by Deeanne Gist
‘‘What is it?’’ Essie gasped. ‘‘What has happened?’’
Harley, brown eyes wide with terror, pointed to a large, flat rock surrounded by weeds. Napping on top of its smooth surface was one of the most gorgeous prairie king snakes she had ever seen.
‘‘Hush!’’ she whispered, laying a hand on Emily’s shoulder. ‘‘You must hush at once.’’
The screams subsided into whimpers.
‘‘Quickly, run next door and ask Mrs. Pennington for a gunnysack. Hurry.’’
The freckled girl darted away to do Essie’s bidding, her long red braids flapping behind her.
‘‘Is it poisonous?’’ Harley asked, his bare feet sticking out of trousers a good three inches too short.
‘‘No, no. On the contrary, it is one of the finest snakes you’ll ever see.’’
During her snake-collecting days, she and Papa had invented a rating system. The yellow-bellied water snake ranked higher than the ribbon snake. The hognose above the water. The rat above the hognose. The speckled king above the rat. And the prairie king above them all.
This snake was an exceptional specimen, with the smooth, dry scales of a recently shed skin. As it glistened in the morning light, she noted spots of chocolate brown speckling its beautiful tan hide, and its small head wore brown lightning bolts.
The girl finally returned and handed an empty flour sack to Essie.
Holding a finger to her lips, she silenced the children. With slow, quiet steps, she advanced, loosening her hold on the flour sack until it gaped open, then, with her free hand, snatched the three-and-a-half-foot reptile from the rock.
Emily screamed. The snake writhed and twisted in Essie’s hand, spraying her with musk, but never attempted to bite her.
She lowered the king into the flour sack, knotted the opening, then spoke to it in a soothing voice. ‘‘Hush, now. It’s going to be all right.’’
‘‘Golly, Miss Essie,’’ Harley said, his eyes wide. ‘‘What are you gonna do with it now?’’
The snake hissed and wove around.
‘‘I’m not sure. Are y’all okay?’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ he said, though the girl still hovered behind him.
‘‘Why don’t you walk Emily home, Harley? Think you could do that for me?’’
‘‘I reckon.’’
‘‘Go on, then. I’ll take care of the snake.’’ She waved them off, then headed back home. She’d have to bathe after being sprayed, which would make her late for work. But she wasn’t worried. It was no coincidence the Lord had dropped this piece of manna from heaven. She’d prayed for something better than a black bear hide, and she’d gotten reptile royalty.
Everything was going to be fine now. Just fine.
————
Essie set the flour sack, snake and all, just outside the back door of the Slap Out.
‘‘Sorry I’m late,’’ she said, entering the storage room.
Hamilton hoisted a bag of grain onto his shoulder, then turned. ‘‘Is everything all right? You’re not sick again, are you?’’
‘‘Good heavens, no. I hardly ever get sick.’’ She tied her apron on. ‘‘I figured I’d go ahead and start on the rest of these shelves. You think you could mind the store without me for a while?’’
He nodded. ‘‘So long as Miss Lizzie doesn’t want any more fabric, I can. But if it gets busy, then come on out front with me.’’
‘‘Will do.’’
The entry door jingled and he strode through the partition. As soon as he cleared the curtain, she grabbed a peach crate, wiped it down and laid a bed of newspaper in the bottom. Rummaging through the shelves, she found a small bowl, an empty cracker box, and a piece of poultry netting.
Outside, she scoured around for a limb, cleaned it and returned to organize the king’s crate. Once all was in readiness, she opened the bag and poured the lightly floured snake into the crate.
He coiled immediately, lifting his head high and furiously buzzing his tail.
Essie smiled. ‘‘You don’t fool me. I’ve known the difference between a rattler and a prairie king since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.’’
The reptile whirred in reverse, darting inside the open-ended cracker box, buzzing away. The front door jingled again.
Essie placed the mesh screen across the opening, weighing it down with a couple of rocks.
‘‘You hungry? Well, you better stop your fussing, then. I have no intention of feeding you anything until you settle down. You hear?’’
