“We are war veterans,” Garrison said.

  “Hardened and experienced under pressure,” Lark added.

  “No strangers to fear and danger,” Garrison continued.

  They both stared at the cart. Garrison twitched as the scratching noise started again. “Do you think it’s a rat?” he said.

  “Oh, I hope not. I have plenty already in the barn. And it sounds too big to be a rat.”

  As if it heard them, the cart shifted back and forth as the creature inside moved around.

  “We can’t just let it stay in there,” Lark said. “I need the cart for tomorrow.”

  “What if It’s a pixie or a gnome? I hate gnomes.” Garrison said.

  “I’ll open the lid. You get ready to hold it like you did, James, okay?”

  Garrison nodded, steeled himself, and downed the last of his gin. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They approached the cart cautiously. The scratching had become more intense, and every now and then, the whole thing wiggled from side to side. Lark grasped the handle to the main compartment. Garrison held two hands out at the ready. Lark eased the door open, and a gray mass pushed itself out as soon as the latch opened. Garrison reacted instantly, and the door flew open. A writhing ball of hair and claws was caught in his air vice.

  “Put it on the ground!” Lark said over the yowling wail. “I think it’s a cat!”

  Garrison eased it slowly to the ground, and they both took a few steps back. Its feet hit the dirt, and the frantic thrashing stopped. Two yellow eyes glared up at them with such menace that they each took another step back. His body was large, round, and dense looking, but ridiculously slender legs and tiny feet supported its bulk. The cat looked like a soot covered cannonball with tiny feet. His head was smaller than it sould be for such a large body, but his glaring eyes dared you to say so. He was all gray, like a pile of ash, and his tiny ears folded away with disapproval.

  “Thud!” Lark said. “This must be Thud, my grandmother’s barn cat. She wrote to me that he wandered in a couple of years ago.

  “Thud?” Garrison said. “That’s the worst cat name ever.”

  “Look at him,” Lark said. “He’s a Thud.”

  Garrison cocked his shaved head from side to side. “Ok, I guess so. Should I let him go?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  They took another two steps back.

  As soon as his magical restraints were lifted, Thud shook as if to wrestle entirely free himself. He was dirty, but his short hair was not matted. He opened his mouth and gave them both a half-hearted “Meaaah,” and turned towards his barn. His tail was thin, ridiculous, and waved behind him like a flagpole without a banner as he sauntered underbelly waggling into the open barn door.

  “You have shitty animals on this farm,” Garrison said.

  “If he catches the rats, he can be as shitty as he wants,” she replied.

  The next day was market day. Market day as a kid was always the best day. For years, her grandparents had brought their cut flowers, herbs, fruit, seedlings, and plants to sell each Saturday from March to November in the square in Mystic Landing. Other farmers and vendors also set up stalls, carts, or just a collection of baskets or tables. People swapped necessities and ate good food. Musicians played for tips, kids danced and played games on the grass, and the whole town came out to socialize.

  After her parents married, it was her mother who took on the task of selling each Saturday. Her outgoing, personable ease made her a natural, and June was glad to give way to the next generation. She was able to enjoy the market as a customer. As Lark cleaned up the cart and loaded up the flower and herb bundles, she felt proud to carry on the family tradition.

  She took her time walking the one and a half miles into town. The cart wasn’t overloaded, but it took more effort than she was used to. She left right at sun up, so she had plenty of time. As she passed the Bly farm, she saw Garrison down in the run, surrounded by chickens as he spread feed. At the Wheeler house, she waved to Jessica, who was on the front lawn playing with her kids.

  “See you in town!” Jessica called.

  Lark stopped at the top of the bridge to rest for a moment. Her arms and legs were feeling it. She remembered how her father would push the cart each week, while her mother drove the horse and wagon. They had been a good team, when things were going well.

  She pulled into town just as it was waking up. She waved at Penny who was placing a sign outside the bakery, and she petted Raymond who rushed out of the general store when she passed. Mr Quade followed shortly after.

  “Oh good! You’ve come for market day!” he said.

  Lark looked around at the empty green. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “They will come. You should set up on the street across the store and the bakery.” Mr Quade pointed to a spot a few yards away.

  “Not on the green?” she asked.

  “Oh no, walking on the grass is against town code. They’ve been trying to grow it.”

  Lark looked across at the beautiful, lush lawn. “It looks grown,” she said. It needs kids to run around on it.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Mr Quade nodded. “They are all too scared of Mr Wheeler and his council, I suppose.”

  Lark pulled her cart right up to the edge of the grass and began to set up. She opened up the cart, folding out the doors to make convenient display shelves. She pulled out shallow pails, which she filled with water from the town well, and neatly placed her bundles of herbs and flowers in rows. At one time, the flower cart had a beautiful paint job, green with pink and white flowers, but it had faded over the years, and most of it had chipped away. There had also been four wooden rods that supported a canvas top. There was no telling where those were now. But, the April day was still cool, and the clouds covered the sun in spurts, so Lark and her flowers had no fear of wilting today.

  She finished getting ready just as a wagon pulled up at the corner to her right. The fishermen waved at her and seemed happy to see a fellow seller. They set up a table and had their fresh catches, smoked selections, and bait buckets displayed in no time.

  A few more people joined them in the next hour. The Mayfeild sisters strolled in with a little cart pulled by a goat. They set up a small table, two folding chairs, and a display of various bottles and jars. They each chatted briefly with Lark. They were friendly but certainly direct. They bought some bluebells and a bundle of mint. They also asked about a few herbs they were interested in, and Lark made a note of their request.

