restaurant
called Dizzy’s Burger Joint. It struck her that this new town had no hitching posts.
She saw no Slow for buggy signs or No Hitching signs or stores with familiar Plain names. More than one person stopped to watch
them make their way through the town.
“Luke gave me a map he picked up when he was here the last time.” Elijah pulled the
wagon over to the curb and stopped. “Let me look at it again.”
A lady wearing jeans and an embroidered work shirt paused, a broom in her hand. She
stood in front of a long storefront with the words Antique Mall and Flea Market printed in gold letters across windows featuring displays of old rocking chairs,
Raggedy Ann dolls, and Singer sewing machines. She approached the street. “You folks
lost? Can I help you?”
“We need the medical center,” Bethel said when Elijah didn’t speak right away. “Can
you give us directions?”
The expression on the woman’s plump face changed under her tidy cap of silver hair.
She hustled over to the side of the wagon. “Are you hurt or sick or what?” She tugged
a tiny, flat phone from her pocket. “Should I call 911 for an ambulance? The medical
center is on the other side of town.”
In a town this size, that couldn’t be too far. “No, but thank you, it’s not an emergency.
I should’ve been clearer. We’re looking for the rehabilitation clinic that’s near
the medical center.” Bethel managed to wedge the words in when the woman paused to
take a breath. “We’re new to town so we—”
“Don’t I know it! Y’all have been the talk of the town for weeks now. We get lots
of people on their way to camp in the Ozarks or tourists looking for Branson, but
not folks like you. Aren’t you as cute as all get-out in those outfits. Like pioneers
on the prairie. I’ve read some of those Amish romance novels so I know what to expect.
These other folks are just ignorant. Don’t mind them.”
Pioneers. Romance novels. Don’t mind them? Bethel was afraid to ask what the lady
meant by her torrential onslaught of words. Elijah held up a hand and saved her from
responding. “It looks like I take a left at the next corner and go about four blocks,
then left again.”
“That’s exactly right. The rehab clinic is about six blocks from the medical center.”
The lady wiped her hand on her jeans and extended it to Bethel. “I’m Diana Doolittle,
owner of the best junk store in town.” She cocked her head toward the building behind
her. “You need any dishes or kerosene lamps or such, stop by.”
“Bethel Graber.” Bethel allowed her hand to be enveloped in Diana’s. “We brought most
everything we need.”
“You should get on down the road then.” The comment came from a bent old man with
a face like a bulldog who ambled past Diana’s store, leaning on a cane and sucking
on a reeking cigar. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and spat on the sidewalk. “And
be sure you pick up after that horse. We don’t want someone slipping in manure on
our clean streets. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“You just hush, Sam Black. You ain’t the mayor no more. You’re retired. If you can’t
say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Diana shook her finger at Sam. “ You can just move on down the road, you grumpy old man.”
Sam kept right on walking and Diana turned back to them. “Don’t mind him. He’s the
grumpiest of the grumpy old men who think they run this town. My husband is an auctioneer.
You ever need to do a sale, look us up. Doolittle and Doolittle Auctions and Farm
Sales.”
“We should be on our way.” Bethel couldn’t read Elijah’s expression. It might be a
smirk. “Elijah needs to pick up supplies at the hardware store, the grocery store,
the lumber store, and the feed store while I’m at the doctor. Can you tell him how
to get to those places as well?”
“Is this your husband or your boyfriend?” Diana
called Dizzy’s Burger Joint. It struck her that this new town had no hitching posts.
She saw no Slow for buggy signs or No Hitching signs or stores with familiar Plain names. More than one person stopped to watch
them make their way through the town.
“Luke gave me a map he picked up when he was here the last time.” Elijah pulled the
wagon over to the curb and stopped. “Let me look at it again.”
A lady wearing jeans and an embroidered work shirt paused, a broom in her hand. She
stood in front of a long storefront with the words Antique Mall and Flea Market printed in gold letters across windows featuring displays of old rocking chairs,
Raggedy Ann dolls, and Singer sewing machines. She approached the street. “You folks
lost? Can I help you?”
“We need the medical center,” Bethel said when Elijah didn’t speak right away. “Can
you give us directions?”
The expression on the woman’s plump face changed under her tidy cap of silver hair.
She hustled over to the side of the wagon. “Are you hurt or sick or what?” She tugged
a tiny, flat phone from her pocket. “Should I call 911 for an ambulance? The medical
center is on the other side of town.”
In a town this size, that couldn’t be too far. “No, but thank you, it’s not an emergency.
I should’ve been clearer. We’re looking for the rehabilitation clinic that’s near
the medical center.” Bethel managed to wedge the words in when the woman paused to
take a breath. “We’re new to town so we—”
“Don’t I know it! Y’all have been the talk of the town for weeks now. We get lots
of people on their way to camp in the Ozarks or tourists looking for Branson, but
not folks like you. Aren’t you as cute as all get-out in those outfits. Like pioneers
on the prairie. I’ve read some of those Amish romance novels so I know what to expect.
These other folks are just ignorant. Don’t mind them.”
Pioneers. Romance novels. Don’t mind them? Bethel was afraid to ask what the lady
meant by her torrential onslaught of words. Elijah held up a hand and saved her from
responding. “It looks like I take a left at the next corner and go about four blocks,
then left again.”
“That’s exactly right. The rehab clinic is about six blocks from the medical center.”
The lady wiped her hand on her jeans and extended it to Bethel. “I’m Diana Doolittle,
owner of the best junk store in town.” She cocked her head toward the building behind
her. “You need any dishes or kerosene lamps or such, stop by.”
“Bethel Graber.” Bethel allowed her hand to be enveloped in Diana’s. “We brought most
everything we need.”
“You should get on down the road then.” The comment came from a bent old man with
a face like a bulldog who ambled past Diana’s store, leaning on a cane and sucking
on a reeking cigar. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and spat on the sidewalk. “And
be sure you pick up after that horse. We don’t want someone slipping in manure on
our clean streets. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“You just hush, Sam Black. You ain’t the mayor no more. You’re retired. If you can’t
say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Diana shook her finger at Sam. “ You can just move on down the road, you grumpy old man.”
Sam kept right on walking and Diana turned back to them. “Don’t mind him. He’s the
grumpiest of the grumpy old men who think they run this town. My husband is an auctioneer.
You ever need to do a sale, look us up. Doolittle and Doolittle Auctions and Farm
Sales.”
“We should be on our way.” Bethel couldn’t read Elijah’s expression. It might be a
smirk. “Elijah needs to pick up supplies at the hardware store, the grocery store,
the lumber store, and the feed store while I’m at the doctor. Can you tell him how
to get to those places as well?”
“Is this your husband or your boyfriend?” Diana
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