The Infamous Umbrella Attack & Other Summer Scandals

Taken in by the stranger's charm and charisma, seduced by his sweet talk and smooth promises, Mrs. McIntyre bought the umbrella display - thirty six bright and colorful umbershoots, as the stranger called them, near to guaranteed to fly off her shelves with the first rain.  She'd been doubtful at first, but he'd won her over with his practiced grin, undeniable air of sincerity and sheer persistence - she was not a woman prone to easily parting with her money but he'd been on the road for years and knew just exactly how much pressure to apply and where - she counted out the bills and laid them in his palm and he smiled, allowing his hand to touch the inside of her wrist for just a fraction of a second too long before he pocketed the money and slipped out the doors.  Her heart, weary and worn from shopkeeping, thirty years of marriage and too much time on her feet, skipped a quick beat.  She set the display by the door, between the spittoon and the rifle rack, where you'd practically trip over to get out the door and with a small sigh, returned to filling orders.  She liked the way it looked amid all the practical soft goods and stacks of canned goods - like a bouquet of flowers in the midst of a drab and dull place, a oasis in a desert landscape.  She even said so to Mr. McIntyre but he just looked at her as if she'd been nipping at the medicinal brandy and shook his head.

The umbrellas didn't sell at $2.99 nor at $2.49 nor at $1.99 and by late August it was clear that not even the $.99 with any purchase! wasn't going to produce any results.  The display was dusty and ragged by then and feeling foolish and taken advantage of, Mrs. McIntyre buried it on the second floor behind the cans of motor oil and the used bedsprings.  Eventually it found its way out the back door and was forgotten until almost all of three dozen umbrellas washed up in one of the coves by Miss Clara's - they were sodden and torn up, sticky with sea salt and strands of kelp - but for the island children playing pirates, they made ideal shields and swords.  A small army of us advanced upon Miss Clara's and frightened her painted pony so badly he bolted and crashed through the corral with a panicky whinny, running all the way to Sparrow's in blind terror.  Our pirate days ended in ignoble defeat - under strict supervision, we repaired the corral and then after a meticulous gathering of all the umbrellas, worked our fingers raw to strip and salvage the fabric, the metal rods, the plastic handles.  The Ladies Sewing Circle then turned the whole sorry collection into kites just in time for the Sunday School Picnic and on a glorious summer afternoon, we filled the skies with primary colors.  Even Mrs. McIntyre was pleased and in time we coaxed Miss Clara into forgiveness and the painted pony into trusting us again - which was far more than anyone could say for the silver tongued salesman who made his return later that same summer to a distinctly cool reception.  Mrs. McIntyre was stony faced and unmoved by his wares or promises, throwing him out on his ear and watching him tumble over his dignity down the wooden storefront steps.  He landed on his backside in a pile of pot holders and leather goods, red faced and spouting protests, just as Miss Hilda arrived.

Well done, Elizabeth, she remarked mildly and tapped her riding crop against her boot, I'll just send this bit of clutter on his way, shall I?

The salesman paled, scrambled to his feet and made a run for his car, leaving the pot holders and leather goods - A well deserved bonus! Miss Hilda declared - behind in a trail of dust.  The two women, both usually stern, proper, and with very little in common, rocked with laughter then walked arm in arm into the general store.  A new friendship, based on umbrellas and kites and an honest day's work had been formed.  It would last for years.

That same summer, when the news about the youngest Patterson girl being "in trouble" was all anyone was talking about - she stubbornly refused to name the father despite the wave of righteous indignation and parental threats - it was Mrs. McIntyre and Miss Hilda who took the fourteen year old in, saw her all the way through, stayed with her during the birth, arranged the adoption and cared for her afterward while the family  
fumed and denied her.  She was young and strong and recovered quickly although there would always be a faint aura of sadness about her and when Miss Hilda offered her a position as companion and housekeeper with room and board and her own room, she accepted at once, grateful for the shelter, the solitude, and the second chance.

This unlikely pair of women knew something some of us never learn - you don't have to be young and stupid to make a mistake.  And sometimes it takes more than an umbrella to weather a storm.