All for a Song Read Online Free

nest-like than not. Some were even paved to better accommodate the automobiles that made their way through town every now and again. But it was obvious to anybody that the town was not the end result of any settlers’ preconceptions. There had once been just a lumber mill. Then came a dry goods store, then a church, then a blacksmith, then a laundry, and on and on with dwellings of various sizes sprinkled in between. The roads were nothing more than formalized paths stretching namelessly from door to door.
    Dorothy Lynn walked along such a path, humming a new tune just under her breath. Her shoes were unfashionably brown and sturdy, but they made a pleasant rhythm with her unhurried steps. Already the fresh, crisp air had revived her from the heaviness of conviction, and her mind played with the phrase “pleasant places,” winding it around the images of her hometown. A candy shop with pink awnings covering the window, the younger children’s school with the bright-blue door and tire swings on the trees surrounding it. The narrow, tin-roofed structure that people knew to be a saloon but were too polite to say so.
    She ignored the rounded curve of the road and cut through the barber’s yard to arrive at her destination—Jessup’s Countertop Shop. Already there were five people queued up at the lockeddoor. Still, Dorothy Lynn picked up her step and trotted to take her place in line.
    While the town of Heron’s Nest had a strict ordinance prohibiting any kind of commercial sales on the Lord’s Day, an unwritten exception was made for Sunday afternoons at Jessup’s. This was not a typical store. No goods lined the shelves, because there were no shelves. It was one long, narrow room with a gleaming oak countertop lining one wall and five narrow booths lining the other. Behindeach booth’s folding door was a single chair and a telephone. This, then, was the heart of the shop. Jessup had been the first man in Heron’s Nest to have a telephone line, and though other aspiring citizens had put in their own since then, most continued to take advantage of Jessup’s original generosity. One phone call, one nickel. Twice that for long distance, which most calls were. After all, why call a person when you could stand on any given porch and holler for their attention? During the week, telephone customers could also purchase a cold Coca-Cola from the icebox in the far corner or a candy bar from one of the baskets along the counter. But on Sundays the icebox remained closed, and piles of Hershey’s chocolate bars remained untouched as honorable citizens waited to give far-flung loved ones their weekly conversation.
    Jessup, still dressed in his Sunday suit, smiled through the window of his shop as he opened the door. He was a tall man and thin, with a long, narrow nose that ended in a bulbous lump just above his stubbled lip. Smiling, he greeted each customer with a warm “Afternoon,” while standing a respectable distance from the jar on the countertop.
    “Hello, Jessup.” Dorothy Lynn dropped in her dime and settled back against the counter with her elbows up on the varnished wood.
    “You gonna call that sister of yours?”
    “Yes, sir, if she don’t call me here first. It’s her turn, but you never know.”
    “Not that I begrudge the business, but seems to me your pa should have put a telephone out at your own place, bein’ the preacher and all.”
    “That’s just it.” Dorothy Lynn leaned forward and lowered her voice to guard her words from the few people gathered behind her. “Bad enough we get people on our doorstep day and night. Can you imagine if anyone could just pick up the phone and call? Pa always said he’d have to wear his waders to get through the gossip, how people are.”
    Jessup touched the end of his nose and winked. “Ain’t easy bein’ a keeper of secrets. That machine in there makes spreadin’ stories easy as hot butter on bread. Not that I’m ever listenin’.”
    Dorothy Lynn winked