Longarm and the Druid Sisters by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 21

It was bad enough to learn there was no place in Harrisonville where a man could buy himself a drink. What was really disconcerting was to discover there was nowhere in Harrisonville where a man could buy anything.

He guessed it just hadn’t fully sunk in what that little farmer-woman was saying. Or something. It was one thing, though, to accept the idea that there wasn’t any liquor here or beer or card games or much of anything else. But when he walked back to town and found a store that had coffee and salt and flour and suchlike on its shelves, he got an even bigger disappointment.

“Oh,” the plump, gray-haired store clerk exclaimed when he said he’d like to buy some vittles, there not being anything in town that resembled a cafe or restaurant. “I don’t know ... you see, sir, we don’t deal in,” she hesitated for a moment as if the word she was about to say was something vulgar, “we do not deal in money, sir.”

“Ma’am?”

“Money. You know.”

“Yes, ma‘am, I expect I know what that is all right. But what d’you mean you don’t deal in it?”

“We are a community, sir. A family really. Would you charge your sister for a mouthful of food if she came into your home to visit? Certainly not. Nor do we ask our sisters to pay for whatever they may need. We enjoy the products of our labors equally, each to her needs, each to her desires.”

Longarm frowned. “What about this stuff?” He pointed toward a bag of salt, a barrel of wheat flour, a keg of molasses. None of those items were produced here. Each of them had to be bought and hauled in, and wherever they came from, the seller would surely have to have been paid in cash. So would the freighters.

The woman looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to understand his question. She shrugged. “I would not know about that, sir. The Society provides for all our needs, whatever they may be. The merchandise, if you want to call it that, was already in place when I was asked to serve here. Beyond that, I really do not know.” She paused, then brightened. “You could ask Mother Corn. The mother knows everything,” the chubby woman gushed.

Longarm got the idea that she quite literally meant that preposterous claim. She honestly believed that that Mother Corn person knew every-damn-thing.

“So how,” Longarm asked, “would I go about getting something to eat around here?”

“Goodness gracious.” She stopped, her brows knitting in concentration. “I do not believe we’ve ever had anything like this come up before. I really do not know, sir.”

“I couldn’t pay you for a few things an’ then you turn that over to the ... whoever they are?”

“Oh, no. Money is filthy, you know.”

Longarm couldn’t say that he’d known that before this moment, but he didn’t interrupt her to say that.

“The very concept of money is degrading to the spirit, you see. Money is selfish and ... and .

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