The quivering tail rat-a-tat-tatted against the wall of the box.
————
Essie’s stomach growled and she glanced at the clock behind the counter. Almost noon. They’d been unusually busy for a Tuesday. Neither she nor Hamilton had had time to do anything other than wait on customers and it still hadn’t slowed. A couple of women were perusing Hamilton’s selection of garden teas, and old Mr. Mapey was just walking in.
‘‘Hmmm,’’ Mrs. Lockhart said, spinning the catalog toward Essie. ‘‘What about this one?’’
Essie looked at the title Mrs. Lockhart pointed to with her crooked, wrinkled finger. She’d finished reading Clarabel’s Love Story in one day and wanted another of Mrs. Clay’s novels.
‘‘Beyond Pardon,’’ Essie read. ‘‘I’m not so sure. Sounds a bit, um, questionable, don’t you think?’’
The woman’s face wilted in disappointment.
Essie absorbed her surprise at Mrs. Lockhart’s tendency toward such silly books. She should undertake a more improved course of reading. ‘‘What about Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott?’’
Mrs. Lockhart crinkled her nose and squinted at the catalog through her spectacles. ‘‘What about Only One Sin?’’
Good heavens. ‘‘Well. I suppose everyone’s sinned at least once.’’
The elderly woman straightened, a triumphant look upon her face. ‘‘Perhaps even twice!’’
Essie nodded. ‘‘Shall I order—’’
A crash, a scream, and a shocking curse from the back room brought everyone to a standstill. The curtained door swished open. Hamilton stood at its entrance, face flushed, eyes snapping with violent anger.
His gaze found Essie at once. ‘‘Get back here.’’
She stood frozen to the spot.
‘‘Now!’’
She jumped. ‘‘Would you excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Lockhart?’’
The woman’s regard bounced between Essie and Hamilton, her eyebrows going up. ‘‘Of course, dear. I’ll just look over the book list a little while longer. You’d best go on, though.’’
Hamilton’s shoulders rose and fell like a bellows breathing a flame to life. He clenched the curtain open with a balled fist, then released it as she slipped by him, cutting them off from curious stares.
Grabbing her arm none too gently, he propelled her around some fallen buckets and toward the peach crate. ‘‘Just what the blazes is that?’’ he hissed.
‘‘A snake?’’
He swore. ‘‘I know what it is, Essie. I meant what is it doing here?’’
She touched her stomach. ‘‘Hamilton! You mustn’t curse.’’
His eyes narrowed. ‘‘Essie Spreckelmeyer, I will commit a much more grievous sin than that if you do not explain yourself immediately.’’
She knelt beside the crate and lifted the top just a crack so he could glimpse the speckled treasure within. ‘‘That’s our bearskin.’’
‘‘What are you talking about?’’
‘‘When everyone hears what we have, they’ll come from all over to see it.’’
‘‘You expect me to put that thing out there where my customers are? Woman, are you demented or just plain stupid?’’
She sucked in her breath. ‘‘There is no need to get testy, Hamilton. This is an excellent plan.’’ She snapped the crate lid shut. ‘‘Why, it’s even an answer to prayer.’’
‘‘An answer to prayer? Satan uses snakes, Essie, not God.’’
She rose to her full height and brushed the dust from her skirts. ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. God made it and He gave it to me.’’
‘‘Then you can jolly well take it back home with you. I’ll not risk injuring one of my customers.’’
‘‘No, no,’’ she said, clasping her hands in an effort to remain patient. ‘‘It’s not a rattlesnake. It’s not poisonous at all. It’s a prairie king snake. They’re quite harmless and not nearly as irritable as other kinds of snakes.’’
They stood facing each other, the only sound that of the snake’s tail buzzing inside the cracker box.
‘‘Then why is it rattling?’’ he asked.
‘‘It’s only shaking its tail, trying to scare off its enemies. You would, too, if you’d been living in the wild all this time and suddenly found yourself confined to a cracker box. It will settle down.’’
‘‘And what if it doesn’t?’’ he said, his voice rising.
‘‘Hush,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Someone will hear you.’’
