The first loaf Reid Mercer bought from Lena was still warm enough to steam inside the paper when he carried it out of the bakery.
Lena watched him through the front window until he disappeared beneath the covered walkway, a tall man in a weather-darkened coat with the shoulders of someone who spent more time lifting feed sacks than sitting behind a desk.
Then she looked down at the two silver coins he had placed on the counter.
He had paid too much.
Again.
“Mr. Mercer.”
He was already halfway across the muddy street when she pushed open the bakery door.
The cold Montana wind rushed beneath her sleeves.
“Mr. Mercer!”
He stopped and turned.
Lena held up one coin.
“You gave me twice the price.”
Reid looked at the coin, then at her.
“No, I didn’t.”
“A loaf is twelve cents.”
“I know.”
“You left twenty-five.”
“I know that too.”
Lena’s expression hardened.
“Then you made a mistake deliberately.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“Is that still called a mistake?”
“You know what I mean.”
Reid tucked the wrapped bread beneath his arm.
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t take charity.”
Something changed in his face.
Not anger.
More like surprise.
“I didn’t offer charity.”
“You bought one loaf.”
“Yes.”
“For twice what I charge everyone else.”
“You should charge everyone else more.”
“That is not the point.”
“It might be.”
Lena descended the bakery step carefully.
The wooden board complained under her weight.
People often noticed that before they noticed anything else about her.
Lena Caldwell weighed nearly six hundred and sixty pounds—roughly three hundred kilograms by the measurements a European doctor had once used in a letter to her family. She was thirty-one years old, strong through the shoulders and arms from years of kitchen work, with freckled fair skin, deep green eyes, and copper-red hair she kept pinned loosely at the back of her head.
She had long ago learned the sequence of strangers’ expressions.
First surprise.
Then staring.
Then calculation.
Would the chair hold her?
Could the wagon carry her?
How much must she eat?
How had she become that size?
Some people disguised the questions.
Others did not.
Reid Mercer had never asked one.
That almost made his extra money worse.
She held the coin toward him.
“I mean it.”
He looked at her hand.
Then finally took it.
“All right.”
“Thank you.”
“But your price is still too low.”
Lena folded her arms.
“That is my problem.”
Reid nodded once.
“Fair enough.”
He started away.
Then stopped.
“Tomorrow?”
“What?”
“Will you have another loaf tomorrow?”