just a bit too hot. All the same, the caffeine started doing its job, sending out happy little bursts of energy and telling me I might survive being up and dressed by 6 a.m. after all.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Very well, thank you,” I replied. “It’s so quiet and peaceful up here.”

She’d already appeared cheerful enough, but now her expression was openly approving. “Yes, that’s one of the benefits of living on Paradise Lane. We’re enough away from it all that not much of the sound from Main Street makes it up here. And we almost always get a cool breeze at night.”

Something I’d experienced for myself the evening before, since I’d left the window in my bedroom open before I left for my date with Seth. By the time I got back, the space had cooled down significantly, and my worries about tossing and turning all night because I was overheated appeared to have been for nothing.

“Yes, it was lovely,” I agreed, and sipped some more coffee.

Her gaze grew a little more focused. “How was your dinner with Seth?”

That was a very good question. The food had been fine, but I knew sharing the meal with him had been secondary to our conversation, to the way I somehow felt more at home with him than I had with people I’d known for years. Part of it might have been simply not having to explain myself or be awkward about my miserably backfiring time-travel gift; people in witch clans didn’t generally discuss their individual magical talents at cocktail parties or anything like that, but on the other hand, their particular powers tended to be common knowledge, thanks to the way news always spread around magical families.

And I knew people felt sorry for me, that I’d been born with a gift that should have been amazing, but because I couldn’t control it, the damn thing was a lot more like a curse. Sure, the one I’d inherited from my father was pretty cool on its own, but when you were surrounded by fellow witches and warlocks who already knew that you possessed magical talents, it didn’t come in all that handy.

Seth didn’t know about any of that, obviously, and had no idea of the awkwardness my backfiring talent had caused me over the years. In fact, he knew very little about me at all because of my supposed amnesia. And that meant when we interacted, it was just as Seth and Devynn, nothing else.

It felt a lot more real.

Well, except for the part where he didn’t know I was Devynn and thought I was a civilian named Deborah Rowe. More and more, I was hating that particular lie…even as I knew there was no way in the world I could possibly tell him the truth.

No matter what, I had to make sure he never found out I was half Wilcox, not in an era when the McAllisters had viewed the primuses of my clan as just a step away from the Devil himself.

“Dinner was very nice,” I said. “The chop suey was fun, and the tea was lovely.” I paused there, wondering if I should offer any more information. But then, I supposed Ruth would hear soon enough, since she seemed to be one of those people who was fully plugged into her clan’s grapevine. “Seth’s older brother Charles was at the English Kitchen, getting some food to take home with him, so I got to meet him, too.”

Ruth’s brows pulled together ever so slightly. I had a feeling she wanted to frown more deeply but wouldn’t quite allow herself to.

“Oh, Charles,” she said. “He’s quite indispensable at his parents’ store. And he and Seth get along so well, which is not always something you see with two brothers who are so close in age. But they were never competitive, thank goodness.”

“Seth didn’t want to work at the store with his brother?” I asked, figuring this might be a way I could get more information about the guy without looking like I was trying to give him the third degree in person. True, he’d already told me he could earn more working at the mine, but I still thought there must have been a little bit more behind his reasons for leaving the family business behind than a simple bottom line.

Now looking somewhat guarded, Ruth said, “From what I’ve heard, he felt they really didn’t need him to work there, and he thought he might have more opportunities working at the mine, what with the way things have been booming there lately. I have to say he’s done quite well for himself — getting made foreman so young, already owning a home. Whereas Charles always appeared very invested in the family business and was happy to work at the mercantile.”

On the surface, this all sounded exactly like what Seth had told me the evening before, so I wondered if I was trying to see something that wasn’t there. Sometimes there really wasn’t any drama to be had, and I supposed I should be glad the two brothers got along so well.

“Speaking of the store,” Ruth went on, “I have a few things I needed to pick up there today. Would you mind terribly if I sent you with a list? That way, I can stay here and do all my baking instead of having to run an errand.”

Since I would much rather have gone to the mercantile — I was itching to see what it looked like now, compared to the touristy store it had become — than stand by and pretend to help Ruth bake scones or cookies or whatever else was on the menu today, I immediately said, “No, I don’t mind. It will give me a chance to visit the place. After hearing everyone talk so much about the mercantile, I feel as if it’s a Jerome landmark I shouldn’t miss.”

She appeared pleased that I was so eager to take on the small task, saying, “That’s perfect. And I’m not sure you could call McAllister Mercantile a landmark, although I have to admit it is an important part of our community. I’ll just put together a list after we’re done with breakfast, and you can go down when you’re ready. They don’t open until eight, so there’s no point in rushing.”

