--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Bell, Ruth Moench collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 29 number: 1 published: 1925-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Bell, Ruth Moench, “Emery’s Turkey Shop,” *Improvement Era* 29, no. 1 (November 1925): 36–49." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2901unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2901unse start_page: 36 end_page: 49 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2901unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Emery’s Turkey Shop EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP By Ruth Moench Bell. The first time Angela Hildreth saw Emery Raines she was fleeing in terror from a gander, which had developed a sudden antipathy for her black stockings. Angela was running with her eyes closed, hence did not see Emery coming to her rescue, till she ran plump into him. Emery suddenly loomed large in her path, with rugged brows and high-top boots, looking calmly down on her and ignoring the self-important gander. That anyone could be indifferent to the gander, passed belief. In all her ten years, Angela had never seen so formidable an object of destruction as that gander had seemed, with neck outstretched, utter- ing raucous sounds, its body laid low over the earth, while its legs covered space with incredible dexterity. Angela looked up at Emery with deepest relief and complete adoration. Surely this man must be an Abraham Lincoln or some Greek god or hero. Emery's impression was of a little girl with flying legs and black curls. In quiet amusement he had intercepted her flight. A girl running with her eyes closed was a new enigma for Emery. As she stood panting before him, her large, dark eyes dilating with terror and then contracting with relief, Emery, ever observant of birds and wild creatures, had noted the close-set eyes which distinguished Angela and then he had given his attention to the splash of color as it returned to her cheeks. Emery found the uncertain behavior of that color rather tantalizing. It began at the base of Angela's cheek, back toward her ear, thence creeping upward, pausing half-way in the most fascinating manner, wavering provokingly, yet never reaching the cheek-bone, where Emery had supposed a girl's color belonged. The look of understanding and wonder, which Angela thought Emery gave her, was only his speculative interest in that splash of color. Would it disappear altogether? Would it slip off entirely? Would it go up whence color was meant to be? "I suppose I should not have run?" Angela had panted. As Emery was still speculating about the color, he did not reply at once. "That big, white bird could not have been a swan, then?" Angela had queried. "That gander — a — a swan?" Emery had observed. He had come to the conclusion that the color might accomplish a fade-out; but it did not seem likely to spread or slip pff. He helped Angela over the fence, looking after her and wondering why she did not glance back at him. EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 37 Years afterward, Angela tried to remember what had become of the gander thus ignored. She also wondered how Emery Raines had got there so promptly to save her. Had Angela been an older resident of Bradbury, or if she had continued her residence in the town, she would have known or found out that Emery Raines had a way of being wherever he was most needed, happening in the most casual way, to arrive in the nick of time. If there were a runaway, everyone looked to see Emery appear in time to catch the frightened team. He had a way of getting hold of the reins and was never more unconcerned than at such moments, except in case of fire, then Emery was calmest and surest. Many still chuckle over the time when Emery, a youth of twenty, took the hose from the excited chief, who was making a nuisance of himself with crazy orders. Emery eliminated the chief by adroitly turning the hose on him, as if by accident. Naturally, Angela could not have known all this, being but ten, while Emery was at least twenty. The next time Angela Hildreth saw Emery Raines must have been ten years later. Her father had returned to Bradbury to spend his widowerhood, and had brought Angela with him. Dusk was descending one evening, soon after her return, when Angela rode back from a ride on her mare, Taxy. There had been a wonderful sunset and Angela had lingered to feel its last pulsation of color. Mounting a low hill, on the outskirts of town, she looked out through the deepening dusk, over a field, singularly beautiful in its setting among the hills. Angela closed her eyes as if to retain the picture. When she opened them again, she caught at her bridle uncertainly. Was she dreaming or did she imagine that the field she was gazing at was moving? ' Ross Pepperil, at times her escort and at times over-looked, rode up beside her. "The field is moving, Ross, it is actually moving," Angela ex- claimed, i " 'Till Birnum forest come to Dunsinane'," Ross quoted dra- matically, i l "Hush," Angela breathed in wonderment and awe. "The field is on the move, I telliyou. It is moving." "It does seem to be