Same Time Next Week

Tamarusday Morning

Every Tamarusday morning, well before the sun rises, Marcia gets up out of bed and puts herself together. She at least washes her face every morning, precious though water is, because it makes her feel awake and like she's ready to take on the day. Since the trains don't require horses, they can travel overnight, and the trains roll in from the storehouses attached to the mills every three mornings a week, bringing sesame flour into town in great sacks. And every Tamarusday morning, she has to drag her horse out of his stall half asleep and across town with the small cart to load up on sacks of flour. It would be easier to go through a distributor warehouse, but her father has an in with one of the train men, and he lets them buy it at the distributor price, which means that it's cheaper. There are a handful of bakeries who have similar arrangements, and one of them also comes on Tamarusday. She weaves her way through the warehouse workers loading the Paddock carts . Some of them call out greetings, as she makes her way through. There's a fair bit of turnover, but she sees these men, and the occasional woman or someone in between, every single week, and most of them know her. 

One of them, Chor, a flat faced man of Golahn decent calls out, "Hey Marcia, you promised us cookies!"

"I made no such promise," she calls back. He says the same thing every Tamarusday and it's become a running joke between them. Amidst all the chaos, she finds the shipper's man who keeps the manifest and says, "I get twelve bags." She holds up the order note, written out and countersigned by her father, a receipt for the purchase of twelve bags of sesame flour to be picked up from the train. There are three of them who switch off, but they all know her. It's the short sour-faced one who refuses to tell her his name today, and he snorts and gestures to the car. "Go ahead."

Desmond appears beside her grinning, and holds out his note. "I get fifteen."

The sour-faced man glances at it, snorts and gestures, not even bothering to give a verbal response. Desmond tips his cap. "Good morning to you too." He turns to Marcia. "Double team?"

"I think so." Desmond's wife owns a bakery on the other side of town, and she sends him to collect the flour the same way Marcia's father sends her. They've taken to working together, since it's much easier to lift a bag of flour with two people, and lifting twenty seven with a partner is better than lifting twelve by herself, especially because Desmond is stronger than she is and takes more of the weight. The two of them start the process, maneuvering around the packers working for the warehouse.

The first light of dawn starts to creep in as they plop the last bag down, an hour or two yet before the sunrise proper. 

Desmond slaps her back. "Another day in paradise. See you next week?"

She nods. "See you next week." She gives her horse and affectionate pat to reward his patience and then sets off across town to where he father had probably already gotten the ovens going. Another day in paradise indeed.