Come on Badger, move your butt, before you get stepped on, remanded Emily to the fat, tabby striped feline on the floor. He was lying in his favorite sunshine spot on the polished hardwood below the shops bay window. She gave him a gentle shove with her big toe that he ignored in typical cat-like fashion. Maybe he was resting up for his day ahead as official store greeter. Finally, he lazily sat up, stretched, and opened his whiskery mouth into a big cat yawn. He eyed his owner indifferently, blinked twice, strode to another spot a foot away and lay down again. He rolled onto his back, daring his owner to attempt a belly rub, as he tried not to watch her through half-open lids.
You need to get a job, Mister, besides dusting up the floor and windows with your big hairy body. Emily said softly as she stooped to scratch his chin. She coughed as she stood up, dry and hacking, and figured the cat had managed to actually find some dust on that puffy mop-like swirling tail. If I would have wanted a feather duster, I couldve gone to the Dollar Store instead of the County Pound, she chastised. And I wouldnt have to be buying Cat Chow for the Obese Feline at Publix either! Badger just closed his eyes and stretched out even farther, making himself even bigger and longer, oblivious to his mistresss comments. Sighing in exasperation, Emily stepped over the rotund and fluffy mass at her feet and headed to the rear of the store.
On this warm and muggy August Florida morning, Emily Vanderhorn had more important things to do. She stopped briefly under one of the swirling fans, their wicker blades sending cooling breezes throughout the establishment. Emily raised her arms as if to the heavens, enjoying the airy sensation and sighing with satisfaction. She felt the entering coolness fill her sleeveless blouse with billows of comfort. What Emily did not feel were the approaching winds of change. This ordinary day would soon begin blowing her life off course. Not the life everyone saw here at FAVORS .her other life.
Oblivious to the coming whirlwinds, Emily toiled efficiently. Except for some unpacking of new inventory and the late week cleaning she did herself, she was almost finished with her work. The neatly organized storeroom behind the customer area was almost empty; most of the recently delivered boxes had been opened and inspected. Emily was meticulous about her sample items put out for display. They were personally and carefully arranged as new pieces were added. Her clients wanted the best and only the very best. The presentations had to be perfect.
Emily reached for the first of five cardboard boxes labeled Fragile that were stacked on the floor at the rear of the store. For some unknown reason she had some special anticipation about this order. She drew the razor sharp box cutter from one of her apron pockets, and deftly sliced the plastic taped edges of the first box. The box contained several imported English porcelain figurines she was planning to display in the gift area of the store. Each was unique and expensive, beautiful and finely detailed. She paused to admire each one as she lifted it from the foam peanut packing and unrolled it from its plastic bubble wrapped protector. This box contained figures of children at play. An innocent laughing merrily, mouth wide open on a swing, hair blowing in the wind, Emily could almost hear the happy squeal of delight just by looking at the artists naturalistic work. Next she found a figure of a little boy who had a calico kitten sitting on his lap while he teased it with a soft tipped weed. Emily could imagine the little tail swishing in excitement as it readied to leap at the elusive swaying prey. So realistic looking, yet whose childhood was this ideal? thought Emily. Children and animals were her loves. Never trust adults! Emily had morals. They were just a little different.
She reached for the next wrapped item and began to unfurl it from its cover. A small blond sunny-cheeked girl in pigtails, bib overalls, and holding carrots behind her back, was touching noses with a pretty pinto pony. They were standing in meadow grass filled with daisies and clover. It was so life-like, that Emily suddenly could feel the warm summer sun on her own cheeks. Transported unwillingly and feeling light-headed, she felt a familiar humid breeze blowing through rain soaked cedar trees. Emily could smell the damp loamy woods near the beat down shamble of a cabin she had once called home. It was nothing more than a shack made up of discarded sheets of tin roofing and logs and sticks from the forest. Windows and lumber for the porch front had been begged or stolen from the nearby sawmill. Mrs. Emily Vanderhorn did not want to make this return trip. But again it was June 12, 1936 Waverly, Alabama.
|