on the move," Ross puzzled and jumped to the ground. In the closing dusk he stooped and reached out his hand. "What is it?" Angela demanded. "I am feeling the field go by," Ross roared with laughter. "We must have stumbled onto Emery Raine's turkey farm. This is a field of turkeys, young turkeys, a whole acre of them," 38 IMPROVEMENT ERA Angela slid off her mare. The witchery of the night and the thrill of hundreds of living, moving creatures held her speechless. "The darkness is so complete and sudden up here in the hills," Ross deprecated. "We can't hope to see anything. Yet, from its location, this must be the spot where Emery is herding his newly acquired young turkeys." Ross laughed in amusement not unmixed with contempt. "Emery," Angela repeated. "Emery." "Surely you remember Emery Raines," Ross laughed. "Tall, gawky, got a hook nose, sunken cheeks, auburn hair that looks as if it had never had a raking over. Surely you recall Emery?" Angela, absorbed in the scene before her, shook her head. "I've been away ever since I was a girl of ten." "Why, Emery is a sort of combination of Happy Hooligan and Abraham Lincoln," Ross recited, pluming himself on his phrase-making. "Like Happy, Emery is always on hand in case of trouble." Angela raised her head, as if listening to a memory. Ross continued, felici- tating himself on his last phrase, "And like honest Abe — there are none homlief." Then, indeed, Angela remembered, "I know him," she mur- mured, as if only to herself. "He is tall as a tower and listens to one, even when one is not speaking." She laughed ripplingly, "and yet, as you say, he is homely as Abraham Lincoln." "Wonder what the poor sap is doing leaving all these birds alone at this time of night," Ross observed curtly. He did not feel like exulting with Angela over Emery's qualifications. "These young turkeys would make a dandy feed for the coyotes." As if called into being by the word, a dismal yapping, howling and barking began. Angela lifted her head entranced. The one touch, the touch of tone, had been added to the scene. Emery with buggy whip in hand, came upon them, waving his whip at the turkeys, trying to induce them to roost out of reach of the the coyotes, whose weird voices intoned their desires. "Good-evening, Ross," Emery exclaimed easily. "And Angela Hildreth," Emery added with quiet warmth, extending his hand. "What are you going to do with them?" Ross laughed with thinly veiled sarcasm, indicating the mass of moving turkeys. "Why don't you rent that old shop on Gentry street and peddle them off for Thanksgiving and Christmas?" "Thanks, Ross, for the suggestion," Emery observed." I don't know but what I will." Either Emery chose not to notice or else missed the fact that Ross meant the hint as a flick in the face from his riding whip. Ross wheeled his horse in further expression of contempt, also apparently lost on Emery. "I'll wait for you on the hill," Ross called back to, Angela. EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 39 "Maybe you better ride on," Angela cried. "This interests me. I never saw so many living, growing things." She led her horse and walked beside Emery as he continued to shoo his turkeys to safety. The thrill of the night fell over Emery and Angela, as they walked in silence. The pulsing of life, the cool, clear air, the odor of sage, the queer, gurgling voices of the young turkeys, these and the mystery and hush of closing day, held them stilled for a time. "Haven't thought much about what I would do with them when they are grown," Emery remarked. "They've been amusing with their odd, wild ways. You should have seen the crazy nests the mothers demanded. The turkey is never at home unless he thinks he is on the outskirts of civilization. The instinct of the wild fowl to hide her nest can never be bred out of the mother hen. The woman I got these birds from was a positive genius in constructing nests haphazard and hit and miss enough to fool the turkey hen." Angela laughed. It tickled her fancy. She had always found the turkey amusing. "That only shows that the turkey is a joke after all," she rippled." It has such a funny, cranky disposition and looks so absurd when it gets angry." She wanted Emery to know that she remembered him. "Now, that gander you' saved me from — " Emery felt his color surging up under his collar. "That gander looked as if it meant business." "I see," Emery smiled. "You think the turkey looks as if it were pulling one big bluff." From turkeys they branched off to the "ridiculous donkey with its slap-stick bray." Then Angela remembered that she never could take the Giraffe seriously with its "absurd head moving in stately fashion on a neck that was sheer caricature." Ross, waiting dolefully at the top of the hill, was not particularly pleased at the easy comradship into which the two had fallen. He thought it best to return after all and wait rather than be left out altogether. As Emery helped Angela mount her horse, he remembered suddenly the splash of color that had crept onto her cheek, the night he found her running with her eyes closed, from the gander. In the darkness, he could not tell whether her color still maintainted that