Summer was forgiving so far this year. Instead of the pounding heat of the sun's rays and the suffocating humidity that kept Iris covered in a thin layer of sweat, this year had been only slightly warmer than spring up to this point. She was enjoying the unseasonably cool weather. It wouldn't last long, of course. The sun would remember at some point that it needed to turn the temperature up a few degrees, and then she would be miserable until autumn came. But, for now, summer was nice.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith," Iris said cheerfully, setting the empty wicker basket in her hand on his stall counter.

"Good morning, Iris," he replied, his white mustache twitching up into a smile. "Who are you shopping for today?"

"Mrs. Evans," Iris said, reaching into a pocket of her worn blue dress for a scrap of paper. "She's still recovering from having the baby."

"I don't know what this town would do without you, Iris," Mr. Smith said, chuckling as he took the paper and scanned the lines. "People would have to get up and do their own work."

"It just means more money for me," she replied, shrugging.

A loud shout in the street behind Iris, followed by a child wailing, interrupted their conversation. Iris sighed before she even turned around to see what had happened. A tall man with dark hair, dressed all in black, was staring in surprise down at a little girl of about five who was sitting in the dirt at his feet, bawling. Iris sighed again.

"Kayla, stop that," she shouted across the street.

The little girl immediately stopped sobbing, her face screwing up into a scowl as her big blue eyes shot a venomous glare at Iris.

"Get over here," Iris ordered.

Kayla got up with ease, completely unhurt, and stormed over to Iris without sparing a glance at the man in the street, who was now looking from Kayla to Iris in confusion.

"Excuse me, Mr. Smith, I'll just be a minute," Iris said sweetly to him.

He chuckled again. "Take your time. I'll just fill your list and help the next customer while you get her sorted out."

Iris snatched Kayla's hand in hers as soon as the child came to her side and led her away from the stall and the street. She pursed her lips tightly, bringing them to a stop on the boardwalk in front of the butcher's shop.

"Kayla, this is the third time this week," she said with exasperation, sitting on a bench and patting the spot beside her. Kayla hopped onto it and snuggled up to Iris, pleased with her results. "You can't keep running off like this. There are a lot of travelers coming through town lately, and you never know when you're going to run into the wrong person," she continued, stroking the girl's fine blonde hair.

"But I never get to see you anymore," Kayla complained, looking up at Iris with her big blue eyes.

Iris pinched the bridge of her nose. "I have to work, Kayla. And you're supposed to be studying with Father John. Did you even tell anybody you were leaving?"

"No..." Kayla admitted reluctantly, dropping her gaze to her lap.

"Well, Fred should be along soon," Iris muttered.

"Why can't I stay with you?" Kayla whined.

"Because I'll be working, and I have too much to do without you following along. You'll see me when I get home tonight."

"No, I won't. You won't be home until after I'm asleep," Kayla said sadly. "Why do you have to work so much, anyway?"

"Because you need to eat," Iris said, poking Kayla's stomach.

Kayla giggled. "That tickles!"

"And you need a new dress," Iris continued, tickling Kayla mercilessly. Both girls' dresses had been let out as much as possible and still showed much of their calves.

Kayla squealed. "Stop it!"

"And you need new shoes," Iris added, continuing her onslaught as Kayla fell backward on the bench, giggling and squealing, her toes wiggling through the holes in her shoes. "People aren't just going to give you new things because you're cute," she finished, retracting her hands and giving Kayla a moment's reprieve to catch her breath. The little girl sat up, beaming widely, her face flushed from laughing so hard.

"But people give you things because you're cute," she teased, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.

"No, they don't," Iris said, her brown eyes widening in surprise. "Where did you ever get that idea?"

"Well, Darius gave you a flower because you're cute," Kayla said, leaning toward Iris and smirking.

Iris blushed and pursed her lips again. "Darius is a nice boy with too much time on his hands."

"He wanted to kiss you, too."

"Were you spying on me?" Iris accused, her cheeks reddening further.

"Are you gonna marry him?"

"Kayla!" called a panicked voice.

They both looked up at that. A teenage boy with wild, curly red hair ran toward them, coming to a stop and dropping his hands onto his thighs as he panted for breath. The flush on his face nearly hid his many freckles.

Iris stood up, glad for the interruption. "It's okay, Fred. Kayla's not going to give you any more trouble. Right, Kayla?"

"But-" Kayla started to protest.

"No 'buts.' You're going home with Fred, and you're going to behave, or I'm not going to play with you on Sunday."

Kayla's blue eyes lit up. "You won't be working?" she asked hopefully.

Iris shook her head. "I never work on Sunday. We can spend the whole day together."

Kayla's face split into a wide smile. "Can we go to that spot by the river and watch the clouds?"

"We can do whatever you want," Iris reassured her, a smile gracing her lips, too. "But only if you go home and do as you're told."

