Main Street #1: Welcome to Camden Falls (2 page)

Time had passed, and suddenly it was June. Amazing, Flora thought. A little over five months had gone by since the night of the accident. School had ended, Min had sold their house and most of their things, Flora and Ruby had said good-bye to Annika and the rest of their friends, and now they were making a final, one-way trip to Camden Falls.

So here was Flora, curled in the backseat with the sleeping Ruby and King Comma, while in the front, Min drove purposefully on, Daisy Dear at her side. A U-Haul lurched along behind the car, loaded with the girls’ clothes and bedroom furniture, their toys and books and games, Ruby’s tap shoes, and Flora’s art supplies.

Flora and Ruby, orphans, were on the way to their new lives.

“Ah! Here we go!” Min called gaily from the front seat. “The Mass Pike. We’re almost there.”

Ruby stirred and opened her eyes. “The turnpike?” she mumbled. “How many more hours?”

“Just a couple,” Min replied.

“I’m bored,” said Ruby.

“You’ve been asleep,” Flora pointed out. “How can you be bored?”

“I just am.”

“Let’s sing songs,” said Min, and she pushed the button to turn off her CD. “How about a round? How about ‘Tender Shepherd’? I’ll start.”

Ruby and Flora joined in listlessly.

Finally, Ruby announced that she was bored again.

“Want to play the license plate game?” Flora asked.

Ruby shook her head.

“Anyone need a bathroom break?” asked Min. “Wait. I have an idea.”

“What?” asked Ruby.

“You’ll see.”

A few minutes later, Min pulled off the turnpike. “I think we need ice cream,” she said. She drove around a small town until she came to a weathered wooden building sitting alone at the end of a narrow lane. A sign by the door read:

“Well, this looks like the place for us,” said Min.

“I guess I
could
use some worms,” said Flora, which made Ruby and Min laugh.

Min parked the car and everyone rolled down the windows so King and Daisy would have plenty of air. Flora and Ruby climbed stiffly out of the car and stretched their legs, while Min said, “You be good, Daisy Dear. No barking while we’re gone.”

Ruby opened the door to the Snack Shack. Inside was one big room crowded with shelves of souvenirs. Along the back wall was a counter with eight red stools lined in front of it. Behind the counter stood a man with silver hair wearing a greasy apron that might have been white or gray or brown. It was hard to tell.

“Greetings, folks!” said the man. “I’m Phil. Welcome to the Snack Shack. What can I get for you?”

“Ice-cream sundaes,” said Min firmly, “all around.”

“Ice-cream
sun
daes?” repeated Ruby.

“Really?” said Flora.

“It’s a special occasion,” replied Min.

Phil made three sundaes and said that Min and the girls were welcome to eat them outside at the picnic table.

So they did. Flora kept an eye on the car. She suspected that King was hissing in his carrier. Ruby looked at the sky, at the pine trees, and breathed in deeply. “It smells different here than at home,” she said.

“This is New England,” said Min proudly.

Back in the Snack Shack, after Min and Ruby and Flora had scraped every last bit of ice cream from their dishes and returned them to Phil, Min said, “Why don’t you each choose a souvenir? Something to remember this trip by.”

Flora could feel her lower lip tremble. She wasn’t sure she wanted something to remember this trip by. But she didn’t want to hurt Min’s feelings. She turned away, wandered up and down the aisles, fingered pine pillows and tallow candles, and looked at a display of maple syrup jugs. Ruby eyed the penny candy.

In the end, Flora chose a small box containing a single piece of maple sugar candy and Ruby chose a bag of Mary Janes and jawbreakers. The souvenirs would be gone by the next day. Flora saw that Min knew this, but nobody said anything. They thanked Phil and returned to the car.

Min drove on. Flora and Ruby sat silently, gazing out the windows. After a while, Ruby sighed hugely and said, “How much
long
er is this
trip
going to
take
?”

“No whining,” said Min. “And the answer to your question is about fifteen minutes. Look. There’s our exit.”

Min steered the car off the turnpike. The U-Haul rumbling behind, they drove along a smaller highway, then along Route 6A, with the ponds and beaver dams on one side, the thick maple trees on the other.

At last, Ruby said softly, “There it is.”

Flora saw the sign that read
WELCOME TO CAMDEN FALLS
. She felt her lip start to tremble again, felt her stomach drop. This was it. This was the very end of her old life — and the very beginning of her new life.

She willed herself not to cry. And then she felt Ruby’s hand in hers and gripped it.

Min glanced in the rearview mirror at her granddaughters. “Ready?” she asked.

She pulled up to an intersection. A green sign ahead of them read
LAWRENCE
with an arrow pointing to the left, and
CAMDEN FALLS
with an arrow pointing to the right. Min turned right, then right again, and Main Street stretched ahead.

Old Mary Woolsey sat on a bench in front of Needle and Thread. It was a fine, warm Saturday in June, and she had no customers in the store at the moment. Sometimes when things were slow, she liked to sit outside, even in cold weather. Evelyn Walter and Min Read, the owners of the store, didn’t mind. Often, one of them would bring her coffee or tea while she sat.

