Trudy worried no one would sign up, but two days after putting the sign in the window, they’d hit their maximum limit of students—all locals except for three women on vacation from Mississippi. They’d even had to turn people away, prompting Trudy to quickly schedule two more classes. This morning was the first class, and as Maya moved the rack of tote bags, Trudy burst through the front door with a box in her hands.

“I can help you.” Maya set the rack down carefully and took the box from Trudy’s hands. “Are these shells?” She set the box down on Trudy’s worktable and peeked inside. “Ooh, these are perfect.” Maya pulled out a plastic bag of small sand dollars. “Are these for the class?”

Trudy shrugged, then stuck her fists to her hips. She surveyed the materials on the table, then pointed to the small room at the back they’d decided would be their classroom.

“You got it.” Maya was already well versed in reading Trudy’s silent communication. “I’ll help you move everything.”

For the next half hour Maya and Trudy bustled back and forth between Trudy’s work space and the classroom, draping plastic tablecloths over card tables they’d set out yesterday, moving boxes of materials, and setting up tools and supplies. Violet took up Maya’s discarded dustcloth and finished the job and chatted with customers as they floated in. Some were shopping for particular items, while others were just browsing, lured in by the bustle and energy in the shop. Violet made herself available for help if needed but hung back and allowed customers the comfort of shopping without distraction.

With a few minutes to go before class started, the shop was pulsing with life. Emmajean stopped in on her way to the library, but finding the tables at the front of the store already occupied, she gave a thumbs-up to Violet and mouthed, Looking good in here! As class attendees arrived, Violet showed them to the room at the back, and by eleven o’clock, every seat but one was occupied. When the last attendee arrived with a flurry of apology about her lateness, Violet walked her back, then paused by the door before walking out.

Trudy stood at the front of the room with Maya at her elbow. She and Maya had already rehearsed—via myriad pieces of paper written and erased and rewritten—what they’d say and how they’d teach. Trudy nodded at Maya to begin.

“Welcome to the very first mixed-media class taught by Sugar Bend’s own resident artist, Trudy Figg.” Trudy’s cheeks pinked at Maya’s words and her brow creased, but Maya only smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the notes from here on out.”

“Trudy will be teaching the class today, but it’ll be a little different than you might expect. The first thing you need to do is take a minute to get acquainted with the materials on the table in front of you.”

As Trudy’s closest companion for so many years, Violet was used to speaking for her sister. But watching Trudy standing at the front of the classroom, all eyes on her even though no sound came from her mouth, Violet understood that a baton had been passed. Trudy’s own words finally had a voice. That voice might belong to a young woman, but the words were Trudy’s. The voice was hers.