Page 14 of Snowflakes Over Starr's Fall
Jenna looked up, having just put seven tiles on her rack, to see Starr’s Fall’s unofficial matriarch Henrietta Starr standing imperiously in front of her, her gnarled hands clasped on the head of an ivory-topped cane of burnished mahogany. “It appears that you might be the only one,” the elderly woman quipped with a small, shrewd smile. “Do you have a partner?”
Jenna gestured to the seat across from her. “You’re welcome to join me.”
“Thank you,” Henrietta replied with gracious hauteur, and she perched on the chair, her back ramrod straight, her ankles neatly crossed, her eyes seeming icy-blue—the same shade as Jack’s, almost, Jenna couldn’t help but notice—in her wrinkled face.
Jenna knew Henrietta Starr more by sight than any interaction she’d had with her over the years. The old lady had been more or less housebound for decades, although Jenna could still remember when she’d been a little kid, and Henrietta had appeared, dressed magnificently in belted suits with narrow skirts and padded shoulders, a fox-fur stole draped over the ensemble, to cut a ribbon or judge a contest on the town green. There had always been something commanding and frankly a little intimidating about the woman, and there still was, even though she had to be over ninety, and now looked tiny and wrinkled and alarmingly fragile. The fire in her eyes, that sense of remote confidence, remained the same.
“Do you play Scrabble very much?” she asked as Henrietta laid her cane to one side before taking her own tiles.
“I have in the past,” she replied with dignity. “And Maggie, the proprietress of this establishment, plays with me on occasion. We’re both equally terrible.” A smile split her face like a crack in a plate and Jenna found herself smiling back. “Poor Maggie thought I believed myself to be a champion, but trust me, my dear, I am well aware that my better days are far, far behind me.”
“Well, it’s a relief to hear about your Scrabble-playing abilities,” Jenna told her, “because I’m probably equally terrible.”
“You run Miller’s Mercantile, don’t you?” Henrietta remarked as she carefully arranged her tiles. “I remember when your parents bought that old place. It must have been forty years ago now.”
“Forty-two,” Jenna confirmed with a small smile. She realized she was a little curious as to what Henrietta Starr had made of her parents—Dave and Polly Miller had been only twenty-seven when they’d bought the falling-down farmhouse that had become the general store. They’d been hippies twenty years too late, with chickens wandering through the kitchen and cannabis smoke wafting through the air, or something like that judging from the stories they’d told.
By the time Jenna had come along they’d cleaned up their act a little, but the store had remained the lovably ramshackle place it had always been and that Jenna was reluctant to change… even though her parents had been happy enough to leave it—and her and Zach—behind and embrace their new retired life in Florida, something Jenna found unsurprising considering their history but still managed to hurt.Childrenwere supposed to be the ones who blithely flew the nest, who forgot to call home, who guiltily sent a card several weeks past a birthday,notthe parents, and they hadn’t even sent a card, anyway. Her mother had left a voicemail.
“How time flies,” Henrietta replied dryly, “except when it drags.”
Jenna smiled in rueful acknowledgment at that. She imagined time might drag a little for a woman who was mostly housebound, waiting out her years alone. She knew Laurie visited her, which was very good of her friend. Maybe she should, too.
“All right,” she said cheerfully as she glanced down at her tiles. “Let’s see how good you are.”
“I told you I was dreadful,” Henrietta replied imperturbably. “Are you still running that store?”
Jenna glanced up. “Yes,” she replied frankly, “or trying to.” Somehow it was easier to talk honestly to the no-nonsense Henrietta Starr than it was to the obnoxious Jack Wexler. She could admit her struggles to Henrietta more than that smirking man.
“I’m afraid I don’t shop there anymore,” Henrietta told her matter-of-factly, without so much as a hint of apology. “It’s too far out of town for me to walk.”
“I think you do shop there, actually,” Jenna replied with a small smile. “Doesn’t Laurie Ellis do some shopping for you?” She knew Laurie dropped by the mercantile once a week at least, to pick up a few cans of soup and other staples for Henrietta.
Henrietta drew back, looking startled. “Is that where she gets my shopping?” she exclaimed. “Well, then, let me tell you, dear, you could do with a little more variety in your merchandise, and in particular, your soup.”
“Oh?” Zach had complained about such things before, and it had rankled Jenna considerably, but somehow she couldn’t be offended when Henrietta said it, maybe because she recognized something of herself in Henrietta—or more aptly, Henrietta in herself. They were both plain-talking, independent people—and she’d probably end up an old spinster too, Jenna thought on something of a sigh. For some reason, her glance moved back to Jack; he was chatting to Zach now, looking serious as he swept his hair back from his eyes with one long-fingered hand. Resolutely she turned back to her companion. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised. “What kinds of soup would you suggest?”
“Something with a littleheftto it,” Henrietta replied with feeling. “If all you’re eating is soup, you want it to feel like a meal.”
“That’s certainly understandable,” Jenna replied with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good,” Henrietta replied tartly, and then turned to her tiles.
More varieties of soup, Jenna reflected wryly as her partner began to lay her tiles on the board. Somehow she didn’t think that was going to be nearly enough to save her store.
* * *
A week passed with Jenna coming up with no new ideas, at least none that she felt had any traction. She considered turning part of the store into a café, but she feared she was too far out of town to get the necessary foot traffic, and there were several coffee places already—besides the boardgame café, Laurie’s pet shop and bakery, and also Joshua’s bookshop all offered coffee. The Rolling Pin, too, had an espresso machine up and running. For a town the size of Starr’s Fall, there were certainly quite a few coffee options.
Then she’d considered turning over a section of the store to home goods—blankets and pillows and the odd chair, maybe, but didn’t people just get that kind of stuff online? She already had a hardware section that got a little business, although not really enough to justify it.
The trouble was, Jenna didn’t actuallyknowwhat the good people of Starr’s Fall wanted in a general store, besides Henrietta Starr wanting some hefty soup, anyway, and in her heart of hearts she was afraid that Miller’s Mercantile might have already had its heyday. People liked the convenience of the big Stop & Shop in Torrington, where you could get everything you wanted and more under one roof. Miller’s Mercantile was never going to be that, but whatcouldit be?
She still had no idea.
Jenna was trying not to feel too glum as she walked into town one cool evening in late September, the sky violet and starry, the crispness in the air reminding her that it was almost October. It was the night of the Starr’s Fall Business Association’s monthly meeting, an occasion Jenna usually enjoyed but which she was now semi-dreading, because someone was certain to ask how the mercantile was going, and admitting failure was not a pleasant thing to do.
The church basement where they had the meeting was already bustling when Jenna walked in five minutes early. Laurie was there, chatting with Michael Harper, Lizzy’s husband, who was co-chair this year, and Zoe, the twenty-something who ran the town’s only ice cream parlor, The Latest Scoop, was laughing with Liz Cranbury, while Maggie and Zach slid into chairs at one end.