‘‘I want that snake out of here.’’
She grabbed his shirt-sleeve. ‘‘Don’t you see? It’s perfect. Most snakes have scars from encounters with their enemies. But this one— this one has no bobbed tail, puckered wound, healed sore or anything. It’s as if God had been protecting it all this time just for us. Why, never have I caught such an exquisite specimen.’’
‘‘You caught that thing?’’
She cocked her head. ‘‘Well, of course. Where do you think I got it? The Flour, Feed and Liquor Store?’’
He yanked his arm free. ‘‘It will scare more customers away than it will bring in.’’
‘‘I don’t think so. Especially if we have a snake-naming contest.’’
He crossed his arms.
‘‘Everyone can submit names for the snake,’’ she explained, ‘‘and then we can put it to a vote and whoever wins can receive a prize from the store.’’ She tapped her fingernail against her apron. ‘‘But it must be a big prize. Something that will generate excitement . . . and sales, of course.’’
‘‘A prize? Like what?’’
‘‘Oh, I don’t know. A pocket watch or a brooch or a . . . a camera!
That would be perfect. It would appeal to men, women, and children alike.’’
‘‘A camera? That’s way too much money. I’m not giving away a camera.’’
‘‘I’m not talking about a new order. I’m talking about overstock. Why, you have a Hawkeye Junior up on the shelf right there. Never been opened. I found it when I cleaned up yesterday.’’
He scanned the shelves, then grabbed a large rectangular box. ‘‘This thing costs seven dollars and twenty cents.’’
‘‘Well, yes, but to keep using it, the customer will have to buy glass plates, which cost ninety cents each, or a roll of film, which is fifty-five. Besides, you have two Hawkeyes out in the store going nowhere.’’
He glanced down at the peach crate and scratched the back of his head. ‘‘I don’t know, Essie.’’
‘‘I do. We’ll get the whole community involved. We can take nominations for names this week, give everyone the following week to cast their vote, and announce the winner of the prize the Saturday after that. Townsfolk will talk about the contest in their parlors, at their dinner tables, and at their social club meetings. And if for no other reason than curiosity, they’ll come in to see the snake.’’
She held her breath. She knew it would work. She’d make sure of it.
Handing her the camera, he sighed. ‘‘All right, but you’re in charge of that serpent. I’m not cleaning its cage or feeding it or running this contest. You’ll have to do it all. And if it upsets my customers, it goes. Is that understood?’’
She grabbed his lapel, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then released him before he could blink. ‘‘Oh, thank you, Hamilton. You’ll not be sorry, I promise.’’
Scurrying out of the storage room, she returned to the counter and placed the camera underneath. ‘‘Now, Mrs. Lockhart, I believe you were wanting to order Only One Sin by Mrs. Bertha Clay, is that correct?’’
But Mrs. Lockhart ignored the catalog. ‘‘Is everything, um, all right, dear?’’
‘‘Why, yes.’’ Essie glanced at the other customers eyeing her curiously. ‘‘Oh, you mean back there?’’
Mrs. Lockhart gave her a nod.
‘‘Yes, ma’am. We have everything all settled now.’’
‘‘Do you, indeed?’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’
‘‘Splendid, splendid!’’ She patted Essie’s hand. ‘‘Now, I should like to order Only One Sin, Beyond Pardon, and A Mad Love, please.’’
————
The following morning, Essie arrived at the store before Hamilton came downstairs. She slipped in the back door, lit a candle and set it down beside the king’s crate.
After the initial shock of his capture had worn off yesterday, the snake had settled down and not rattled his tail at all. He’d even begun to nose around his new home of wood, tree limb, and newsprint. The final test would be whether or not he would eat. She’d had snakes before that had been so shocked by captivity, they’d refused to feed.
Opening her drawstring coin pouch, she lifted out a live white mouse by its tail and placed it in the crate.
Soon as it hit the newspaper, the mouse scurried to the corner, quivering. The snake poked its head out of the cracker box, forked tongue searching the scented air. Essie nodded, willing him to strike. The king stiffened, then shot forward and grabbed its prey, swallowing it whole.
