Distortion

April 22, 1884 - Mercantile

 What had started as Beth needing to go to town for a few things, ended up as an outing for everyone. I was kind of excited, as this was my first time leaving the farm since arriving.

We all piled in the buckboard, which was way more uncomfortable than a car, essentially a large wooden box on wheels. Beth sat up front with Merrick, who was guiding the horses. Conversation and laughter swirled joyfully, especially when Thaddeus and Matthew got on a roll. They pretended to hate each other but I think somewhere under the insults there was fondness.

Merrick stopped in front of the large white painted sign that read-Dennison Mercantile.

As Beth and I walked into the mercantile, I looked over my shoulder and watched Merrick going the opposite direction. There was that swagger again. Smiling, I shook my head. He looked like a poster child for Abercrombie and Fitch. All someone needed was a camera, and that picture could hang in any store.

The Dennison Mercantile was framed by three large windows facing the street. The place was the size of a mini-mart, with a wood stove in the corner that didn't vent properly. A wisp of burnt wood was present every time I inhaled. Shelves were flanked with canned goods, bolts of fabric, shoe boxes, clear jars filled with an assortment of hard candy, and a bunch of other items I didn't recognize. In the middle of the store massive wooden barrels nearly overflowed with bulk food. Along the other wall were dresses, pants, shirts, boots and a few other ready-made clothing items.

We were immediately pounced upon by a thin man who might have been good looking ten years ago. The first thing that jumped out at me were his eyes. Black tar pits. Though lanky, he seemed to have a solid build under his white starched shirt. "Mornin', Beth." He spoke her name with such familiarity there was clearly history there. He looked really happy to see her. Like really happy. Beth, who was fingering some fabrics, didn't look up or respond. I wondered if she heard him.

He looked my ratty brown dress up and down, and his black eyes narrowed. "And who do we have here?"

That got her attention. She put her arm firmly around my shoulders. "This is Allie Young. She'll be staying with us for a while. Allie, this is Travis Dennison. He owns the mercantile and is...he's...a friend of the family."

"Young, you say?" The way he spoke made me wary. I couldn't put my finger on it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dennison."

All the sourness suddenly dissolved from his pasty white features, replaced by a smile I didn't think I could trust. "Mr. Dennison is my father. Please, call me Travis." Beth seemed okay with him, so I shook it off.

"So what is it we're looking for today?" He grabbed a notebook and pen and watched her expediently.

"Fabric." Beth was already turning her attention back toward bolts lined against the wall. "Give me a second, I need to figure out which one first." Her long skirt swished against the wood floor as she moved her way down the display.

"Well then, let me know when you need any help." His words were everyday, yet I caught the undercurrent of something more. If these two did have some sort of past, I had the feeling it wasn't a pleasant one. Travis went to a shelf and busily worked at putting cans in an absolutely straight line, although he didn't get much done because he kept looking over his shoulder at Beth. And me.

Beth ran her fingers over the calico fabrics. I wondered what she would think of the modern day fabric stores with rows and rows of every kind of textile imaginable. Instead, she had a selection of about fifteen bolts.

"Travis?" He came quickly like an obedient puppy. "I'll take four yards of this red material." Beth pulled out a bolt of red cotton fabric with small white flowers.