inverted position on her cheek, whence it might easily slip off. He wondered, too, what she had done with her curls and if her eyes were still set close togeher, and if they were big and black as they had been when she was that little girl. It occurred to Emery that if he was thirty, Angela must be at least twenty. She could not have been more than ten at the time of the episode with the gander. Not that her age meant anything to him! Not that his age and the difference between them could possibly mean 40 IMPROVEMENT ERA anything to Angela, daughter of wealth and leisure. She was not within his hemisphere. Emery opened a shop on Gentry street. Probably he considered Ross Pepperil's suggestion a good one. He had to find some way of disposing of his immense flock of turkeys. Probably he thought best to ride on the crest of the wave of interest that Ross had created. Ross, whether in pique or in an attempt to be funny, had caused to be published in The Morning Courier a news item filled with covert sneers. Angela did not regard the article as amusing. She suspected Ross of fathering it. If she had never been a friend of Emery Raines, that item would have made her instantly his champion. Angela got into her small roadster two days later and went down Gentry street. The shop was a hive of industry when Angela arrived on the scene. Painters were at work on the outside and scrub women within. Trucks were hauling away garbage from the rear. Other trucks were bringing in supplies and equipment. She caught sight of Emery giving orders to Cal Hawks. Evidently, the entire shop was to be done in white. Already it stood out on that most wretched of streets. Angela smiled and drove by, returning after the workers had left. Emery sat down on a barrel of salted pig's feet and took the clipping she held out to him. Yes, he had read it. No, he did not think it particularly mean. Emery smiled over the phrases which had vexed Angela. "You see I am opening a shop on Gentry street," he reminded her. Emery scanned the paper again in quiet amusement. He seemed not to suspect Ross of any connection with the article. Angela received a new impression of Emery. And yet, this new phase only chimed in with his other characteristics. He did not deal in spite, hence did not look for spite in others . "I did not realize that I was a 'distinguished citizen'," Emery remarked. "I have been a 'herder of turkeys' for the past few weeks, at least ever since they were worked off onto me." That was probably characteristic, also, Angela reflected. Some one had been involved) and Emery had helped her out by buying the flock of turkeys. "There was another phrase that was rather amusing," Emery went on. "Let me see. Oh, here it is: 'a carver of cut-up carcasses of cattle,' clever phrase that," Emery chuckled. "This other is not so good, 'A peddler of dead beeves,' (Angela shuddered at the words) and 'beheaded Turks,' meaning turkeys, I suppose." Angela looked at Emery as he talked, absorbed in the paper. Yes. he was as homely as Abraham Lincoln, almost. She noticed the almost pathetic line of his mouth. He had a good chin and moutb, kindly and sympathetic. He probably had come to the assistance of EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 41 many, as well as of herself. She could imagine any one coming tt Emery in time of trouble. Angela's glance strayed to his seamed, reddened neck, acquired, no doubt, while herding turkeys. And yet, she remembered that she had heard of Emery as a lover of nature. Some had said that he knew intimately the life and habits of every bird or animal in that part of the country. How gnarled and hairy his hands looked! He had undoubtedly never scorned work. Angela felt a sudden distaste for men with beautifully kept hands. She wondered how it would feel to have her hand swallowed up in a big, capable hand like Emery's. What a friend he could be in his calm, composed way. As a child she had thought of him as a tower. Yes, he was like that, poised and protecting, a light-house tower on the rocks, ready to help the needy. Emery returned the paper to Angela and arose, putting one foot on the barrel and leaned his elbow on his knee. "The only phase of this market business that I shall not like," he observed, "is — is the 'beheading' of those turkeys. As a kid, I remember asking mother if we could not get Jim Carney to kill our Christmas chicken. I suppose I figured that as Jim professed no religion he would probably not get to heaven anyway," Emery chuckled. Angela smiled. "Why not get Cal Hawks to do that part," she suggested. / "That's the idea," Emery declared. Then he resumed his work, talking the while, exactly as if he and Angela were life-long friends. Emery looked after her when she went. Too bad that a nice girl like that, a real girl, who understood and could talk with a man about his plans and seemed to have a genuine interest, should be wasted on a young snob like Ross Pepperil, who probably would not half appreciate her. What had become of her curls? Very likely she had tucked them up, he had not noticed. Her eyes were still big and black and had that close-set position, like two ebony lights with only a slim line between. Her color still had that odd way of beginning upside down on her face and wavering there. Angela looked in once before Thanksgiving and found Cal Hawks at the block. Emery was not in the shop. Cal looked vexed. "We sent a bill down to those Adamses in the south field," Cal explained. "The boy came back with the word that the whole family is down sick. Adams has been out of work for two months. That means they can't pay the butcher bill that has been running ever since the shop opened." Angela could see no reason why this circumstance should be so annoying to Cal. Folks often were ill, she supposed, and sometimes found themselves out of work and unable to pay bills. "Mr. Raines is not here, then," she asked. 