Dorothy Garlock Read Free

nice to have neighbors.”
    “’Cause they’re hill trash, that’s why.” His mouth snapped shut, and Annabel knew he didn’t want any more questions about them.
    Henderson was a quaint village on the banks of the Mississippi River, with white picket fences and cobblestone streets. A white church spire rose high above the town. Murphy parked the car in front of the mercantile. Annabel went into the store while he walked on down the street to the barbershop. The man behind the counter greeted her with a friendly smile.
    “Mornin’, ma’am.”
    “Morning. I have a list for you to fill.” She placed a sheet of ruled paper on the counter. “Do you know where in town I can buy gramophone needles and violin strings?”
    “I have the needles and maybe you can get the violin strings from Arnold Potter down the street at the drugstore. He’s the conductor of our municipal band and he might keep a few on hand.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Play, do ya?”
    “For my own amusement.”
    “Arnold will latch on to ya right quick.” The store-keeper’s eyes twinkled when he laughed, and his belly jiggled beneath the apron tied about his ample waist. “He’s the beatin’est man for music. Lives for it.”
    “I enjoy it myself.”
    “I … ah, ain’t heard of any new folks movin’ to town.”
    “My father bought the Miller place five miles north of here.”
    “Ah … the Miller place. Ah … hummm. Not much land there if he’s goin’ to farm.” The man stuck out his hand. “Luther Hogg.”
    “Annabel Donovan.” She put her hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hogg. Add a package of gramophone needles to my list. I’ll be back as soon as I see Mr. Potter about the violin strings.”
    Arnold Potter was a man with a head of thick white hair and equally white eyebrows and mustache. He was as curious as Mr. Hogg about a stranger in town; and after Annabel told him about moving to the farm, she asked about the violin strings. Mr. Potter’s blue eyes sparkled as they talked about music. He spoke at length about his band and he eyed, with pleasure, the slim girl in the blue cotton dress and the small-brimmed hat.
    “I’d be most pleased to have you audition, my dear.”
    “Thank you, but I’ve never played with a band. I was taught by my mother and play only for my own amusement.”
    “We have a concert Sunday afternoon in the city park,” he said while accepting the money for the violin strings, then added, “Need rosin for your bow?”
    “No, thank you. I have some.”
    “I’ll look for you at the concert,” he said as she went out the door.
    Annabel crossed back to the mercantile. Mr. Hogg had just finished setting the items on her list on the counter and was totaling the bill.
    “Did Arnold have the strings?” he asked.
    “He did. Thank you for sending me to him.”
    Mr. Hogg chuckled. “Bet he talked your arm off.”
    “Yes, sir.” Annabel smiled. “He got pretty wound up talking about his band.”
    The bell on the screen door tinkled when Murphy came into the store. He spied Annabel and came to the counter.
    “Find everything you need?” he asked, pronouncing the words carefully lest his Irish accent show.
    Annabel nodded. “Papa, meet Mr. Hogg. Sir, this is my father, Murphy Donovan.”
    “Howdy.” After the two men shook hands, Murphy spoke to Annabel.
    “Look around, darlin’, and see if there’s anythin’ you want on that table of dress goods over there. I’ll be here gettin’ acquainted with Mr. Hogg.”
    Annabel moved to the other side of the store and sifted through the bolts of material. She found a blue-and-white-checked gingham she could use to make a curtain for the kitchen door and the bottom half of the two kitchen windows. The ones she had brought from the other house would do for the top panes.
    While she spread out the cloth to examine it she noticed that her father had moved close to Mr. Hogg and that they were deep in conversation. She lingered at the table of lace,