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“Want one?”
“Where’d you get those?” Arthur peers into the bag you’re offering to him. They’re filled with lemon hard candies, one of your few vices.
“The shop,” you say, gesturing for him to hold out his hand. You had a feeling his large hands would barely be able to fit into the opening of the small paper packet.
“Did you buy ‘em when I wasn’t looking?”
You shrug, dropping a few candies into his open palm. The way they stand out so bright against his skin, they look like unpolished gems.
Trips to town were always a special occasion when you were a girl, usually because it would involve a stop at Callahan’s Candy Store. While your older brother favored chocolate bars, you would eat lemon drops by the handful. Mr. Callahan would always give you more than you’d asked for, adding an additional general scoop of the bright yellow candies to the paper bag on the scale. He was an old bachelor, so when he died there was no one to take over the store. It sat empty until the building was bought by an apothecary. The sight of packets of cocaine gum and bottles of castor oil where the big glass jars of candies were broke your heart more than you cared to admit.
More than anything, you had missed Mister Callahan. He was such a kind old man, like everyone’s adopted uncle. The shopkeeper that you had just dealt with was something else entirely. The moment Arthur and you had walked into the small general store in Rhodes, he looked exhausted by your presence. With a grocery list from Pearson in hand, the two of you had gone to-and-fro around the store, depositing your wares on the counter. With each additional item, the shopkeeper seemed to slump one degree more.
Eventually, you’d gotten everything for camp, so you both went to search for more personal items. You’d seen the lemon drops the second you walked through the door, the jewel-colored candies calling your name even as you passed by them over and over again. Naturally, you gravitated back towards them while Arthur went back up to the counter.
Rhodes was not your favorite town you’d been to, what with the blatant racism, the stubborn and misguided loyalty to an antiquated past, and the general suspicion towards anyone ‘not from these parts’. Your patience didn’t stand a chance. The last straw was when Arthur had reached for the Wheeler, Rawson and Co. catalogue that was on the counter in front of the shopkeeper.
“Oh,” the man said, making no move to assist Arthur, “I assumed you couldn’t read.”
Arthur had held his tongue and his temper, admirably choosing to take the high road and turn the other cheek. Granted, his decision could have been based on Dutch’s orders to not cause trouble in town. You on the other hand, were not feeling admirable and had no such orders from Mister Van Der Linde. So while the shopkeeper’s attention was focused on finding the spurs Arthur had selected from the catalogue, several packets of lemon drops were slipped into your satchel. Two cartons of premium cigarettes and a small bottle of brandy had also found their way into your care by the time Arthur was paying for his items. You’d honestly planned on paying before the man’s snide remark, but you were happy to take advantage of any excuse not to give the him your hard-earned money.
“Buy isn’t the word I would use.”
Reaching into your satchel, you bring out one of the navy blue boxes of premium cigarettes, and thrust it towards Arthur. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, looking between you and the box in your outstretched hand, but then he lets out a laugh that startles you. It’s always a surprise, but not an unwanted one when Arthur Morgan really laughs. He pops the lemon candies into his mouth and graciously takes the cigarettes from you with his newly freed hand.
“Seems like we’ll make an outlaw of you yet,” he says around a mouthful of candy.