Chapter Text
A balmy wind picked up in Westown. June heard the breeze before she felt it—first the whispering of scrub bushes and the low, shuddering creak of the windmill as its weathered blades began to turn faster. Then the warm air tumbled past, caressing her bare forearms and stirring her skirt. A lock of hair billowed up like the wind was trying to carry it away. June reached up and tucked it back behind her ear.
“Well? What do you think?” asked Megan. “Isn’t it an impressive town?”
June took a deep breath in through her nose. The spring breeze smelled like dry grass and warm red clay. “Yeah, definitely,” she said.
“Long, long ago, Westown was a mining town,” Megan continued. She gestured broadly at the scenery. Metal tracks crisscrossed a soaring expanse of orange cliffs. A few old minecarts were still strewn about, their wheels now rusted in place. Wooden cross-beams supported disused mine shaft entrances, now little more than unraveled seams in the earth. Cacti and succulents grew in abundance: saguaro and barrel cactus, and aloe and prickly pear, and a bunch of others June didn’t recognize. At the forefront of town was a life-sized brass statue of a bull. It stood with all four feet planted firmly on a raised platform, its snout at a height just above June’s head. The nose of the bull had been rubbed to a burnished gold color, but the rest of its body was dark and tarnished.
As June observed, Megan continued to explain. “We were a prosperous town at that, too. Back in the day, they pulled nearly a million tons of gold ore out of the hard rock mines. People flocked from far and wide! Nowadays the mines are closed, but we’re still plenty lively.”
June nodded along, wearing a smile. She could hardly imagine this place was a genuine modern town. It felt more like a ghost town theme park, the kind of edutainment facility where you could watch two “gunslingers” have a choreographed showdown every day at noon and four thirty. Even Megan, in her plaid dress and patterned apron, with her grey hair tied down under a scarf, could have passed as a colorful extra from Bonanza. Uncle Frank had introduced her as the town elder. Apparently, Megan had lived here all her life.
June glanced over at Uncle Frank beside her. He returned a reassuring smile that crinkled the weather lines under his eyes. Frank looked much the same as he had in the family photo albums: a jovial broad-chested man with a wide jaw, a dense red chin beard, and a prominent hawk nose. Unlike the young man in the photos, Frank’s head was now completely bald but for a few wisps of hair. He kept his head covered with a well-loved straw hat.
Uncle Frank had lived in Westown for as long as June could remember. Her family had never visited, though, and the last time Frank came out to see them, she was still a child. As June understood it, Frank stayed in touch with his brother primarily through snail mail. Her father would compose long letters on the family computer, print them out on fine letterhead, and send them off. Unfailingly, in a couple weeks, he would receive a handwritten letter in reply. Sometimes there were pictures and trinkets tucked into the envelope for June and her sister.
Real people lived real lives here, June reminded herself. Megan and Uncle Frank, and everyone else in Westown, these were her new neighbors.
“Now then, how about we stretch our legs a little? This way, come along,” Megan urged. She briskly set off into town. June trailed along, with Frank bringing up the rear.
“Here you can find the grocer, the material store, the general store, and the animal shop,” Megan explained as she pointed to each one. “I’m sorry to say the material store is closed for renovations right now. It shouldn’t be too long before it’s open for business again, though. Just have a little patience until then.”
June nodded politely, trying her best to memorize which store was which.
“All these stores are open from 10:00 am to 6:00 pm every day, so keep that in mind,” Megan added. “Now, come along this way.”
Megan guided them to the foot of a massive staircase. Without breaking stride, she lifted her skirt with one hand, took hold of the railing in the other, and began to ascend. Westown was built into the natural cliffs, with tall wooden staircases connecting each level. June had earlier thought that Megan was in remarkable shape for her age. Now looking at all these stairs, it wasn’t hard to see why. By the time June reached the top, she was all too conscious of her elevated heart rate.
“Now,” Megan continued, “over here we have the post office. If you ever feel like sending a letter to your family, stop on over there.”
“You be sure to write them soon and let them know you got here safely, all right?” said Frank.
The post office was a stately building of dark red wood paneling and wide blue doors. Each window was hung with a planter box full of petunias. The front patio was clean and well-kept. June thought that if Westown was a theme park, the post office could have been the gift shop.
The front doors to the post office swung open, and out stepped a young man in a large hat. He wore a dark blue uniform jacket, and a heavy satchel was slung over his left shoulder.
“Well, now! Speak of the devil, here comes our postman. Hello!” Megan called out, waving him over.
The young man approached and tipped his hat—a real ten-gallon hat, for goodness’ sake. It might have looked ridiculous had he not worn it with such effortless poise. June quickly re-wrote the park itinerary in her head: this was the handsome cowboy who rode in on a white horse, untied the helpless damsel from the train tracks, then vanquished the no-good bandits in a shoot-out every Saturday at 2. Afterwards he’d invite everyone down to the saloon, where they’d drink lukewarm sarsaparilla out of glass bottles while someone played honky-tonk tunes on the piano.
“Good mornin’, Megan, Frank,” he greeted. His voice was a warm tenor, with the slight twang of a Southern accent. “What a surprise to see the both of you here. What’s the occasion?”
Before anyone could respond, he looked over to June. “No, wait, lemme guess. You’re givin’ the grand tour to our new neighbor here, right?”
Frank let out a hearty laugh. “Yep! Spot on, as always. This is my niece that I was tellin’ you about.”
The postman’s smile flashed. “Aha! I knew it! The name was…give me a second, it’ll come to me…Junie, right?”
“Yep,” Frank said, “this is Junie!” He clapped his hand on June’s shoulder.
