“Okay!” Martha imitated her. They hugged each other. She’ll be all right, Fern thought. A hot tear started to form again in Fern’s eye. I’ve had enough crying, she thought. Martha pointed at it, questioning.

“Dust,” Fern said, swiping it away.

When Fern announced they were going to town, Martha’s eyes got shiny and excited. She picked out her favorite dress and slipped it on, then watched her mother get ready, watched her brush her long gray hair, then twist it up in a bun. She powdered her nose and put on red lipstick. This routine fascinated Martha, and she was content to watch, anticipation of the trip to town forgotten as she shared this time with her mother.

They walked quietly down the road, nervous energy flowing through Martha, a dreaded heaviness in Fern.

First stop was the bank. Mr. Hillis saw them coming through the doorway and came right up to meet them. He introduced Martha to each of the tellers, and together he and Fern explained that this is where she should come for money to go to the store. “Just come in and ask for twenty dollars,” Fern told her several times. Martha seemed to understand. Mr. Hillis had suggested that she just open an account with McRae’s, to be paid by the bank, but Fern wisely suggested that Martha needed more contact with people—she would be so alone at the farm. Mr. Hillis agreed, and so it was settled. A wise old woman, Mr. Hillis thought.

Martha cheerfully smiled her crooked way at all the pretty girls in the windows. They all smiled and waved to her until she was embarrassed and turned toward the corner window to look at her reflection. Fern thanked Mr. Hillis, waved to the girls, and took her out.

They looked both ways before crossing the street and going into Dave McRae’s store. Dave had inherited the store when Hiram retired ten years ago. He was a very pleasant man, eager to help. When Fern told him her mission, he could see the wisdom in her actions, but was saddened to think that this wonderful woman would eventually be taken from their lives. And it was with sadness in his face that he greeted them both on this important day.

“Mr. McRae will be your best friend, Martha. Your friend.” Martha smiled up at him shyly. “Whatever you need, you come here, see Mr. McRae, okay?” Martha wandered off, looking at all the bright packages and bottles and cans and jars, while her mother and the nice man with no hair talked. Soon she was called back.

“Concentrate now, Martha. You get money at the bank, and you bring it here, okay? Mr. McRae will give you flour and milk, and the other things you need, okay?”

“Okay!”