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"But one more thing, Mr. Campbell, just so you know. We are very friendly and sociable down here and good neighbors when you need us, but nobody is going to bother you unless you want them to. By and large we mind our own business."
What Frances had told Mr. Campbell was true. The people in Lost River did mind their own business. However, after having said that, Frances, a romantic at heart, could not help being a little optimistic. With four widows and three single women living in the community, having a new man around would certainly be interesting. One of the three single women was her sister Mildred. Frances was one of the widows, but she did not put herself in the running. She had been very happily married for twenty-seven years and was perfectly content to live on memories, but as for the rest of the ladies she was willing to let fate take a hand. After all, she was a Presbyterian and believed strongly in predestination. Besides, the day Mr. Campbell called happened to be the first Saturday of the month, usually the only day someone was at the hall, and that could not have been just a coincidence. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he turned out to be someone's knight in shining armor? The only other eligible man in Lost River was Roy Grimmitt, who ran the grocery store. But he was only thirty-eight, too young for most of the women. Besides, after what had happened to him, it looked as if Roy was a confirmed bachelor for life. Too bad, she thought, because he was a handsome man and a nice one, but she more than the others understood it. Once you've experienced true love, you don't want anybody else.
The Store
Roy Grimmit, who ran the grocery store in Lost River, was a big friendly guy and everybody liked him. He was also one of the few people who had actually been born and raised in the area, except for the Creoles across the river, whose families had been there since the 1700s. Roy had inherited the store from his uncle, who had run it for fifty years. The tin Coca-Cola sign across the front of the brick building advertised it simply as GRIMMITT'S GROCERY, but it was much more than that. It was a landmark. If the store had not been on the corner, most people would have driven right by, never knowing there was a river or an entire community of people living there. For the sixty or seventy residents, it was the place where they did their shopping and kept up on all the news, good and bad. It was an especially favorite stopping-off spot for the many fishermen in the area, the place where they bought their tackle and live bait and swapped lies about how many fish they had caught--all except Claude Underwood, the best fisherman there, who never said how many he had caught or where he had caught them. There were two gas pumps outside the store; inside was rather plain, with wooden floors and a meat counter in the back. The only concession to decoration was the large array of mounted fish, game birds, and deer heads that lined the walls and a stuffed red fox on top of the shelf in the back. One of the Creoles, Julian LaPonde, the only taxidermist in the area, had once been a good friend and poker pal of Roy's uncle. Most of the produce was local. Roy bought his meat from area hunters and always had plenty of fresh shrimp, crab, and oysters from the Gulf and fish from the river. He got his milk, poultry, eggs, fruits, and vegetables from nearby farms. Because his was the only store around, he stocked much more than just food and gas; he sold everything from work gloves, rakes, shovels, and pickaxes to rubber boots. Kids loved the store because of its great selection of candy, potato chips, and ice cream, and the deep box of ice-cold drinks he kept by the front door filled with every kind you could want: Orange Crush, root beer, Grapettes, Dr Pepper, and RC Cola. Name it, he had it. But Roy also had something that no other store in the world could offer.
(This text ends on page 28 of the hardcover book.)
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