42 IMPROVEMENT ERA "No, he did the usual thing for him, I guess," Cal observed grimly. "As soon as the boy came back with the bad news that we could collect nothing from the Adams bunch, Emery begins wrapping up a big bundle of meat. We saw him jump on his wheel. And here I am left to run the shop alone." "You think he went — " Angela began. "Down to the south field, of course," Cal grouched. "If a bunch can't pay for what they have already bought, then Emery takes them some more." Angela smiled to herself, as she got back into her car. Emery seemed to run true to form in every respect. Each new phase of him fitted in with the others as inevitably as the dissected parts of a picture puzzle. Evidently the business was prospering. And that was really what interested her, Angela told herself. After the article in The Courier the business simply must prosper. Angela found the shop rather thrilling when she visited the shop on Thanksgiving Eve. Emery must be doing well, she concluded, such throngs as were going in and coming out of the little shop on Gentry street. How jovial every one seemed. Emery had a way of jollying people. Angela could see their faces lighted up responsively, as Emery handed parcels of meat over the counter with a quip or merry word which seemed immensely cheering. The peculiar manner of women marketing for meat, was notably missing. Angela had often smiled at the expressions of women in a butcher shop, their nostrils scornfully curled, as they poked a gloved finger into or at the bloody stuff. No noses were in the air that evening. Not a woman was sniffing disgustedly. Every one had caught the Thanksgiving spirit, evidently. Angela moved a trifle nearer to the counter. "That's all right, Mrs. Thomas," she heard Emery remark. "This is the very turkey I saved out for you. I knew he would be just the size for your hungry boys. Next!" A turkey for Mrs. Thomas! Angela looked interested. And such a bird. A widow, the mother of five small sons, carrying away a turkey twice the size of the one Angela meant to get for her guests. Mrs. Thomas must be in very good circumstances. Angela received a shock, however, when she caught a glimpse of the ragged shawl, aged hat and thin skirt, as Mrs. Thomas went out with her turkey. Angela smiled a greeting to Mrs. Thomas, and that appeared to be the last straw. The widow's chin quivered and tears coursed down her cheeks. Angela's gaze followed the widow to the door and there, outside the window, jumping up and down with glee, as the mother appeared EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 43 with her load, were five small boys. Five of them with outstretched arms and eager faces! How shabby and thin the group looked. She turned away in time to see Ben Griffen carrying out another enormous turkey and blinking rapidly. The bird he held must have beeen twice the size of the baby Ben's wife had left when she died. "So glad to see you are in better circumstances," Angela spoke kindly to Ben, as he passed her at the door. For reply Ben gulped hard and was gone. Angela turned again toward the counter. She was crowded near the door, so Emery had not observed her. How handsome, after all, Emery looked in his white jacket and spotless apron. His auburn hair had a tendency to curl. His deep-set eyes gleamed kind and true. Angela noticed again the almost pathetic line of his mouth, as if he, who was always helping others who were in trouble, needed a little petting himself. Angela glanced away. Probably she better call up Ross tomorrow and tell him Something Emery was saying arrested her attention. "Sure, sure, that's all right, Knowlton," she heard. "We'll put it on your account. Sure, sure, that's all right. Now what can I do for you Merriss." And Emery pushed another wrapped Turkey across the counter. Knowlton charging things! Angela wondered! She saw Knowlton grin as he turned from the counter. "Nuts, clear nuts," she heard him remark to his wife. Mrs. Knowlton smiled, too, with a slight sneer. Knowlton was the banker, the rich banker. He and Ross Pep- perill owned the richest bank in town. Knowlton charging meat! Angela felt indignant. Emery had not even taken time to make a note of the charge order. Not a slip or memorandum of any kind. He was waiting on one customer after another. "How is your farm getting on, Merriss," Emery was saying. "Yes, I know, times have been hard for most since the war depression." "Now what can I do for you, young man," Emery called heartily. Angela noticed Dave Elkins hobble up on his crutch. "We've got your bundle already, Dave," Emery cried. Dave protested and pushed the parcel back toward Emery, who insisted and had his way. Presently Dave limped away with one of the smaller turkeys. Angela noticed that Cal Hawks, over at the chnnn!p« v.iQck looked at Emery, then shrugged his shoulders and resumed his steak cutting. Emery joined him. "Get what change there is and go over to Jameson's and see if you can't get some more stuff, Cal," Emery urged. "The crowd is still coming and we are almost sold out." Cal grinned and jerked open the cash-box. Emery rubbed his head in consternation. "Why, there must be more than that," he cried. 