Page 50 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Miss Lavinia’s eyes were wide when she exited the carriage. “I can already taste it.”

Emily glanced at her. “I will be surprised if it is as good as the ice cream that we make back home.”

Buford tethered Betty Sue to a hitching post in front of the ice cream shop and caught me looking at him. “Go on now. You will like it. Trust me.”

I followed Emily and Miss Lavinia into the ice cream shop and stared. The walls, ceiling, and floor were gleaming white. There were six small round ironwork tables surrounded by matching chairs and an ice cream counter that went from one end of the shop to the other. I guessed it had to be twenty feet long.

A line had formed in front of the counter as visitors one after another asked if they could sample the ice cream flavors. The shopworkers handed the flavors to the customers on tiny wooden spoons.

“I’m so glad they are giving samples,” Miss Lavinia said, sounding more excited than I had ever heard her. “I don’t know how I would choose otherwise.”

The sisters made their way to the counter, and I hung back.

Emily looked over her shoulder. “Willa, get over here and try some ice cream.” Emily pointed at the display case. “Choose whatever flavor you want.”

I didn’t know how I could ever decide. There were so many flavors. The ice chest ran the full length of the shop.

A freckled boy on the other side of the counter wearing a red-and-white-striped uniform smiled at me. “Would you like a sample, miss?”

I bit the corner of my lip. “The strawberry.”

He nodded and grabbed the tiniest wooden spoon I had ever seen and spooned a bit of strawberry ice cream on it. He handed me the tiny spoon.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

When I tasted the ice cream it was so cold, it was close to startling, and the berries were sweet like they had just been picked that morning in the strawberry patch. I knew they hadn’t been. Whoever heard of having strawberries in February? They were a June berry to be sure. It was a wonder to have strawberry ice cream in the winter.

“I’ll have the strawberry in a cone. It’s delicious,” I said.

“I’ll have chocolate in a cone,” Emily said.

Miss Lavinia also picked chocolate.

The boy at the counter nodded and began scooping ice cream. He set our ice cream cones in a holder on the counter. Miss Lavinia and Emily took their cones and went outside, chattering happily together.

Before he could turn to the next customer, I said, “Can I have a second strawberry cone?”

He glanced at me. “That will be another five cents, miss.”

I stuck my hand into the satchel tethered to my wrist and removed the precious coin. I set it on the counter. He nodded and scooped a second strawberry cone. I took both cones and carried them out of the shop.

I found Miss Lavinia and Emily sitting on a bench enjoying their ice cream in the warm sunshine.

“How did you get two?” Miss Lavinia asked when she saw me.

Before I answered, I walked to the front of the carriage where I knew I would find Buford. I handed him an ice cream.

He stared at it like he had never seen anything like it in his whole life. “For me?”

I nodded.

“That’s so kind of the Dickinson sisters to buy me an ice cream.”

I didn’t correct him as to who paid for his ice cream. Getting the credit for it wasn’t the point. The smile on his face was.

Walking back to the sisters, I looked at my cone that was so perfectly crafted and prayed that I could always remember what it looked and tasted like. I wished there was some way I could bottle up this memory for those dark nights when I was missing my mother and brother, and when the world was drab and harsh.

This ice cream cone that might have only cost a few cents was proof to me that there was still joy to be found in the world.

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