The last customer Sally and Lily wanted to see that morning was Ruth-Ann, but the doorbell jingled, and there she was.

Sally sighed.

Lily groaned.

“Did y’all hear that Macy Jones had a miscarriage last night?” Ruth-Ann went to the counter and frowned. “Where are the new earrings?”

“We heard.” Sally nodded.

“Of course you did. Teena and y’all two were joined at the hip in high school.” She pointed to the empty space.

“A customer bought all of them, plus all the crocheted scarves and shawls,” Lily told her. Joined at the hip?

Maybe not in the past several years, but lately they were getting that old closeness back again.

“So is Ryder still going to marry Macy?” Ruth-Ann asked.

“You’ll have to ask him about that,” Lily answered. “I heard that you collect milk glass. Have you seen these new pieces that Sally picked up at the estate sale she was at earlier this week? They’re really rare and the price is great.” She got up and moved over to the display.

“I don’t have time to look at those today. I only had a minute on my way to the post office to mail stuff for school. Ta-ta.” She waved.

“You’re brilliant,” Sally giggled. “That woman has never bought a single piece of glassware from me, but she hits all the garage sales looking for good buys.”

“Can’t change a zebra’s stripes,” Lily said. “And thinking about Granny Hayes, what can you tell me about her past? She’s always been Comfort’s odd little person, but none of us ever knew why she lived the way she did.”

“I asked her how long she’d lived in that cabin, and she told me since she was born,” Sally said. “When the community wanted to put up a historical marker out there, she told them no. When they persisted, she told them to go to hell. When they did it anyway, she took it down and used the metal for the bottom of a feed bin for her old mule.”

“But the cabin has to be a hundred years old,” Lily said. “Why wouldn’t she want it memorialized?”

“She said it would bring people out there to her place. She didn’t want strangers coming around, and if they did, she was a real good aim with her shotgun. That’s when the ‘No Trespassing’ signs went up,” Sally said. “But it got me interested in her story, so I went to the old newspaper files at the library. Her mother and father were some of the first folks of German descent that settled here. She was the youngest of six kids, and her father was a farmer. The older five children were boys, and they went to school. But evidently, those folks had different ideas about girls because Johanna Hayes Mayer was never listed on the school rolls.”

“So that’s her name?” Lily asked. “If she was never listed on the rolls, how’d you find out her name? And I wonder how come we’ve always called her Granny Hayes instead of Granny Mayer.”

“First of all, I found the record of that historical plaque, got her parents’ names from it, and then went digging for birth certificates,” Sally answered. “She was born in 1921, so she’s ninety-eight years old. Her mother was forty-four, and the youngest of her sons was eighteen years old when Granny Hayes came along. All of the boys were grown and had left home by then. I asked Drew to check the church rolls, and he found that Granny didn’t start attending until she was past sixty. But I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t there, or when folks didn’t call her Granny Hayes. I pried a little one afternoon when I took her an order of yarn and asked her why she didn’t go by Granny Mayer. She got real quiet and said that her father was a hard old German. Her mother’s maiden name had been Hayes, and she liked being Irish more than German. That’s all she’d say.”

“Holy smoke!” Lily gasped. “I thought she might be in her eighties, but ninety-eight? Man, she sure don’t act that old. You should have seen the way she got in and out of that pickup truck.”

“I want to grow up and have her kind of strength and energy. Can you imagine riding a mule five miles to church?” Sally asked.

“I wonder if any of those brothers settled around here?” Lily shook her head. “Whoa! Hermann Mayer is the name on the historical marker out at the end of the lane from my house. It says the place was the homestead of Hermann and Lucille Mayer from their marriage in 1890 until their deaths. They were active in community affairs and raised a son, Frederick Mayer, who occupied the house when his parents were gone. The homestead includes the house, a barn, a smokehouse, and it’s a significant part of the German-Texas heritage of the state. I wonder if he’s one of the sons.”

“That wasn’t one of the sons’ names. I can’t remember them all, but Hermann wasn’t one of them. He might have been a brother or a cousin to Granny Hayes’s folks, though.” Sally rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have to go back to the library and see what I can find out. Maybe that’s why she likes Holly so much—maybe y’all share a little DNA.”

“I was never interested in genealogy like Mama was, but this makes me want to find out more,” Lily said.

Polly brought a blast of cold wind with her when she entered the front door of the shop. She usually arrived with a big smile on her face and a spring in her step, but today she was somber and serious. She set a box from the bakery on the table and opened it. “I brought cookies for when Teena gets back. She’s on the way.” Then she set her thermos beside the box. “Hot chocolate. I thought I’d come offer a little support with the food.”

Teena came in through the back door. Polly opened her arms, and she walked right into them. “I miss my mama today, so thank you for coming.”

“I know you do, darlin’,” Polly said. “Losing a baby is a tough thing, no matter how old a woman is. How’s Ryder and Macy?”

“They’re both so sad.” Teena took a step back and sighed. “I’m glad I went, Lily. It meant a lot to Ryder and to Macy. Poor girl hasn’t had many breaks. Her little garage apartment is spotless, and she really loves my son. I’ve misjudged her, and I feel bad.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” Polly said. “It wasn’t the best of situations, but He brought Lily back to Comfort where she belongs.”

“That was marijuana, not God,” Lily said.

“God uses whatever is at hand to work His miracles,” Polly informed her. “Now let’s have some cookies and chocolate. Food always helps.”

That evening after work, Lily drove up to her house and slapped the steering wheel. Dammit! She had forgotten all about Wyatt coming at four to get the kids, and there he was in his $1,000 black coat, getting out of his low-slung sports car. A flashback of him coming into the house wearing a similar coat, only a much cheaper brand, came to her mind. He’d been driving an SUV in those days, and back then he’d been a father, even if it was, for the most part, in name only.

She got out of her car, and he held up a gloved hand in a wave. She ignored him and went on toward the house.

“Are the kids ready?” he yelled.

“I’ll see,” she answered without turning around. She could almost see her mother’s disapproving expression. No southern lady treated anyone with such cold hatefulness, but she ignored the thought.