44 IMPROVEMENT ERA We've been doing a rushing business. Never mind, I'll go over to Jameson's myself." Emery caught up his hat and made for the door and then he caught sight of Angela. Emery's color did not begin like Angela's. Emery's color surged up over his seamed neck and spread like a forest fire. "Come with me, can't you?" he whispered boyishly exultant. "Got to get more meat for them." Angela laughed, as they went out to her car. "Big business I see." "Great, simply great," Emery rejoiced. "And you never saw such a lot of tickled people in your life. Do you know about half the folks in this town never ate turkey for Thanksgiving." His enthus- iasm was the glee of a boy. "Why, I've sold more turkey than anything else." Angela's heart sang in unison. "Glad you are doing so well," she responded. "To tell the truth the money seems rather slow coming in," Emery hesitated." But shucks, they'll pay when they can." "You are keeping books then?" Emery looked a bit anxious. "To tell the truth, I can't find time to set down half'the purchases. Such a rush." Angela again saw before her those five boys with arms uplifted to receive the turkey Emery had so generously "sold" their mother. "Does a kid good once in a while to have a real, big luxury." Emery observed, as if he too, were thinking of those small boys. "Think of looking forward to turkey all your life and then getting nothing but steak or chicken?" "Eating turkey once in a while sort of expands a person," Emery chuckled. ' ' | i j j "Like giving turkeys," Angela thought to herself. "I wonder if you wouldn't like to see the shop when we get back," Emery suggested. Jameson's was closed so they soon got back and found that Cal Hawks had closed the "shop on Gentry street." "You might come in and look around," Emery said, I'd like to show you the new refrigerating plant." Angela almost swung the car into a telephone pole. "New refrigerating plant?" she repeated "Don't they cost frightfully? And you wouldn't need one till spring, would you." "I know," Emery hesitated. "But — well to tell the truth, Hank Williams hasn't been able to sell a single plant this year. You have no idea how hard times are. So I — " "I know. You bought one to help him out." EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 45 "Yes, I figured if I was going in at all I better do the thing up right." Angela made a few mental calculations, as together they went over the shop. Ice — plant — modern equipment — every inch of the shop freshly painted and enameled — glass counters — marble blocks — modern storage — • and turkeys — given away. "How is the shop paying," she inquired demurely. "If I had time," Emery admitted, "I'm sure I could make her pay out. But — well, you see, I felt that I had to make good, after that article in The Courier and then young Pepperil — " Angela turned toward Emery — -"Ross, Ross Pepperil?" "Yes, he's pretty white, after all, offered me as much as I needed just as soon as he saw how things were going. Yes, offered me $15,000 so I could do the thing up right." "Fifteen thousand — with what security?" "The shop and — the farm," Emery admitted with visible re- luctance." "That was all I had for security." After awhile Angela got her breath again. "You mortgaged that splendid, great farm for fifteen thousand?" Angela had been her father's counselor since her mother's death and realized that mortgages had a disagreable habit of falling due just when one least desired such a contingency. "Of course, I never guessed that the shop would not pay out handsomely right away." Emery concluded. "You see, with turkeys at — •" "Nothing apiece," was on the tip of Angela's tongue to say. Emery must have sensed what she was about to say. "They are all good scouts," he broke off. "Every one of them. They'll all pay." Emery fell silent for awhile. Angela could see that something other than all he had said, was troubling him. "You didn't see the five little Thomas boys at the window," Angela remarked. "They were waiting out on the sidewalk for their mother to come with the Thanksgiving turkey." Emery looked uncomfortable. Would Angela insist on knowing how five, fatherless boys got the idea that their thin underfed, over- worked mother was going to bring home a turkey, a real turkey. Emery's lip twitched. There was some things he did not care to have too closely scrutinized, even by Angela. "I haven't shown you the rest of the shop," Emery suggested. Angela was not to be