“Dot, you’ve been giving us pies for free for forty years,” he said. “Let us pay you once.”
So I took it. And Tuesday morning, after the tomatoes, I walked the four blocks down Main Street to cash it.
I’ve been banking at Farmers & Merchants in Millbrook for fifty-eight years.
I didn’t think twice.
The bank is a little red brick building on the corner of Main and Second. Two stories. White columns out front that George always said were too fancy for a town of four thousand people. A brass plaque by the door that says FARMERS & MERCHANTS BANK — EST. 1968.
Inside, it smells like old carpet and new money and the peppermints they keep in a glass bowl on the counter.
It’s cool in there. That was the first thing I noticed. The air conditioning was blasting. My sweat went cold on my neck.
