Chapter Eleven
Mirabelle made her way along the streets of town to stand before Tim's Hardware store. She didn't like being anywhere near Edward's factory but her father insisted that she buy a package of light bulbs there for him. It was time for Mirabelle to get on with her life and Jacob wanted her to confront the negative events of her past head on so she could be finished with them forever.
Mirabelle looked at the empty lot where The Golden Nugget Bar and Grill once stood. Wallace Matthews, reluctantly, had decided to retire rather than start anew. He now spent most of his time fishing the local river and going hunting on occasion.
She then looked at the Five-Star Uniforms factory. Up in his office, Edward would be working away. She thought of what would happen if he saw her here. He would probably go hysterical. In any case, Mirabelle had long since given up her love for him and the pain of her loss had faded away with time. Now it was a matter of what to do next. She entered into Tim's Hardware store and began to search for the light bulbs.
Upon finding them she walked to the store's cashier counter. She hadn't seen Tim Johnson when she entered. He had probably been in the back room busy with something. As she came to the counter, Mr. Johnson was still not there. "Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson?" called Mirabelle as she looked around for him.
Mr. Johnson walked up to the register with a customer by his side. Mirabelle watched as they approached the counter, conversing.
"Oh, hello Mirabelle," said Mr. Johnson in a friendly manner.
"Good morning, Mr. Johnson," replied Mirabelle, a little dejectedly. She wondered if Mr. Johnson's friendly manner was simply pretense.
Mirabelle had always liked Mr. Johnson but now she wondered if he too would shun her. In the past, she would often take a moment of her time to chat with him when she saw him sitting out in front of his store. Though many people thought of him as stubborn and unyielding in his opinions, Mirabelle admired his honest and up-front manner. He had a direct, no-nonsense approach to everything and people usually avoided argumentative discussions with him for he was known for his keen powers of observation and piercing insight into matters. He had eyes for the truth.
Mr. Johnson went behind the cash register and tallied up Mirabelle's light bulbs.
"So what are you doing these days, Mirabelle?" he asked her.
"I'm just figuring out what to do next," she replied.
"Life often has its difficult moments," responded Mr. Johnson, "Particularly, when you're not afraid to go against the grain." He looked at her compassionately. He too was rebellious and unconventional, like Mirabelle. Fortunately for him, he had found his place in the world and though his was still very individualistic, he had gained acceptance amongst the townsfolk.
Mirabelle looked at Mr. Johnson affectionately. She was happy to find someone sympathetic and understanding of her and her muddled approach to life. His kindly manner along with his personal appearance hadn't changed at all. He was the same as she had always remembered him: white hair, balding head; wire framed glasses; brown eyes; and a large pot belly underneath a stretched white workshirt. "Slim" Tim was a jestful nickname he had acquired in the past. He was anything but slim.
"I know the story," he told her, "and if you're looking for a job, I know someone who can help you."
"Who?" asked Mirabelle.
Mr. Johnson motioned towards the customer beside Mirabelle. He was an elderly man, slim-bodied, and had grey hair in the process of turning white. His blue eyes sparkled warmly to her. Blue jeans, cowboy boots, white shirt, and a black vest completed his outfit. He smiled at Mirabelle.
"Hello. My name is Michael Muller," he said with a hint of a German accent, "I'm looking for a housekeeper and cook for my ranch if you're interested."
"Well, I'm not sure," answered Mirabelle, "I have to think about it."
"Sure. Sure," he responded, "I'll be back here next Friday morning. If you want the job you can meet me then and we can discuss it."
"O.K.," said Mirabelle, "and where is your ranch?"
"Thirty miles due south of town, then west of the road, half a mile," he answered.
"O.K. I'll consider it," replied Mirabelle.
She smiled at the rancher, paid Mr. Johnson and said goodbye. She walked home wondering if she should take the job. It was better than doing nothing, better than wasting away in this small town. It would be a challenge and an adventure. She looked up from the street, pausing momentarily from her ruminations. The world seemed brighter, clearer. Maybe things could change for the better, she hoped, and wondered what the future would bring.
