Somewhere in Wyoming, Fall 1968

The general store smelt of food, soap and dust. So much dust in fact that it could be seen dancing in the late afternoon light. Tiny bits of skin and fabric and all the other wonderfully strange things that move in the air captured n the golden light, and Alice March frequently contemplated such things while doing her mundane chores like the weekly grocery shipping. The store was a bit cramped, the town and its desires outpacing what the original builder had anticipated decades before.

"Well Miss March, you're all set. 'You need any help out?" The portly owner smiled at Alice March with his apple cheeks and watery eyes. He was balding with a country man's comb over, wearing a faded flannel shirt in need of patching. Since his wife had passed away, it had been a long time since anyone had patched his clothes. On occasion the women's church group would get together and repair the clothes of the widowers in town. Alice regarded him not unkindly, she'd seen him nearly every week for her whole life, but she was a bit cross today, and answered him shortly.

"No thank you Mr. Dale." She tried to smile but knew it came out more like a grimace. Her own bristly attitude irritated her. "I'll be just fine."

"Now are you sure?" He asked, either not noticing or ignoring her sour mood.

"Yes I am, thank you." Alice responded crisply gathering the paper bags to either side of her. She kept reminding herself how well Mr. Dale and her father had gotten along, how long the Dales had been in this town, and other such reasons to lend this man a fair amount of respect. But of late Alice had been agitated, cranky, not able to sleep. Also there'd been this desire to run, to leave, put this town to her back and never see it again. It was an unnervingly insistent feeling, the desire to move or do something so strong it was like hiking in a sock full of burrs and just wanting to pull them off and scratch your ankles. However, some sort of family loyalty or honor held her here. So while the rest of the world was in turmoil and struggling through change, this town plodded along much in the same way it had since its creation. Alice wanted to believe that was comforting, and perhaps if she left knowing that the town plodded on its course it would comfort her, but while she was here, she felt stuck. Horribly aggravatingly stuck.

"Miss March," Mr. Dale wiped his forehead with a bandana, a nervous gesture not a necessary one. It was cool out, hardly warm enough to cause a sweat while standing still. Alice felt herself go rigid with anxiety as he continued. "Alice," uh-oh, he'd gone 'first name' on her. "You know we are all awfully worried about you. All 'lone on that big ole ranch, big property especially for one." Here it comes, "Especially since you're a woman and all. Why not get yourself a man? Or sell the land?"

Try to be civil, try to be polite she chanted to herself, "Thank you for your concern Mr. Dale. I'm doing quite well on my own. Besides, what with the war pulling our boys from home seven years ago, you know, slim pickings." She smiled, making her tone sound light, trying not to sound quite as frustrated as she felt.

"It's near been a year-"

"Have a good day."

"Now look here you! You need to do what's best for yourself!"

"Have a good day Mr. Dale. I'll see you next week." Alice turned on heel, and left the store the bell chiming noisily as she shoved the door open with her hip. She placed the groceries as quickly as she could on the passenger side of the cab of her truck. It was old enough to have personality, and certainly a bit older than her. As it roared to life and rattled out of town she tried to reason her way out of her dark mood. Really she'd just been becoming more and more withdrawn since, well since that had happened. Try as she might she just didn't want to be around other people. It wasn't as if she didn't like them, then again maybe that was her problem, maybe she'd grown to hate people? She shook her head resolutely, no, she just was sad and frustrated; stressed out too.

Then there was the money. It seemed that whenever she did get around people all they did was worry over her finances. She was doing quite enough of that on her own, thank you. Perhaps she would have to sell some of the land, she'd already sold most of the cattle, let the farmhands go, a few other corners cut. But the funerals, bills, I.O.U's all sorts of costs has boiled out of the woodwork eating into whatever Ma and Pa had left behind in an instant. The truck rattled and coughed, Alice raised her eyebrows. "Please not a car to repair too." Sadly the truck was not on her side and it sputtered, hiccupped, and clunked to a halt barely giving Alice time to pull to the side of the road. After resting her head against the steering wheel for a moment she got out and pulled the hood up. She did a bit of poking around (growing up a farm-kid meant knowing the equipment) before deciding that there was something wrong with the fuel line. Knowing what might be wrong, and being able to do anything about it were two very different things. Alice also had misdiagnosed who knows how many problems with the tractor or the truck and felt anxious about causing more damage to the poor old thing.

Alice slammed the hood, and then patted the truck apologetically, if only she'd paid more attention to all this engine stuff when she was younger. The service station would just be closing, and the walk back to town was longer at this point than the walk home. She pulled a yellowed pad of paper and a chewed pencil from the glove compartment and jotted down a quick note to Sheriff Jase explaining the situation so he wouldn't think she'd just abandoned her truck, or that something bad had happened to her. Which was more likely as Jase knew everyone's car in and around town. She sorted the groceries leaving the heavy non-perishables behind and with a resolute set to her shoulders she started her trek home. Over her shoulder she reassured the truck she's be back for it, and it sat waiting.