Chapter 1

I’ve been coming in here for years. It was the one butcher shop my mother trusted. Marvin Wright always chose the best cuts and treated his customers with the greatest care. I remembered when he was younger and had a lot of hair; now he was older and completely bald, whether by nature or by razor. He’d watched me grow up, too, and he always remembered me. He’d turned into a sharp old guy. (I say oldwith affection. He was probably the same age as my dad: forty-nine.)

The Wright family owned a farm in the next county, so he always had fresh meat and would tell his customers when there was going to be a special slaughtering and would take orders for any special cuts.

“Hey, Amy,” he greeted me. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Wright. You?”

“I’m doing really well, but I think I’m starting to get old.”

“You, Mr. Wright? You’ll never get old.”

“Nope, not up here.” He tapped his head. “But tell that to my knees. I had trouble getting up this morning when I had knelt down to clean the showcase.” He laughed heartily. “How’re your folks? I haven’t seen your mom lately.”

“They’re doing well. They’ve been away, went to visit my aunt in Florida for two weeks.”

“Which aunt? Irene?”

“No, Dad’s sister, Susan.”

“Ah, didn’t know her as well. How’s shedoing?”

“Not too good, I guess. She’s got arthritis real bad.”

“Then she should be in Arizona, not Florida.”

“I know, but tell herthat.”

“Is she as stubborn as your daddy?”

I nodded. “Guess it’s a family trait. Hope I take after Mom’s side!”

We both laughed at the thought.

“Oh, tell your Mama that we’ll be slaughtering some sheep next week if there’s anything special she wants.”

“Ah! Save us a boneless shoulder roast, okay? I’ll see if she wants anything else.”

“All right. One boneless lamb shoulder roast for the Gilberts.” He turned as he took the pencil from behind his ear and wrote it down on a clip board he had hanging behind the counter. He always had a pencil behind his ear. I can’t remember him without it. “So, what can I get you today?”

“Mom wants two pounds of hamburger, two sides of pork ribs, and a slab of bacon.”

“You must be having a barbeque this weekend.”

“That’s right. We always have to have ribs for a barbeque. Junior and his wife will be over with their two kids, so we need burgers, too.” Roy Junior was my older brother.

“How old are the kids now? I guess they’re not old enough to appreciate the best cuts, yet, are they?”

“No, they’re only four and five. They got a few years before they’ll want prime.”

“Well, until then, we’ll fill them up on good hamburger.” He reached into the refrigerator and took out a slab of beef. Then he turned and called into the back room, “Hey Jody! Bring out a double slab of pork ribs and a chunk of bacon, will ya?”

“Be right there!” a young woman’s voice called back.

“Got someone working for you?” I asked. Mr. Wright had always been the only one in the shop

“Yup. My niece came down from Wyoming to apprentice with me for a while. She’s doing pretty good.”

“That’s great. It saves you from doing a lot of work, too.”

He laughed loudly. “Yup. She digs right in, even out at the farm. Joseph was amazed last week, thought she’d turn up her nose and run away when we’re clipping the baby pigs out there.”

My eyebrows must have been touching my hairline.

“That’s one of the first things a farmer needs to know. You gotta clip their ears and tails, and you can’t let their boy parts stay on too long if you want good pork. That makes the meat taste funny.”

“I didn’t know that. Do you have to do that with all the animals?”

He nodded. “You let some be so they’ll sire the next herd, but over half will never do that thing.”

“I’m glad we don’t eat humans,” I said with a chuckle.

He nodded as he cut slabs from the beef block and fed them into the grinder.

A tall, thin young woman came out of the back, carrying a stack of meat. “These okay?” she asked as she set them on the butcher block. Sheets of butcher paper were beneath each piece of meat

“Looks good to me. Just wrap them up and weigh them. Oh, Amy Gilbert, this in my niece Jody Wright.”

She looked at me and smiled. “How do you do?” she said.