"Okay, let's go back," Kayla said cheerfully, taking Fred's hand and looking up at him. He scowled down at her, his green eyes flashing.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he scolded. "All this talk of war, and the soldiers coming through town, and you go and run off when I'm not looking!"

"I'm sorry," she said, giving him her big blue eye routine.

He sighed and ruffled her already mussed blonde hair. "You're a brat. C'mon, let's get going before Father John comes out looking for both of us."

Iris watched them go, Kayla holding tightly to Fred's hand and talking animatedly, Fred looking down at her with a reluctant smile. Kayla really was a brat. The most adorable, loveable brat Iris knew. But it wasn't even noon yet, and she had a lot of work to do before the day was done.

"Nice family," said a deep voice she didn't recognize.

She stopped mid-step and looked around. The man from the street stood in the shadows nearby, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support post for the shop awning. His sharp green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness surrounding him. A chill ran down her spine. She shoved the feeling down, reminding herself of Father John's constant admonitions not to judge based on appearance.

"Yes, they are. Sorry about Kayla. She's been acting up a lot lately," Iris said pleasantly. "My name is Iris. Pleased to meet you."

He nodded in acknowledgment, but didn't reply. There was something very unnerving about his unblinking gaze, like he was sizing her up. She swallowed hard and forced a smile to her lips.

"Well, sorry again. If you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work."

He didn't say anything else. She stepped off the boardwalk onto the street, away from the pervading chill she felt around that stranger, back to the warmth and sunlight of Mr. Smith's stall. The little old man was helping a rather large woman, her dress pinched tightly about the waist to shove her extra weight up to her bust. Her wide-brimmed, flower-strewn straw hat completed the ridiculous picture she made.

"Hello, Mrs. Jones," Iris said politely, taking her spot behind the woman in line.

Mrs. Jones turned back to face her, the bright red lipstick that slipped outside the lines of her lips pulling up into a smile. "Iris, my dear, how are you?"

"I'm doing well. I hope you are, too," Iris said politely.

"All ready for you, Mrs. Jones," Mr. Smith interrupted, holding out a wrapped package for her.

"Oh, Iris, would you be a dear and see to my garden later today?" Mrs. Jones asked, ignoring Mr. Smith.

"If I have time. Is it okay if I can't get to it until tomorrow?" Iris asked.

Mrs. Jones waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, what was I thinking? Of course, you're busy today. Tomorrow will be fine. How much, Mr. Smith?"

Iris took a scrap of paper from her pocket and a pencil worn down to the nub, jotting down a note for herself as they finished up.

"Oh, Iris, I'd better pay you now before I forget," Mrs. Jones said, reaching into her coin purse.

"I couldn't accept that. Not until I actually do the work," Iris said firmly.

"But I'll be at a party tomorrow. Here. I know you'll do it," Mrs. Jones said, taking Iris' hand and dropping a few coins into her palm. "Try not to work too late tonight, Iris. Good rest is absolutely necessary for a good complexion," she intoned, lifting Iris' chin with a finger.

"I'll try to keep that in mind, ma'am. Have a good day."

Mr. Smith chuckled as Mrs. Jones walked away. "She hasn't had a good complexion in thirty years. I think I've got everything for you here. Anything for yourself?"

"No, thanks. How much is it? Oh...hold on..." She rummaged around in her pockets for her coin purse and sighed. "Mrs. Evans forgot to pay me. Is it okay if I bring the money later? Wait, take this." She held out the coins in her hand, but Mr. Smith shook his head firmly.

"That's your money, Iris. I'm here all day. Bring the money when you can."

"It's just money," she insisted. "This will cover part of it, and I'll get the rest from Mrs. Evans. Please."

"On one condition," he said, his mustache twitching up with his smile. "You pick something for yourself."

"No, I can't," Iris said, shaking her head. "Please, just take it. I really need to get back to work."

He sighed. "Alright then," he said reluctantly, taking the money.

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "I'll be back later."

She picked up the full basket and walked away, pulling the paper from her pocket and scanning her list again. Mr. Smith was right. If people started doing these little odd jobs for themselves, she'd be out of work. But there was always somebody with the means and money to hire her to do their shopping, laundry, cooking, cleaning, gardening, babysitting, or whatever else, which meant she was always busy. And then there were people like Mrs. Jones, who went out of their way to find something for her to do and overpaid significantly. Sometimes she wondered why they didn't just donate to the church. That's where all the money went, anyway. Every cent she made went to Father John, who then had the difficulty of determining where and how to spend it for his collection of orphans.

She sighed and stuffed the list back in her pocket. Drop off Mrs. Evans' shopping, pick up the money, take it back to Mr. Smith, and then the Moores' laundry should be dry and ready to come off the line. That should do it for her morning.