Mary knew that lots of people in Camden Falls, especially the children, thought she was strange. They rarely spoke to her unless something needed mending or altering. That was all right with Mary. She liked to sit quietly and watch. She had learned an awful lot about Camden Falls and its people just by watching.

For instance, over there was Lydia Malone, who lived next door to Min Read in the Row Houses. Lydia was a teenager now, thirteen or fourteen maybe, and Mary had a strong suspicion that she was going to get into some kind of trouble this summer. It was those kids she’d been hanging around with. And over there was sad Nikki Sherman, who lived way out in the country with that bad-news family of hers. Who had brought Nikki into town today? She seemed to be alone. Crossing the street now was kind Mr. Pennington, who also lived in one of the Row Houses. He tipped his hat to Mary as he walked by. And here came Sonny Sutphin, steering himself awkwardly along the sidewalk, one gloved hand pushing the right wheel on his chair, his left foot dragging on the pavement for reasons Mary didn’t understand, since there was nothing wrong with the footrest on the wheelchair.

Mary’s gaze shifted to the right. She watched as a car turned onto Main Street. The car was towing a U-Haul. Mary recognized the car as Min’s. Ah. Well, then. Mary knew what was happening. Today was the day Min returned to Camden Falls with her two granddaughters. Mary shook her head. Sad, those little girls. Losing their parents at such a young age. Hard on Min, too. She had lost her daughter. And now, long after raising her own two girls, she had two more to raise.

Mary stood, straightened her skirt, which was really much too heavy for this warm day, and resettled herself on the bench. She fingered the gold necklace she always wore and let her eyes wander up and down Main Street. It was a quiet afternoon in town, not many people about. Mary’s gaze took in Cover to Cover, one of the bookstores, and Zack’s, the hardware store with the old wooden floor full of knotholes that the smaller children in town liked to peer through, hoping to see into the basement below. There was Fig Tree, the best restaurant in Camden Falls. Mary had never eaten there, but sometimes on her way to Needle and Thread she paused to read the menu that was displayed in the glass case outside the door. There was Frank’s Beans, the new coffee shop. There were the library, the post office, the real estate agency, and Dr. Malone’s dental office. Mary considered Sonny’s slow progress along the sidewalk as he passed Camden Falls Art Supply, then College Pizza, then Verbeyst’s, the dry cleaner (which everyone except the Verbeysts mispronounced as Very Best), and finally Dutch Haus, the ice-cream parlor.

Camden Falls, population 14,672, was an old New England town. Not old by, say, European standards, but old for a town in the United States. It was about to celebrate its 350
^th
birthday. Signs announcing the celebration, which would take place the next spring, had already been posted up and down Main Street. There were to be exhibits, a play, a parade, a carnival, fireworks. It all sounded very grand and exciting. Mary knew she would probably not be part of any of it.

Mary watched as Min Read’s car approached. It slowed to a stop across the street from Needle and Thread.

“’Afternoon, Mary!” called Min, waving from her window.

“’Afternoon, Min,” replied Mary.

“Slow day?” asked Min.

Mary nodded. Then she added, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you next week.”

The car continued down Main Street.

Almost home, Mary thought as she watched the car. Min and her granddaughters were almost home. Left off of Main Street, then right on Aiken Avenue, a wide street shaded by huge old maples and oaks and elms. Most of the houses on Aiken were Victorians and colonials, but one block on the west side of the street — the block on which Min and her neighbors lived — was occupied by a row of eight attached houses, one long building three stories high, built in 1882. They were the only homes of their kind in Camden Falls, and everyone referred to them simply as the Row Houses.

The fourth house from the left, between the Malones’ and the Walters’, was the house belonging to Min Read, which was about to become the new home of Flora and Ruby Northrop.

Mary Woolsey glanced up and down Main Street once more. She tsked at the sight of Nikki Sherman in her dirty, threadbare T-shirt, peering into Cover to Cover. Then Mary opened the door to Needle and Thread. It was time to collect her mending and go home.

When Flora was a very little girl visiting Camden Falls with her parents, she used to like to stand across the street from the Row Houses, squint her eyes, and pretend that instead of eight houses they were really one huge house, a giant’s house an entire block long, an enormous granite mansion. Flora remembered this now as Min’s car turned onto Aiken Avenue, remembered, too, that there had been a time when she wasn’t sure which front door was Min’s unless she counted. One — the Morrises’, two — the Willets’, three — the Malones’, then Min’s — that was number four, then Olivia’s — five. Mr. Pennington’s was six, the Edwardses’ was seven, and number eight belonged to the Fongs. Eight doors. And eight houses all in a row, attached, identical in size, similar in layout, but otherwise nothing alike.

Running behind the gardens of the Row Houses was an alley. It gave access to the backs of the houses and to the garages, each of which sat behind its house, a narrow yard between. Most of the Row House residents parked in their garages and entered their homes through the back doors. But sometimes they parked on the street in front. Min did that now, grateful to find no traffic on Aiken and almost no cars in front of the Row Houses. She had to cross the street and park headed in the wrong direction, but she didn’t think anyone would mind. Carefully, she aligned the back of the U-Haul with her front door.