That seemed awfully early to open a shop — in my time, the store’s hours were ten until five every day except Sunday, when we opened at noon — but things were very different in this time period. Most likely, Seth’s family wanted to be available to their customers if they needed to stop in and pick up something before their day began.

And since it was barely past seven now, I knew I’d have plenty of time to finish my morning meal, brush my teeth, and make sure my hair was tidy before I headed out.

An odd little anticipation rose in me.

What would Charles be like when he wasn’t around his younger brother?

I supposed I’d find out soon enough.

The list Ruth gave me was more extensive than I’d thought — two new packets of sewing needles, thread, soap, a tin of baking soda, new stockings. However, it wasn’t such a big batch of items that I’d thought I’d have a hard time carrying them all back up the hill, even though I wasn’t much looking forward to the climb without Seth there to steady me.

I did my best to remind myself that I was a fit woman of twenty-two, not an octogenarian, and even though getting up the hill was something of a workout, I could still manage it just fine, even in those damn heels I had to wear all the time.

“Oh, and see if they have any more clothes that would fit you,” Ruth said as she handed over the list, written in a neat copperplate script that looked like something out of a museum. “Since it seems as if you’re going to be here longer than we first thought, it would just be smart for you to have a few more things to wear.”

Even though I’d already started to wonder how I was going to manage with only three daytime outfits and three sets of underthings, I couldn’t help protesting, “Oh, I don’t want you to be extravagant on my account.”

“Nonsense,” Ruth said briskly. “I’m not asking you to buy a silk dress to go and meet the King. I just think it would be more comfortable for you to have a few more dresses, and another skirt and blouse outfit if they have something that would work. Molly McAllister contracts with seamstresses in both Cottonwood and Prescott, and sometimes even gets items from Los Angeles and New York, so it’s hard for me to say what she has on hand. You’ll just need to ask.”

I could tell there wasn’t much point in arguing with Ruth, not when she had that firm set to her mouth, as if she knew she was the final word in any discussion that took place in her household. And with Timothy sitting a few feet away, obviously hearing everything but not bothering to cut in with a comment about the cost of supplying me with an adequate wardrobe, it seemed my impression was correct.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to see what they have,” I said, then drained the final contents of my cup of coffee and ate the last bite of the bacon sitting on my plate. “I’ll go get ready now.”

She nodded at me, and I headed upstairs to take care of my teeth and face — and also to redo my hair, since I’d made kind of a hash of the bun in my haste earlier this morning and didn’t want to look like a total slob.

I might have been a stranger with no known past, but I still wanted to make a good impression in case Seth’s parents were working at the store when I got there.

The sun was up, but the air still felt mild enough as I made my way down the hill. Whether it would be quite so mild on my return trip, I didn’t know for sure, although I told myself the hour was early enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about the heat too much.

Quite a few cars and trucks came and went, but since I’d never made a study of antique vehicles, I had no idea what models and makes they all were. For some reason — probably because any images I’d seen of the era were in black and white — I’d somehow assumed all the cars would be black. Instead, they came in a multitude of shades…dark green, deep burgundy, a handsome saddle brown, one flashy convertible in a surprising pale butter yellow…and I did my best not to stare too much.

Well, except at the convertible, which was driven by a man in a straw fedora and had a woman with equally pale yellow hair in the passenger seat, a silken scarf fluttering in the breeze as they drove past. But since I wasn’t the only one gawking — clearly, the striking pair were from out of town — I figured that was probably all right.

Ruth had given me a delicate wristwatch to wear, so I knew it was about eight minutes past eight when I walked through the front door of the mercantile. The facade of the building wasn’t all that different from the way it looked in my time, with two picture windows flanking the door and a transom window above it, but inside it was very much changed from what I knew. Instead of the local pottery and jewelry and touristy T-shirts and baseball caps Rachel’s store had on display, there were long counters on either side, with tall shelves behind them stacked with merchandise. Along the back wall stood large bins that I guessed held staples such as flour or grain, and a table in the center was piled high with boxes of shoes and other odds and ends.

I immediately noticed Charles, who stood behind one of the counters and was showing what looked like a pickaxe of some sort to an older man who didn’t appear to be a miner, maybe instead a rancher or farmer. Why he’d be shopping here rather than down in Cottonwood, I didn’t know — Jerome was way too hilly for any kind of agriculture — but maybe McAllister Mercantile had a better selection of those kinds of tools.