  By nine o’clock the townsfolk started wandering by. The fishermen, Mr Coffman and his sons, who owned several fishing boats, were loud and exuberantly touted their wares. The Mayfield sisters ignored everyone, even those who came right up to them.

  Lark had been nervous as the day started, but the anxiety melted away as old friends and new faces all came up to look at her flowers. Everyone was welcoming and encouraging. She sold out of tulips before noon, and had several orders for herb seedlings. The meager herb bundles were not popular. Many people had these common varieties in their own gardens. So she started giving them away with the promise that more would come as soon as she got the farm going again.

  “You’ve done well!” June said as she and her circle came down in the late morning. “I knew the tulips would be popular.”

  “It’s been nice,” Lark said. “But I’m bothered by the green being closed off. It should be open on market days, at the very least. Was it passed as a town law?”

  Martha spoke up, “I don’t remember voting on anything like that. The signs just came up one day after a big rain several years ago.”

  “I have an idea,” June said. Who feels like being rebellious today?” This excited her circle of friends.

  A half-hour later, June, Martha, Helena, Viola, and Merrigold had spread a large blanket in the middle of the green. They bought a basket of fresh bread from Tish and Penny’s bakery, some smoked fish from Mr Coffman, a bouquet of bluebells in a little vase from Lark, and a lovely bottle of strawberry wine from Mr Quade’s general store. There they proceeded to call people over to join them. With in an hour, two more groups had spread blankets out and a group of kids was playing tag.

  Lark had sold out of everything except a few herb bundles she was still passing out, but she stayed and socialized and enjoyed the afternoon. Jessica and her kids arrived, and as soon as they saw the others playing, they joined in. Jessica bought the remaining herb bundles and helped Lark close up the cart for the day. Then, they joined June and her friends on the green.

  Tish came by with a basket of pastries and sold them for a penny for two, and everyone took at least one. June convinced two young men to go home and get their instruments, so by tea time, there was a fiddle and a guitar playing a happy tune. Ian came by with his parents, and they joined the group. They didn’t care that they didn’t have a blanket and just found a spot on the grass. Lark instantly adored the Jacobsons. They had an easy way of talking and listening that made everyone feel welcome.

  “How are you feeling?” Ian asked. “I feel awful about what happened. I wanted to come check on you, but June wouldn't let me.”

  Lark smiled, “She’s worried I’ll dive in too deep again, but I promise I won’t. How is your arm?”

  “I’ve done what you said and kept it bent and stable. This morning, I started stretching it a bit. I can deflinely tell I have more movement, but it’s hard.”

  “That’s a good sign!” Lark said. June was right. She wanted to put her hands on his arm and see how it was progressing, but she needed to conserve her energy. She had Ian promise to come by the farm tomorrow.

  June and her friends clapped and called for another song from the band. The kids' game of tag devolved into rolling in the grass and laughing hysterically. Mr Jacobson had fallen asleep in the grass and was snoring quietly. Lark could not have asked for a better first market day.

  And then Usher Wheeler showed up.

  “Off the grass! Everyone, what is the meaning of this? The grass is off limits! " His voice boomed over the square, interrupting the music and halting the conversations around them.

  The kids scampered away like scared mice, the young men put down their instruments, and a few groups began to pick up their belongings. A murmur began where the pleasant conversations had once been. Lark frowned at the mayor and took a breath to protest.

  But Martha spoke first. Her precise syllables, in the same tone she used to teach math or history, rang out over the green. “Why?” she said. “This is our space. You don’t own it, Usher.”

  Everyone froze. The green fell silent as the mayor squinted his eyes at the retired teacher. “The town council decreed that people should stay off the grass. With all this traffic, it will become nothing but a muddy lot.”

  “The council cannot create town code. They must hold a proper quorum, gain the majority, and then record it in the town records. Was this done?”

  Mr Wheeler did not answer.

  “Perhaps we can bring it up and make it official at the next town meeting?” a small man with glasses piped up. Lark remembered him as Mr Green, the banker.

  “An excellent idea, Mr Green,” Martha said. “In the meantime, we will all enjoy the day on the grass, and we will be sure to treat it well and take care not to damage our valuable town property.”

  The music started up again, and the kids bolted away in a renewed game of tag. As he passed Mr Wheeler jerked his head at Jessica and she rounded up her kids to go. He glowered at Lark as he passed.

  “You’ve made the white troll angry,” a voice said behind her. Garrison Bly, still in his army duster, sat down beside her and Ian and stretched his long legs out. He had new boots.

  “So you’ve met Ian, then?” she said.

  “Hard to pass up free boots,” Garrison said.

  “Hard to pass up help unloading supplies. Garrison is a handy guy to have around,” Ian said.

  “I keep telling him that,” Lark said. Then she raised her voice a bit. “You know, Garrison, I have a field that could use a controlled burn and a fallen tree I need help with.”

  Garrison shook his head but played along. “Sounds like you need a sun mage. It's a good thing I’m looking for work right now.”

  Lark saw several people glance their way. Maybe it would help get Garrison some work.

  “So how did you do today?” he asked her.

  “I did well. I sold all my tulips and bluebells, gave away most of my herbs, and got some leads on some seedling sales. I won’t starve this week, but I’ll need to get more growing if I want to have anything to sell in the future.

  “I think you did more than just sell some flowers today,” Ian said as he looked out over the green.

  “I didn’t do this,” Lark said. “This was June and Martha.”

  “But you inspired them,” Ian said.

  “Every fire needs a spark,” Garrison said, snapping his fingers and sending a burst of sparks into the air above them.

  “Show off,” Lark said, but she smiled as she admired the fireworks.