“You’re right,” the stranger said. “Absolutely and positively one-hundred-percent right. Leave it to a woman, I always say, to look after the practical side of things.”

Gradually, throughout the conversation, a plan took form in Ella’s mind. She didn’t go out with boys very often, Hank knew that, and maybe that was why he acted the way he did. Maybe if he found out that she had a date with a perfect stranger—from Hollywood!—then he’d be a little nicer and not so big brother about things.

The young man said, “We could use a flashlight,” and they both chuckled; then he said, “Seriously, are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I’ve got—”

“Southern hospitality, remember.”

“But I don’t even know who you are or what you do or anything.”

“I told you—I’m Adam Cramer, and I’m going to be working with an organization right here in town, here in Caxton. Why don’t you give me your home address and I’ll drop by and meet your folks. If they don’t like me, I’ll slink away, never to be seen. If they do, we’ll go to a movie. Fair enough?”

Ella swallowed. Feeling quite sophisticated and adventurous, she said, “I live at 442 Lombard, up the hill on Bradley Street. You know where the post office is?”

“No, but I’ll find it.” The young man removed a small notebook from his pocket and wrote down the address. “Thanks, Ella,” he said. “Now I don’t feel so alone.”

She found that she was unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t promise anything,” she said.

“Eight o’clock?”

She shrugged.

“Eight o’clock. See you then.” He pulled his jacket on, smiled again, and walked out of the store.

3

3

As he pulled up in front of the drugstore, Tom McDaniel thought of the word he had been searching for and tried to find a pencil; but, of course, his pockets were empty.

“Schism,” he said aloud, “schism,” and walked to the glass door. “The organized Citizens’ Councils are a dangerous schism—”

He knocked.

The door was opened by Rolfe Higgins, who wagged his finger. “Late again,” he said.

“I know. I know.” Tom smiled at Ella. “I got swamped. The second press is out again, and—”

“—you-just-let-the-time-slip-by.” Higgins laughed and turned to Ella. “It’s a wonder your father remembers to put his pants on in the morning!”

“Oh, come on,” Tom said. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Pretty bad. You know, you haven’t picked her up on time since she’s been working here; and there was twice we waited forty minutes and I had to drive her home myself!”

“Well . . .” Tom grinned sheepishly, secretly wishing that Higgins would shut up. It was good-natured digging, but there was real accusation behind it, somewhere. “Ella understands,” he said. “Don’t you, kitten?”

Ella said, “Sure.”