diverted. "How long was your note for?" she asked, as they looked around. "Well, er — er yesterday Ross came in and — well, to tell the truth, the note is due now. Ross says the bank is hard pressed for 46 IMPROVEMENT ERA funds. It seems he made the loan to me without his father's know- ledge. Anyhow, the holidays are making demands on the bank and the inspector might come any time. You know, banks don't lend on real estate and farms any more." Emery was floundering about in a maze of sentences, more or less explanatory, more or less apologetic." Even so Ross has been mighty white. He has extended the time till Christmas." "Oh," Angela smiled, changing the subject. "I suppose this is your new storage." Emery was grateful for the change of topic. He wanted to talk things over with her; but as he talked he was conscious that the situation was hopeless, so far as lifting that loan was concerned. "Here is our new sausage machine," he pointed out. "Grinds fine as hair." Angela looked speculatively at the machine. She was wondering whether Ross Pepperil could be ground much smaller, even if he were run through the machine. Christmas Eve came and the crowds flocked into Emery's shop. Gentry street had never known the tread of so many eager joyous feet at one time. Poor and rich alike had heard the rumor of Emery's Thanksgiving gifts and most of the customers were willing to accept. "Just as well let the poorer ones have their meat," Emery insis- ted, as Cal Hawks remonstrated. , "The old shop's going anyway. Might as well clean it up neat. Let 'em have their Christmas feed." Old Lady Graham, the last to leave the shop, heard the remark and turned half-way. "You mean you are closing out for good — for — ever — ■" she quavered. "Run out of meat," Emery joked. "Can't sell the counters for Christmas feasting." Mrs. Grahm hobbled mournfully away. Emery had failed, their Emery! He had been so kind to everyone. Too kind, perhaps! That was why he was failing. He had been too kind and generous. Willie Thomas broke into Emery's thoughts. "You've got to come over to the Christmas tree. It's a great, big tree. The church is all bright and shining." Willie tugged at Emery's knees. "You must come. There are to be presents for all the grown-ups, too." "No, I don't think I can go over to-night," Emery protested. "I kind of want to straighten up a little." He meant he wanted to be alone to think over impressions of a period that had slipped into the past. He was too tired to look forward to what might lie ahead. He would only straighten out the tangle in his thoughts and in his shop and get ready to deliver the keys to Ross. Christmas morning. EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 47 "You can go, Cal," Emery said. Cal got his things on and then grasped Emery's hand in silent sympathy. He had not approved of Emery's bounties; but he could only respect the feeling that had prompted them. Emery went around the place, clearing out the few things that were left to clear out. He wondered if Angela had received the Christ- mas turkey he had sent her. He would have felt a little less lonely if she had come in. He wondered vaguely why she had not been in since Thanksgiving. He had heard that she was away. Well, she and Ross would at least have wealth. That is, if she had chosen Ross, as rumor claimed. Emery sat down on the discarded wooden chopping block in the back of the shop. The venture had been a failure financially and yet he could not regret. It had been a dispenser of cheer while it had lasted. The poor on Gentry street had tasted foods unknown to their palates heretofore. If some had profited who might have paid, well, where was the harm? He probably could not have made a go of it anyhow, not being fitted for business. His place was on the farm. "There is the one regret," Emery reflected to himself, "the only regret is the farm." Years of patient toil had gone into that farm. How many, many years would drag into the past before another could be found and culti- vated, built up and paid for. Now was the time that farm was needed anyhow. Now, not twenty years hence. Now while the little Thomas boys were young and growing! Now before the mother of those growing boys had worn her life away in toil that could not keep them decently fed! He would have given up the shop after the holidays. He had known his interest would fade after the turkeys were all sold. If he had not lost the farm, when spring came he could have taken a few, at least, of the needy out into God's fresh air and let them grow up working with growing things. Room for every one, work for all, food in abundance. He should have thought twice before he mort- gaged that farm for so trifling a sum. Two years before, sixty thousand dollars would not have bought the place. Now, because of the post-war depression, fifteen thousand dollars could not be raised in any way to lift the mortgage. Whether Emery dozed on the chopping block, he could not have told. He had often, even when less weary, slipped into slumber when his thoughts had tussled with a knotty problem impossible to solve. Emery raised his head. What was happening? Was he losing his reason? Such a clamor as rose