Praise the Lord, Essie thought. All will be well.
chapter FIVE
HAMILTON WRAPPED UP two dozen finishing nails. ‘‘That’ll be ten cents, George.’’
The young carpenter reached into a deep pocket of his brown duck overalls and pulled out a handful of change, all the while keeping his gaze on Essie.
Boys of every size and shape stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounding her like staves in the side of a barrel. She held the snake in her hands, letting it coil around her wrist and slither up her arm and onto her shoulder.
The boys watched wide-eyed as she took the snake by the neck and held it out for them to touch. A couple of the braver ones ran their fingers along the smooth, dry scales.
‘‘That’s one strange woman,’’ George said. ‘‘Ain’t natural the way she’s so brash.’’
Hamilton agreed but refrained from saying so. The snake had definitely created an uproar, which had been good for business, but not so good for Essie. He wondered how a girl with so much smarts could have no sense of propriety. Her mother was well-known for being socially correct in every way. The poor woman must succumb to vapors on a regular basis over the behavior of her daughter.
Still, the snake brought in crowds of children and with them came their mothers, milling around, gossiping and shopping. So as long as customers came to watch, he’d ignore the unseemly side of the spectacle.
He glanced back at George, surprised to see the man’s face bright red.
‘‘Meant no offense,’’ George said.
‘‘None taken.’’
The man quickly paid for his purchase and hurried out the door just as a stranger entered. A tall cowboy. He stood inside, taking a quick survey of the store. The snake caught his eye immediately, but he soon pulled his gaze to Mrs. Tyner and her maiden daughter, Miss Sadie. Approaching them, he doffed his hat, laying it across his chest, and bowed slightly.
Both women simpered. The cowboy winked at the older woman, then looked the younger up and down.
‘‘How-deeeeee-do,’’ he said, slow and lazy.
Miss Sadie’s cheeks filled with color and Mrs. Tyner hustled her back to the dry goods section, where Mrs. Lockhart examined a bolt of cotton.
The man strolled through the store, bowing, smiling, and ‘‘howdy-do’’ing every woman regardless of age, shape, or size. His spurs jangled with each step and scraped Hamilton’s carefu
lly polished floor.
The cowboy paused at the stove and introduced himself to Vandervoort and his cronies. The whole shop grew quiet, the patrons craning to overhear the conversation. The ladies pretended to fiddle with various sundries as they marked every move the cowboy made and whispered furiously to one another.
He set his hat down and unhooked a tin cup from the wall, then poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip, he wandered over to where Essie was holding court. Hamilton drew satisfaction in advance for what he knew Essie’s reaction would be to the philanderer. She was not one to have her head turned by a pretty face and charming manners. No, she’d set him in his place, all right.
The cowboy stood like a captain on the quarterdeck, his feet spread wide. He took another sip of coffee. Essie glanced up, her lips parting as she gaped at the wrangler.
The snake, forgotten in her hands, slithered up her arm, across her shoulder, behind her neck, and back around, draping itself across her like a winter scarf. It glided down her chest, calling attention to her womanly features as it lifted its head into the air.
The man tracked the reptile’s progress, and the corners of his mouth crooked up. ‘‘My name’s Adam. Adam Currington. And if your name’s Eve, I do believe I’m in a whole passel of trouble.’’
‘‘Her name ain’t Eve, mister,’’ young Harley North said. ‘‘It’s Miss Essie.’’
His smile widened, forming large brackets on both sides of his face. ‘‘Eve. Essie. That’s mighty close, if I do say so myself.’’
‘‘You cain’t call her that lessen she gives ya permission. ’Til then, you’d best be calling her Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘‘Spreckelmeyer? The judge’s daughter?’’
She nodded, still in a daze.
He set his coffee on a barrel and stepped through the circle of boys. Lifting his palm like a beggar, he let the snake pass from her chest to his hand, then up the length of his arm where it crinkled his blue shirt and coiled around muscles that were clearly accustomed to heavy work.
‘‘I do believe this is the prettiest catch I’ve seen in a long, long while,’’ he drawled.