Chapter 10 - The Threshold of the River
Three years later, the Vine Street block was no longer a dead zone between the market and the river.
The old auto-body shops had become artists' cooperatives; the burned-out cleaner's was a bakery that smelled of fresh sourdough every morning at six; and at 412 Vine Street, the gold letters on the window had been joined by a second line: *ESTABLISHED 2024. OUTFITTERS TO THE CITY.*
It was a Saturday morning, bright and cold, with the first real frost of November silvering the roofs of the old brick buildings.
Evie Carter stood on the front steps of her shop, wearing a heavy charcoal coat with silver buttons forged from old iron rails, watching the vegetable trucks unload their crates down by the market stalls.
A black sedan pulled up by the curb.
It wasn't a Lincoln Town Car. It was a dusty station wagon with a rusted fender and a bumper sticker that said *SUPPORT RIVERSIDE WORKERS*.
Rachel climbed out from the driver’s side, balancing three cardboard trays of coffee from the diner down the block, while her two-year-old daughter—wrapped in a tiny, hand-stitched wool coat with pearl buttons—clutched her skirt like a small white anchor.
“You’re going to be late for the county board meeting,” Rachel said, handing Evie a steaming cardboard cup as she marched up the steps. “The city council is voting on the historical district designation at ten.”
“I’m not late,” Evie said, taking a sip of the dark, bitter coffee. “The meeting doesn't start until ten-fifteen.”
“You’re the guest speaker, Evie. You’re supposed to wear that fancy scarf I bought you for your birthday.”
“I’m wearing the coat,” Evie said, smoothing down the heavy wool over her hips.
Down on the corner, near the old produce stalls where her mother was still arranging baskets of red-and-green apples under the blue canvas awning, a man in a plain brown work jacket was carrying a crate of greenhouse tomatoes from the back of a truck.
He didn't look up as he set the crate down on the wooden table.
He wiped his hands on a clean blue rag, adjusted his cap, and walked toward the trolley stop on Fourth Street.
Evie watched him go until he turned the corner and disappeared into the morning crowd.
May you like
She didn't call out. She didn't need to.
She turned around, her boots making a sharp, solid sound against the pine threshold of her shop, and pushed the heavy oak doors wide open to let the morning in.