Startled by the sudden touch, June glanced up at her Uncle Frank. The last time she’d seen her Uncle Frank, he certainly would have called her Junie, but she hadn’t gone by that nickname in over a decade now. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d still be using it after all this time…or that he’d been using it to talk about her with his neighbors. While she wondered if she should correct them, the postman went on introducing himself.
“I’m Wayne, Westown’s postman. When Frank said he had a relative coming, I never expected someone this much of a looker,” he remarked, looking straight at June with a disarmingly sincere smile. “We’re always happy for any new residents ‘round these parts, but someone as cute as you is especially welcome.”
June blinked. Her mouth was slightly open, but she was vaguely aware that no words were coming out.
Wayne continued on, unphased. “I hear you’ve come from a place real far away, Junie. Are you used to hugging people when you say howdy yet?”
He’s asked you a direct question, June thought. This is where you’re supposed to respond.
The silence was palpable. Uncle Frank squeezed her shoulder lightly before he withdrew his hand.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” June responded, nodding hastily.
And then, Wayne stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. He smelled like sunblock and something floral-citrusy—bergamot?—and a little like clean earth and fresh paper. Reflexively June raised her arms to return the hug. Her hands rested flat against his back. Wayne’s embrace was firm and friendly, nothing inappropriate, but June felt heat rising in her cheeks. When he released her and stepped back, she wasn’t sure if their hug had dragged on for eternity—or if it hadn’t gone on long enough. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.
“Anyways, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some deliveries to make,” Wayne said. He reached up, tipped his hat, and flashed June a wink. “See you ‘round, Junie.” He adjusted the mail bag on his shoulder, spared her one last smile, and headed past them down the stairs.
She turned to face Megan and Frank. They took one look at June, her eyes wide, cheeks blazing pink, and both of them burst out laughing. Megan at least tried to restrain herself. She covered her hand with her mouth, but a few chuckles still bubbled up. Frank was bent over, laughing deep from his belly. June’s cheeks went from pink to red.
“You’ll have to excuse our postman—that’s his way of being welcoming,” Megan insisted. Her lips trembled slightly as she fought the urge to laugh. “He’s really a very nice young man. Just a—well, a gallant, as they say.”
Frank coughed and picked himself up, trying to regain his composure. “She’s right,” he said. “Boy’s a flirt. Don’t take it personally. Or if you do, then you can join the fan club! He’s got himself quite a followin’ here in town.”
“I can imagine,” said June, willing herself to stop blushing.
Megan swooped in, mercifully, to change the subject. “With those introductions done with, let’s continue on with the tour, shall we?” she offered. She set out towards another staircase that led up toward the top level of town. Sparing a last chuckle, Frank pat June on the back and followed behind Megan.
“Phew!” Frank exclaimed. He rocked back in his chair and slapped his hands on his belly. “I reckon I’m about ready to fall into the sweet embrace of a food coma. What say we get ready for bed?”
“Sounds good, Uncle Frank,” June replied. She stood up from the dinner table, pushed her chair in, and began collecting the dishes.
“Don’t worry about those, Junie,” said Frank. “I’ve got it.”
“You did all the cooking,” said June. She placed their used silverware atop her stack of plates and carried them over to the sink. “I’m happy to clean up.”
“I don’t have a dishwasher here, y’know. You’ll have to do ‘em the old-fashioned way,” teased Frank.
“I think I can handle it,” June retorted, with raised eyebrows and a wide smile. “You can’t think I’m that much of a city kid.”
Frank laughed, patting his stomach. “I s’pose not.”
June filled the sink basin partway with warm water. She added a squirt of detergent, submerged the first dish, and began to scrub.
“Thank you for taking me into town today,” said June as she washed.
Frank opened his eyes. He’d nearly dozed off right there at the table. “No need to thank me! Everybody was real excited to meet you. Sorry I couldn’t stay for longer—those farm chores wern’t gonna do themselves.”
“Yeah, I understand,” replied June. She smiled to herself. She and Uncle Frank were family, but in most ways, they were strangers. She felt grateful to be treated like a guest, but it also reminded her how far from home she was. Not that she’d even have a home to go back to. Her family was moving again, to yet another new town. And besides that, they’d proven they didn’t know her much better than Frank did.
“Say, Uncle Frank? When do you think the farm will be ready?” June asked.
Frank grinned and said, “I got some help and had it all squared away today, actually. I’ll take you over there tomorrow.”
June whipped around to look at him over her shoulder. “Really?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes indeed,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about your farm in the mornin’.”
“Thank you!” June exclaimed. “I can’t wait!”
Frank pushed away from the dinner table and joined her next to the sink. “Lemme help you get those dried and put away. We oughta hit the hay soon, it’s an early day tomorrow,” he said.
They finished with the dishes, then washed and dressed for bed.
June sat at the edge of her bed with her journal. When she’d returned from town this afternoon, she’d taken some time to write down the names of the places and people of Westown—with a little help from Uncle Frank to fill in what she forgot. June turned the pages over in her hands, rereading the names and notes.
- Brad: Chef at the restaurant. Carrie’s husband, Marco’s grandson.
- Carrie: Runs the restaurant. Brad’s wife.
- Colin: Hector’s son, Megan’s grandson.
- Hector: Farmer. Megan’s son. Not a talker.
- Lisette: Flower shop owner. Invited me for tea (!)
- Marco: Retired, former restaurant owner. Brad’s grandfather.
- Megan: Farmer, town elder. Hector’s mother, Colin’s grandmother.
- Miranda: General store owner. Noel
le’s mother. A talker. - Noel
le: Miranda’s daughter. Not spelled Noelle.
June wrinkled her nose when she reached the last name on the list:
- Wayne: Postman. Bad news.
She folded her journal shut, placed it on the nightstand, and switched off the lamp.