Lacey's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

By morning, Lacey had the corner porch and almost nothing to fill it. Her two pieces sat on the bare plank shelf. The wheat wreath. The flower pendant. On the wide wood, they looked small and alone. She stepped back and saw it plain. Anyone driving through would pass her by. She needed a reason to stop. Billy leaned in the doorway, cap low, watching her stare at the empty shelf. The golden dog dozed by his feet. "Pretty," he said. "But thin." He wasn't unkind. He just said the true thing. Lacey chewed her lip. Craft alone wouldn't pull a hungry traveler off the road. Then she smelled it. Warm bread drifting from the bakery next door. Her stomach growled, and an idea landed hard. People stopped here for food. Not pendants. Food. She turned to Billy. "The field," she said. "There's wheat. And the owner said folks come for fresh things." She found the bakery owner and asked. Could she borrow the oven? A little flour, a bit of sausage from the cold box? The woman studied her, then wiped her hands and nodded. "Show me what you can do." Lacey worked fast. She rolled dough from the local flour. She tucked a plump sausage inside, browned the bun, and piled on sliced onion and cucumber from the garden basket. She spooned warm sauce across the top. It came out glossy and rich, steam rising off it. A hearty sausage roll, rustic and messy and good. She carried it to Billy on a scrap of paper. "Try it." He took a bite. He chewed. He stopped. His eyebrows went up. He took another bite, bigger. "Lacey," he said around the food. "This is really good." He wiped his mouth and looked at the roll like it had surprised him. "No. This is really good. You could sell a hundred of these." He finished it and looked for more. The goofy grin broke through his quiet face. Something clicked in Lacey's chest. This was it. Not just the crafts. The food would pull people in. The pendants and wreaths would sell beside it. She grabbed Billy's arm. "That's the shelf," she said. "Food gets them off the road. My art keeps them looking." She carried the lush flowering plant from the field and set it at the corner of the porch. Its blooms burst red, yellow, pink, and purple against the faded wood. Suddenly the plain shelf had life. Color. A smell of bread and flowers. A traveler would slow, hungry and curious, and find her pendants waiting. Lacey stood back and breathed. The corner looked like something now. But her stomach tightened again. She had a plan for Saturday, and only two days to make enough food and stock to fill it. One good roll wasn't a shelf full. She had found her hook. Now she had to build the whole thing before market day.