The Hope of Hattie Phelan: Volume I

6

A Trip to Town

Tuckerton was very small. At only a few blocks long, the town was quite the contrast to the seemingly endless walls of buildings in Chicago. There weren't concrete sidewalks—only raised wooden platforms called boardwalks. It also surprised me that people waved at us as we passed in the buggy. It seemed that everyone was more friendly and honest here than in Chicago. People, where I grew up, were often closed off and focused only on what was ahead of them.

Uncle Gillan, Bobby, and Wally stayed home to tend to the farm, but Bernie drove the rest of us into town. Apparently, he was being trained to take over the general store and was moving into the room above it. That was why there were boxes in the upstairs hallway at the Gillans' place. Bernie told me that the owner, Mr. Bergener, was retiring and offered to let him room for free if he took over the business matters.

"Alright, ma'ams and misses," Bernie said as the buggy halted, jumping to the dirt road. He helped each of us out one-by-one before he led us up to the general store, opening the door to let us in. I stared at the varying commodities on shelves spread across the store. There was a tall, skinny boy leaning on the counter, mindlessly tapping at the cash register.

"Hello, Marten," Bernie said, striding over to the boy who glanced up in surprise before straightening.

"Howdy, sir," the boy, Marten, replied. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," Bernie smiled, walking around the counter before grabbing an apron and tying it on. "How'd the store hold up in my absence?"

"Good, sir. But slow."

"That's a shame," Bernie stated, before checking inside the cash register, counting through it.

"Bernard, boy, is that you?" a crackly voice came from the back. An old man entered the vicinity from a backroom, his face lighting up when he saw Bernie. "Welcome back, boy. How was Montana?"

"It was fine, Mr. Bergener," Bernie said with a smile. "Too much adventure for me."

"Ah, that's how it will be in the wild West," Mr. Bergener said, patting Marten on the back as he took Bernie's place at the register. "Marten, go help Bernard move his things upstairs. I'll take over the cashier."

"Yessir."

"Come here, Hattie," my aunt said, turning my attention away from my older cousin's conversation. Aunt Margarette was going through a rack of fabric, gesturing for me to come beside her. "Anything you like?"

I looked through all the fabrics, feeling a bit uncomfortable when put under the stress of making a decision. I glanced at the prices, cringing internally at them. I decided that even though some of the patterns were very pretty, I would go for the more practical, solid color ones—the solids were also cheaper. I pointed to a solid grey calico and a dark blue flannel.

"Those?" Aunt Margarette asked, surprise evident in her voice. "You can choose any you like—not including the silks and such."

"I'm fine with these," I said, staring at the fabrics, before spotting a pastel yellow calico with pretty pink, blue, and green flowers in a pattern. I looked at the price, frowning, before glancing across the others.

"You need to choose one more fabric," my aunt said, grabbing the blue and grey ones from the rack to put under her arms. "A nice one for Sunday."

My eyes widened at the amount of dresses I'd have. What would I do with so many dresses?

"I think this one would look nice with your hair," Nancy said, fingering a light blue calico with little white dots. I could imagine a pretty lace collar and fringe down the front, making my heart beat in excitement. But it was too much! The price of the fabric and the lace would be quite expensive for just a dress.