Katerina's Wish Read Online Free

frown under his bushy mustache. “She’s just a kid, Johnson.”
    Mr. Johnson was wrapping the chops in paper. “Yeah, well, kid or not, they won’t buy that lot around here, so you might as well haul it back out to your wagon.”
    The Italian’s frown deepened, and he turned back toward Mr. Johnson. But before he could say anything, Mr. Johnson slapped the chops onto the counter beside a tin of coffee and looked back at me, still rooted beside the doorway.
    â€œWell, come on, missy. You can’t very well pay for these from over there, can you? Torentino here won’t bite.”
    I hurried to the counter, pulling the handful of coins from my pocket. “How much?”
    â€œSeventy cents for the coffee and two fifty for the chops.” He gave a sudden, insincere smile and reached into the open crate on the counter. “Say, missy, how about a special treat for your family, huh? A nickel a can.”
    I looked at the can. Across the top it read EMPSON’S FANCY. Below that was a picture of ripe, purple plums on a branch. Itwould have been a treat, he was right. I thought briefly about Aneshka and her love of plum dumplings, but I only had enough money for the coffee and meat. “No, thank you, sir,” I said, and handed him the money for my order.
    â€œDon’t you like plums, miss?” Mr. Torentino said.
    â€œYes, sir, but I have no more money.”
    â€œYou can put them on credit on your father’s account,” Mr. Johnson said, reaching under the counter for his credit ledger.
    I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
    Mr. Johnson tossed the can of plums back into the crate. “You see, Torentino? I can’t sell them, and I won’t take them. Send them back. Tell the head office they made a mistake.”
    â€œI can’t send them back; I’ll lose too much money. The order—”
    â€œDamn the order—get those crates out of my store!” Mr. Johnson said.
    More uncomfortable than ever, I scooped up my packages and hurried for the door. Behind me I heard the scrape of the crates being picked up and the heavy step of Mr. Torentino as he lugged them toward the door. Though I longed to escape, he was coming behind me, so I held the door for him. He carried the crates out onto the porch and set them down.
    â€œThank you, miss,” he said. “Do you buy all your food from Johnson?”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said. “There’s nowhere else to buy it.”
    Mr. Torentino glanced over my shoulder, back through the open doorway toward Mr. Johnson’s counter. “And he’s getting plenty fat off you folks at those prices. Send back all twenty crates! We’ll see about that!”
    He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. I tried to go around his crates and down the stairs, but he called out to me, plenty loud enough for Mr. Johnson to hear him.
    â€œHold up there a minute, miss.”
    I paused.
    â€œYou say you like plums, and I’d guess you got a family from that package of chops.”
    I nodded, edging a little closer to the steps. I could see Mr. Johnson watching suspiciously through the open door.
    â€œHere,” Mr. Torentino said. He took a can from the top crate and held it out to me. I shook my head.
    â€œTake it, it’s free. Here, take a couple more, too.”
    â€œFree?” I said. I couldn’t believe it—it had to be a trick.
    â€œIf he won’t take them, I have to do something with them. Take these for free and tell everyone you see that I’ll be selling the rest for a penny a can.”
    â€œHey!” Mr. Johnson yelled from inside the store. “Hey, you can’t do that!”
    Mr. Torentino put the three cans in my arms and grinned. “You’d best run along now.”
    I was happy to oblige. I went down the stairs two at a time. Behind me I heard Mr. Johnson burst out onto the porch, shouting at Mr. Torentino.
    I kept my