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There was everything imaginable in that store, Ellen saw. It put the Cowlairs Co-op or even Hoey’s Department Store back in Springburn to shame.
She walked by sacks of beans and rice, tins of every food imaginable, from Arbuckle’s Ariosa Coffee to Gold Medal Flour, with the slogan ‘Don’t get counterfeits, get gold medal’ written in curly gold script on the front.
Behind the counter were what looked like a hundred glass stoppered jars, each filled with a different kind of sweet. Ellen read an advertisement next to stacks of chewing gum: ‘Wrigleys: Get the Parasol, Not the Girl!’
“We did an offer,” Hamish explained kindly, for he had come to stand beside Ellen. “We gave away a free parasol for every one hundred packs of gum bought.”
“One hundred packs of gum?” Ellen repeated incredulously. “But who would ever...?”
Uncle Hamish chuckled. “They saved, of course. The boys, especially. Wanted something for their mothers.”
Ellen nodded slowly, although she could not imagine anyone buying so much gum, much less chewing it all, even in their whole lifetime. She’d never had so much as a single piece.
“Why don’t I get you something?” Hamish suggested in a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you like? Humbugs? Lemon drops? Licorice twists? Or what about jellybeans?” He went behind the counter and took a little waxed paper bag from a large stack. “What’ll it be?”
Ellen watched as Uncle Hamish beamed at her, and the rows of jars with their brightly colored sweets seemed to blur in a dizzying rainbow. She swallowed nervously.
“Er... jellybeans, please.”
Uncle Hamish took a large metal scoop and poured a multicolored stream of jellybeans into the little bag before closing it with a twist. “There you go. Welcome to Seaton, Ellen. Welcome to America, for that matter!” He smiled, satisfied, and Ellen clutched the bag and smiled back at him.
“Try one,” Uncle Hamish said, and with an uncertain little laugh, Ellen popped one into her mouth.
She’d had sweets before, of course, but not very often and the sudden burst of sugary flavor made her eyes widen. Uncle Hamish chuckled, pleased.
“Look around, Ellen. We’ve got just about everything.”
Still holding her bag, and nibbling a jellybean every few minutes, Ellen continued to wander around the store. She passed by buckets of nails and screws, rows of rakes and hoes, coiled ropes and balls of string and twine. Another row was filled with medicines... Dr. Morse’s Indian Root Pills, Chamberlain’s Cough Remedy, and Brown’s Iron Bitters (for All Manner of Wasting Diseases). She stared at them hard for a moment, knowing they hadn’t worked for her mam and a little angry that her aunt and uncle stocked such false hope in their store. Then, her mouth set into a firm line, she moved onto the next row.
Further on she came to Austen’s Forest Flower Cologne, which smelled lovely even without pulling out the stopper, and Ladies’ Lavender Soap wrapped in purple tissue paper and tied with a satin ribbon.
Then there were the toys... balls and hoops, checkers and chess sets, and a row of proud, porcelain dolls that truly did put poor Celia to shame. Ellen didn’t like any of them.
In the next row she stopped in front of the bolts of fabric and reels of hair ribbon, satin, silk, polka-dotted, and striped. She gazed longingly at a bolt of flower-sprigged cotton.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Aunt Ruth asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Yes...” Ellen couldn’t resist stroking the fabric, and gasped in surprise when Aunt Ruth slapped her hand.
“You mustn’t touch, Ellen,” she said calmly. “See, look what you’ve done.”
Ellen saw a small smear on the cotton, and realized it was from eating the jellybeans. She hid her sticky fingers in her skirt.
Her hand stung, and so did her cheeks, with shame. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth.”
Aunt Ruth nodded, seemingly satisfied by her response. “Now you know.” A bell jangled on the front door and Aunt Ruth turned away. “Elmira Cardle, so good to see you. And I see you’ve brought Hope, as nicely turned out as always. Come meet my niece, Ellen. No doubt you can be a pleasing influence on her.”
Ellen stepped forward, willing herself not to blush at her aunt’s implied rebuke. A girl about her own age with fat yellow braids, wearing a pink cotton dress, stood there, smiling uncertainly. Her mother, a stout woman in forest green with a smart green and white striped apron, bristled proudly.
“Say how do you do, Hope.”
“How do you do,” the girl murmured dutifully.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Ellen replied, trying to keep her voice as clear as possible. Still, Mrs. Cardle exchanged a quick look with Aunt Ruth.
“You arrived recently, dear?” she asked, and Ellen nodded.
“She came with me.” Da strode forward, and Ellen felt a wave of relief at seeing his cocky smile, his sure handshake once more. “I’m Hamish Copley’s brother, Douglas is my name. We arrived this very day.”