Behind one of the other counters was a woman who looked like she might be in her middle forties, pretty, with wavy, soft brown hair pulled into a low bun similar to mine and eyes so clear and blue, I knew she had to be Seth’s mother.

I walked toward her, and she smiled. “How can I help you, miss?”

She had a small dimple in her right cheek, and something about her smile reminded me of Seth as well, genuine, open, without any false friendliness. I found myself smiling back as I said, “I’m Deborah Rowe, the girl who’s staying with Ruth and Timothy McAllister. Ruth gave me a list of things she needed — and she also wanted you to check to see if you had any more clothes that might work for me.”

As soon as I said my name, the woman’s expression lit up that much more. “Oh, how nice to meet you, Deborah! I’m Molly McAllister, Seth’s mother. Let me see that list, and then I’ll go through our stock and find a few things for you.”

Relieved that she didn’t seem to find it at all odd that her cousin wanted to pay for my expanded wardrobe, I handed over the piece of paper Ruth had given me, then waited as Molly went along the shelves, gathering the requested items. Through all this, I waited at the counter, almost feeling the moment when Charles was finished with his current customer and turned his attention toward me.

In fact, he walked over while his mother was crouched down, sorting through packets of sewing needles.

“Good morning, Miss Rowe,” he said.

Nothing in his expression or his words was particularly hostile, but I found my hackles going up anyway.

Something about the guy just rubbed me the wrong way.

However, I did my best to sound pleasant as I said, “Good morning, Mr. McAllister. Ruth sent me down to pick up a few things for her.”

“It was kind of you to run the errand.”

“Oh,” I said deprecatingly, “I’m much better suited for this sort of thing than trying to help out in the kitchen.”

One of his dark brown brows lifted a fraction of an inch. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘new’ women.”

“‘New’?” I repeated, not sure what he meant. Was that what men in the 1920s called women who wanted to vote and have their own careers?

I had a dim recollection that women definitely could vote by 1926, but I had to admit I’d sort of daydreamed my way through a lot of U.S. history, finding the history of Europe in the Middle Ages much more interesting. Now I wished I’d paid more attention.

On the other hand, I had to believe there were still quite a few men who weren’t too happy with the change in women’s circumstances even several years after female suffrage became a thing, so maybe the exact year didn’t make that much of a difference.

“As in, new to town?” I asked innocently, and Charles’s brow furrowed that much more.

“Oh, of course,” he said, his tone way too casual. “I need to remember that you’ve forgotten a great deal. Perhaps when your memory returns, so will your cooking skills.”

“Perhaps,” I allowed, fighting back a smile. If he’d only known that all I was good at when it came to cooking was picking up a phone and ordering takeout — or maybe nuking something in the microwave when I was trying to be frugal.

Luckily, Molly returned right then with the sewing needles and the soap and the baking powder. “I’ll just go see about those clothes,” she told me before turning to her son. “Charles, could you please go into the stock room and fetch me a pair of those new flat shoes we got in yesterday? Size eight.”

He didn’t look too thrilled about being sent on such an errand, although I couldn’t tell for sure whether it was because he didn’t like having his mother deliver orders in such a way, or simply because he wasn’t very happy about his family handing out more freebies to the amnesiac who’d landed in town a couple of days ago.

However, it also seemed that he knew better than to argue, since he headed toward the back of the store, threading his way past the bins of flour and seed, and disappeared into the space that was still the stock room in the twenty-first century.

With him gone, Molly headed over to the shelves on the opposite side of the store, one section of which was taken up by clothes, folded stacks of shirts and trousers and underthings. I couldn’t really tell what was what, since all the individual items were wrapped up in brown paper rather than the clear plastic common in my day for sellers of shirts and underwear, but she seemed to know what she was doing, briskly pulling from a pile here and a stack there, until she had a fairly impressive collection to deposit in front of me where I waited at the counter.

“This should do it,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “Two more dresses, and three blouses and three skirts. And, of course, more stockings and underclothes. I would have gotten you a coat or at least a shawl, but I generally don’t stock those sorts of things at this time of year.”

“I don’t think I’ll need either,” I replied after a glance out the large front windows, where the scene was as bright and sunny as only a June day in northern Arizona could be.

“Possibly not,” Molly said. “But when the monsoons come and we have a good storm, the temperature can drop as much as twenty degrees in only a few minutes. However, I’m sure Ruth has something she can loan you if the weather should take a turn.”

