Roses Read Online Free PDF Page A

hands?”
    “Not for a while, Ruby.” Mary indicated that Henry remain on his stool. “Hope you can put up with him a little longer. I want
     to walk a bit, see some folks. Order yourself another cup, Henry. I won’t be long.”
    Henry’s face showed dismay. It was time for Sassie’s noonday meal. “You goin’ for a walk in this heat, Miss Mary? Sure that’s
     wise?”
    “No, but at my age, I’m entitled to a little foolishness.”
    Outside on the sidewalk, Mary paused to consider her destination, her gaze drifting around the circle to note the number of
     new businesses that had gone up in the last few years. She eyed them with mixed emotions. Howbutker had become a tourist attraction.
     Discovered by such magazines as
Southern Living
and
Texas Monthly
that extolled its Greek Revivalist charm, regional cuisine, and clean restrooms, it had become a favorite of the yuppie crowd
     seeking a weekend retreat from urban hordes and noise. There was a constant clamor from outside interests for permits to renovate
     period homes into bed-and-breakfasts and to build the commercial eyesores that would detract from its antebellum character.
     The city council on which Amos served and Percy and Mary sat as members emeriti had managed to restrict all motels, fast-food
     chains, and discount stores to the city limits.
    That won’t last long, Mary thought with regret, glancing across the circle at a recently erected boutique owned and run by
     a stylish New Yorker. The woman’s brash manner and accent stuck out like a nose wart, but Mary realized that the town would
     inevitably draw more like her. Once the old guard disappeared, the preservation of Howbutker would be left to the likes of
     Gilda Castoni and Max Warner, the rather likable Chicagoan who owned the new and very popular sing-along bar up the street.
    Her lips twisted ruefully. She ought to be thankful that these invaders who had fled pollution, crime, and traffic would guard
     Howbutker’s way of life more zealously than the descendants of the original inhabitants. Matt Warwick was one of the remaining
     few of those. As was Rachel….
    There now, no point in harping on that.
    She redirected her thoughts. She’d said a final good-bye to Rene Taylor, the postmistress, when she’d dropped off a package
     at the post office earlier, though her old friend hadn’t known it, but it would also be pleasant to visit one last time with
     Annie Castor, the florist, and James Wilson, president of the First State Bank. Unfortunately, the florist shop and bank were
     on opposite turns of the circle, and she wasn’t strong enough to walk to both. She still had to climb to the attic when she
     got home and dig to the bottom of Ollie’s army trunk. The bank, she decided, tapping forward. Once there, she might as well
     look through her safe-deposit box. Nothing much was in it, but she may have forgotten something best removed.
    She passed the barbershop and nodded through the glass to Bubba Speer, the proprietor. His eyes widened in surprise when he
     saw her, and he left his draped customer to hurry to the door and call after her, “Well, hello there, Miss Mary! Good to see
     you. What brings you to town?”
    Mary stopped to acknowledge him. Bubba wore a short-sleeved white barber’s smock, and she noticed a faded blue tattoo on his
     arm. A memento of the war, she’d guess. Was it Korea or Vietnam? How old was Bubba, anyway? She blinked rapidly in a moment
     of helpless confusion. She had known Bubba Speer all his life and had never noticed a tattoo. Her powers of observation had
     sharpened lately. She saw things she’d missed, but recently she’d also had trouble with the chronological placement of events
     and people. “A few legal matters to discuss with Amos,” she answered. “How’re you, Bubba? Family all right?”
    “That boy of mine’s been accepted at Texas University. Thanks for remembering his graduation. He can sure use that check you
     sent. It’s