from the front of the shop. Ross Pepperil could not be trying to move everything out on Christmas Eve. Emery's fighting spirit came up. 4 8 IMPROVEMENT ERA "I'll deliver those keys tomorrow and not before," he called as he marched toward the locked door. Emery swayed and stepped back. A mob seemed rushing in on him. "Emery, Emery Raines," they were shouting. "Here, here you — ■" Emery began, bewildered by the clamor and sudden rush of the crowd toward him. The throng burst into the shop, bringing the snow and the cool, frosty air with them. All the unfortunate of Gentry street and of the entire city seemed to be pouring in. Old Lady Grahm was in the foreground. "We've brought you all we can rake together," she cried. "You can't close the shop, you shan't close the shop," Dave Elkins shouted. "You've been too darn good to all of us. That's why you're broke. We've broke you letting you give when we might have paid part, part at least." Willie Thomas grabbed Emery's hand and began stuffing pennies into it. Pennies he had earned selling papers on frosty mornings. "Here, you can't do that, I tell you," Emery began. His voice broke treacherously. "I tell you I never had such — so much — Oh, clear out of here can't you," he begged, as pennies, nickles, dimes and quarters showered onto the counters. Emery turned his back on the mob. A man does not care to be caught boohooing like a boob. Emery had got to the stage where he could barely see the crowd through a mist of tears that flooded his eyes. He was glad he had not seen Angela's face through that blur. He was glad she had not been there to see his weakness. Somebody grasped his hand under cover of the counter, as he Jurned from the sobbing throng. Somebody with a hand absurdly ^rnall and soft clung to his hand. Emery blinked and gulped several times. He got command of his voice after awhile. "What are you doing here," he demanded with a gruffness meant to cover the break his silly voice kept making. "This is Christmas Eve. Why aren't you up to the church celebrating?" "Listen," Angela called to the crowd. She was still holding onto Emery's hand with both her own under cover of the counter. "Listen, friends, Daddy, my Daddy has bought the mortgage to Emery's turkey farm. Everyone of you take up your pennies and buy turkey eggs and set hens as soon as spring breaks. There shall be turkey for all and work for all. It is to be a municipal turkey farm. We are all to have a share in it. Daddy says — "a suspicious quiver crept into Angela's brave tones. She bit her lip and caught her breath and tried again. "Daddy says, that Emery's turkey farm is too good an — an asset to this town and he must run it for us — run it always." Amid the cheering that followed, Emery tried to free his hand EMERY'S TURKEY SHOP 49 from Angela's gentle grasp. A man can stand so much and then the strongest of the sex will break. Emery knew now that he loved Angela, must always have loved her. He had known all the time she was not for him. He never would have bothered her with his love. He had strength of character enough, he hoped he had enough, to have kept away from her forever. Her sympathy, her nearness were unmanning him. He must not take her in his arms there before the entire popu- lace. Right there was not the time to make a fool of himself. The mob somehow must have taken the hint. They began to edge their way out, chattering and cheering through the falling snow, which descended like a benediction on all. "But my dear," Emery protested, drawing Angela close, under the mistaken impression that he was keeping away from her. "You couldn't — you couldn't possibly love an ugly morsel like me. I — I can't let you throw yourself away like that. You must not give yourself to any one so unworthy." "Must you be the only one who gives gifts unworthily?" Angela smiled up at him. "Then you do — you really do care for me? It isn't just sym- pathy?" Emery cried incredulously happy. "I have no turkeys to give," Angela smiled mistily, "but surely you will let me give — ■" Willie Thomas, on his knees on the other side of the counter, grubbing for pennies, took up the refrain, mischievously. "Yes, we have no — turkeys — ■" he sang as he bolted for the door, the last to leave. Emery caught the idea, as he caught Angela up to him. "Yes, we have no turkeys. We have farms and laughter and love and each other. We don't need any turkeys or shops today," he cried joyously. Logan, Utah God Bless the Parents Dear God, bless every parent, who hath a wayward son Or daughter under heaven, please bless them every one. O touch them with thy Spirit, to lead them back to thee Through deep, sincere repentance, to live eternally. Forgive them all their follies and lead them in the way Of virtue, truth and honor, ah, never more to stray. Heal thou the heart that's broken, bind up the wounds that bleed; The tempest- tossed, the afflicted, their soul's deep hunger feed. O let the prayers of the righteous raise to thee not in vain But send to them deliverance from sorrow, grief and pain. O grant that true salvation, may come, this very hour, To the oppressed, downtrodden, of Satan's cruel power. Oakland, California ANNIE G. LAURITZEN