Probably. I’d only been at the house for three days, but I could already tell my hostess was fond of pretty clothes, since I hadn’t seen her wear the same thing twice. For all I knew, that was part of the reason why she’d been so dead set on making sure I had nice things to wear. Maybe buying herself a bunch of new clothes would have seemed far too extravagant when she had so many dresses of her own, but by getting me outfitted, she could experience the thrill of shopping vicariously.

“I’m sure she must,” I said.

At that moment, Charles returned, carrying a shoebox and still wearing that slightly disapproving expression on his face. “Here they are,” he said, and set the shoebox down on the counter next to all the clothing his mother had gathered.

With the addition of the shoes, the pile looked worryingly large. How in the world was I supposed to get all that stuff back up the hill to Paradise Lane?

I must have looked alarmed, because Molly said in reassuring tones, “Oh, I don’t expect you to carry all that. Charles, give Miss Rowe a ride up to Ruth’s house, won’t you? I’ll keep an eye on things here while you’re gone.”

At once I stammered, “Oh, he doesn’t need to do that — ” but she shook her head.

“It will only take him away for ten minutes, probably less. And that is far too much for one woman to manage, especially when you have to carry everything up that steep hill.”

Charles’s expression was now so neutral that I knew he must be irritated with his mother, even if he had no intention of contradicting her. “It’s not a problem,” he said, sounding almost wooden. “I’ll need to pull the truck around to the front. You can wait here.”

Without further comment, he turned away from us and walked toward the back of the store for a second time. I guessed he must be headed to the rear door of the building, which opened up on a small parking area for the shop owners’ and residents’ use. In the present day, those spaces were so in demand that Rachel had finally paid for an electronic gate and key card access to keep the tourists out, but I had a feeling that wasn’t as much of a problem in 1926, when far fewer people had cars.

“Let me get a bag for all this,” Molly said, then stepped away to retrieve a large crochet-looking contraption that unfolded to hold a lot more of my goodies than I’d thought it possibly could. The only thing that wouldn’t fit was the shoebox, but I knew it would be easy enough to carry now that the rest of my new wardrobe and Ruth’s purchases had been safely contained.

Just as Molly was handing everything over to me, Charles came back into the store. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. He still wore that far too neutral expression, which sure seemed like a signal to me that he wasn’t happy but was far too well-mannered to get into an argument with his mother about playing chauffeur for me. I turned toward her, adding, “Thank you so much for finding all those pieces. I just realized that Ruth didn’t give me anything to pay you with.”

Molly waved a hand. “Oh, it will all go on her account. Don’t worry — she’ll take care of it at the end of the month, just as she always does. Enjoy your new clothes!”

“I will,” I said, which was no more than the truth. I couldn’t wait to get back to Ruth’s house so I could pretend it was Christmas morning and I could open up all the packages Molly had given me.

She smiled, and I followed Charles out to the curb, where a big dark green pickup truck was parked. It was very shiny, leading me to wonder how often they washed the thing. Even I knew cars could get dusty pretty fast in Jerome, what with all the general particulates and pollen in the air. I had to imagine it must be even worse here in 1926, with the big open-pit mine farther up the hill spewing all sorts of waste into the atmosphere.

To be fair, he did open the door for me and wait until I had settled myself and the packages in the passenger seat before he went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. A roar from the big engine as he turned the key, and then he shifted expertly right before pulling out onto the street.

It was about as different an experience from the self-driving cars of my own day as I could possibly imagine. The motor was so loud, I didn’t think we could hold a conversation without practically yelling at each other — probably a good thing, since Charles and I both remained studiously silent — and the shock absorbers seemed to be almost nonexistent.

Then again, this was a work vehicle with an internal combustion engine from more than a hundred years before my time, not a silky electric car that you could barely even tell was running.

At least it was a short trip up the hill, only a couple of minutes. Charles stopped in front of Ruth’s house and asked, “Do you need any help with those packages?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll be fine. But thank you very much for the ride.”

He only tilted his head in assent, and waited silently as I grabbed the shoebox and big string bag of other goodies before getting out of the truck. A pause of a minute or so to make sure I made it safely up the front steps, and then he pulled away, going toward the end of the cul-de-sac so he’d have a place to turn around.

When he passed Ruth’s house again, I lifted a hand to wave, thinking that was the polite thing to do, but he didn’t appear to acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he kept driving down the hill, until at least the rumble of the truck’s engine blended with the overall background sounds of the town.

I wanted to shake my head, but what would be the point?

About all I could do right then was be very glad that Seth appeared to be nothing like his brother.