East of Orleans by Renee' Irvin

purchased from the money the paper paid him. Her hair fell in loose ringlets, tied halfway back in a bow with the silk ribbon that Livie and Henry had brought her from Atlanta .
    Isabella paced the lobby of the bank while her mama and granny met with Rollins Hartwell in his office.
    It wasn’t long before Isabella could not stand the sight of another farmer walking into the bank. They all came and went the same way.
    They entered with a defeated look and left with calloused hands plunged deep into their overall pockets. She wondered how many tired, desperate farmers the Hartwells had cheated out of their farms that day.
    She stood up and strolled across the beautifully waxed pine floors of the bank. She studied the elegant oil paintings of the two previous stern-looking bank presidents. Isabella had had enough of the bank and its former occupants. She had to get out of there.
    Isabella walked outside and went down the street, looking through store windows until she came to the ornate glass window of Mrs. Scarborough’s Millinery Shoppe. In the middle of the store window was a fabulous turquoise bonnet with alluring ostrich plumes, begging her to come inside. She opened the door and peeked in--- flowers and ribbons decorated the whole place.
    “May I help you, dear?” Chirped the saleslady. Isabella jumped.
    “No, no, ma’am, I just came inside to see all your beautiful hats.” Isabella’s violet-blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at one hat after another.
    The tall, slender saleslady smiled. “That’s fine, dear. My name is Ellen Scarborough. If you need assistance, just call me. I’ll be in the back for a few minutes.”
    Isabella gave a quick nod. “Thank you ma’am.” On a large oak display case, was a cranberry glass bowl with fluted edges. The bowl held an abundance of ostrich plumes in every fashionable color. Isabella never knew so many colors existed. She soon discovered that she could never own even a single plume; each one cost five dollars. A late edition of Designer Magazine lay on the counter and was opened to an article on the world-renowned French hat designer, Francoise Lamphere. The title was Chapeaux the Rage of Spring! Oh, to own one, she thought. She turned the pages of the magazine and saw a fabulous array of fine winter hats trimmed with lavish millinery birds, ostrich plumes, feathers, wings, and composite birds.
    Her eyes circled around the shop until they stopped at one hat. Her heart stopped, too. If she were to own a single hat, it would be the rose one with long velvet silk ties, wine-colored ostrich plumes and a tiny parade of pink roses.
    Isabella glanced to the side to see if anyone could see her. There was no one in sight.
    Mrs. Scarborough was still in the back. Isabella decided it was time to try on that hat. She stood in front of the cherub-embellished gilt mirror and gingerly placed the hat on her head. She turned from front to back and then sideways, admiring herself over and over again.
    She sniffed and detected a strong, sweet smell that had entered the air. She whipped around to see where the smell came from, and bumped right into a well-dressed man with a curious look on his face. Jules McGinnis stared at her as if she were naked.
    His eyes were blue, like the ocean and deep enough to drown the thoughts of a young girl. Isabella had never seen eyes like his before. She thought a man with eyes like that must have many secrets. His face was rugged and handsome, but in a dangerous sort of way.
    “A young lady of such beauty should own the hat she most desires,” Jules said. Isabella swirled around with the bonnet still high on her head. She turned so fast that she almost knocked over Mrs. Scarborough’s entire display. Quickly, she removed the bonnet.
    “My dear, leave it be. That bonnet will never be more appreciated than where it sits now,” Jules said with an arrogant smile.
    Isabella could feel the heat rise in her face. She ran her fingers through her hair, looking