Out to Canaan by Jan Karon Read Free Book Online Page A

on a piece of paper. “Winnie, there you are!”
    She beamed at the sight of her visitor. “Have an oatmeal cookie,” she said, passing him a tray. “Low-fat.”
    He was suddenly as happy as a child. “Well, in that case . . .”
    He sat on the other stool and munched his cookie. “You know, Winnie, I’ve been thinking . . .”
    Winnie’s broad face sobered. She had never known what preachers thought.
    â€œSweet Stuff isn’t a bakery.”
    â€œIt’s not?”
    â€œIt’s an institution ! Do you have to go to Tennessee? Can’t we keep you?”
    â€œI might be here ’til kingdom come, the way things are lookin’. Not one soul has asked about buyin’ it.”
    â€œThey will, mark my words. God’s timing is perfect, even in real estate.”
    â€œIf I didn’t believe that, I’d jump out th’ window.”
    â€œWouldn’t have far to jump,” he said, eyeing the sidewalk through the curtains.
    Winnie laughed. He loved it when Winnie laughed. The sound of it had rung in this place far more often than the cash register, but she had done all right, she had come through.
    â€œI’m goin’ home in a little bit,” she sighed. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”
    â€œWho is? I’ll be pushing off soon myself, I just came to say hello. How do you like living on Lilac Road?”
    â€œI miss my little cottage by the creek, but that young preacher from Hope House takes good care of it.”
    â€œScott Murphy . . .”
    â€œHe washed the windows! Those windows have never been washed! My house sittin’ right on th’ street and all keeps ’em dirty.”
    â€œWell, never much traffic by there to notice.”
    They sat in silence as he finished his cookie.
    â€œHave another one,” she said, wanting him to.
    He did. It was soft and chewy, just as he liked cookies to be, and low-fat into the bargain. This was definitely his day. “What do you hear from Joe?”
    â€œHomesick.”
    â€œBut Tennessee is home.”
    â€œYes, but Mitford’s more like home; he’s been away from Tennessee fifty years. To tell th’ truth, Father, I don’t much want to go up there, but here I am with no family left in Mitford, and it seems right for me to go.”
    Sometimes, what seemed right wasn’t so right, after all, but who was he to say?
    â€œLook here,” she said, picking up the sheet of paper she’d been scribbling on. “I’m enterin’ this contest that’s twenty-five words or less. You’re educated, would you mind seein’ if th’ spelling is right?”
    He took the paper.
I use Golden Band flour because it’s light and easy to work. Also because my mother and grandmother used it. Golden Band! Generation after generation it’s the best.
    â€œThey sure don’t give you much room to rave,” he said. “And it looks like you’ve got twenty-eight words here.”
    â€œOh, law! I counted wrong. What do you think should come out?”
    â€œLet’s see. You could take out ‘my’ and say, ‘because Mother and Grandmother used it.’ ”
    â€œGood! Two to go,” she said, sitting on the edge of her stool.
    â€œYou could take out ‘flour’ in the first sentence, since they know it’s flour.”
    â€œGood! One more to go!”
    â€œThis is hard,” he said.
    â€œI know it. I been writin’ on that thing for four days. But look, they give you a cruise if you win! To the Caribbean! Have you ever been there?”
    â€œNever have.”
    â€œOnly thing is, it’s for two. Who would I go with?”
    â€œCross that bridge when you get to it,” he said. “OK, how about this? ‘Generation after generation, Golden Band is best.’ ”
    â€œHow many words?” she asked, holding her