Emily reached into her apron and found the tiny cloth bird she had stitched from scraps the night before.
She had meant to give it to Thomas for his collection of little handmade animals.
But the child was watching her with tired, unhappy eyes.
Emily placed the bird beside the girl’s cup.
“For your journey.”
The child’s face brightened.
“Is it mine?”
“If your mama says so.”
The mother looked surprised.
“Oh, dear, you don’t have to—”
“It’s only a little cloth.”
The girl hugged the bird.
For the first time since entering the café, she smiled.
Emily felt a small warmth inside her chest.
Then Clara appeared.
“Emily, the counter.”
“Coming, ma’am.”
As she hurried away, she heard the little girl say, “Mama, she’s nice.”
The words followed Emily longer than she expected.
By early afternoon, the rain had become a storm.
It swept down from the foothills in gray sheets, beating against the roofs and sending streams of water along the boardwalks.
Wind shook the café sign.
The windows rattled.
Inside, customers spoke more loudly to be heard over the weather.
Emily carried a tray of coffee toward a group of men near the front window.
One of them pointed outside.
“Wouldn’t want to be caught out in that.”
Another laughed.
“Not unless somebody was paying me a dollar.”
Emily glanced through the glass.
Across the street, a wagon driver struggled to calm his horses.
A woman hurried beneath the awning of the general store.
Two boys ran through the mud with newspapers held over their heads.
Then Emily noticed someone farther down the street.
An elderly woman was walking alone.
She wore a faded beige coat, a dark skirt, and a small hat that the wind had pushed crookedly across her silver hair.
She carried a worn leather traveling bag in one hand.
Her other hand rested against the side of a building as she made her way along the boardwalk.
She was moving slowly.
Very slowly.
Emily watched her pause beneath the eaves of the closed tailor’s shop.
The woman pressed a hand against her chest and seemed to be catching her breath.
A rancher hurried past without stopping.
Another traveler stepped around her.
Emily set the coffee tray down.
Something was wrong.
She moved closer to the window.
The woman tried to take another step.
Her legs trembled.
She caught the railing with one hand, but the wet wood offered little support.
Emily’s heart tightened.
“That poor woman,” she murmured.
Clara, standing behind the counter, followed her gaze.
“What woman?”
“Outside.
Near the tailor’s shop.”
Clara looked through the glass.
“Oh.”
“She looks unwell.”
“Perhaps.”
“We should bring her inside.”
Clara turned sharply.
“Absolutely not.”
Emily blinked.
“Ma’am?”
“Look at her.
She’s soaked and covered in mud.”
“Because it’s raining.”
“Do not be clever with me.”
Emily stared out again.
The elderly woman was now standing beside a hitching post, bent slightly forward.
“She might be sick.”
“Then she should go to the doctor’s office.”
“It’s on the other side of town.”
“That is not our concern.”
Emily looked toward the tables.
Several customers had noticed the woman, but nobody rose.
One man shook his head.
“Poor old thing,” he muttered.
Then he returned to his meal.
Emily could not understand it.
They could all see her.
They could all see how badly she was struggling.
Yet everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to do something.
She turned back to Clara.
“Please, ma’am.
Just let me help her inside until the rain stops.”
Clara’s mouth tightened.
“This café is not a shelter for every beggar who wanders through town.”
“We don’t know she’s a beggar.”
“Look at her clothes.”
“Clothes don’t tell you everything about a person.”
Clara stared at her.
The room seemed quieter suddenly.
“Emily Bennett,” she said slowly, “I have warned you about arguing.”
Emily felt the familiar fear.
She knew what was at stake.
Her wages.
The flour at home.
Her mother’s medicine.
Thomas’s schoolbooks.
The farm.
She could almost hear the words Clara had spoken that morning.
Girls in your position are easily replaced.
Emily glanced toward the window once more.
The elderly woman’s hand slipped from the railing.
She stumbled.
For a terrible second, Emily thought she would fall into the muddy street.
Somehow, the woman caught herself against a wooden post.
Emily’s breath stopped.
She looked at Clara.
“She’s going to fall.”
“Then somebody outside can assist her.”
“But nobody is helping.”
“Emily, take that tray to the corner table.”
Emily looked at the untouched coffee cups.
Then at the woman.
Her heart was pounding.
“I can’t leave her there,” she said.
Clara’s expression became cold.
“That is an order.”
Emily stood still.
It was a small moment.
No grand speech was made.
