Potter Springs by Britta Coleman

house for y’all,” Ervin said.
    “Thank you so much.” Mark shared a glance with Amanda. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate being able to move right in.”
    “Well, we want you to feel like Potter Springs is home.” Ervin clasped an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “We’re glad to have
     you, son. So glad to have you.”
    The preacher turned to Amanda. He wasn’t very tall, so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. His eyes were brown
     and opaque. He took her hand gently, not a shake really, but a hand-holding. “And you too, little miss. Welcome to Potter.”
    Amanda pulled away first. “The house looks beautiful. Thank you.”
    “My gosh.” Ervin slapped his forehead. “Here I am yapping at y’all, and you’re probably dead on your feet. Peggy, come on
     over here and help these kids inside the house.”
    Peggy radiated competence as she marched up to the group in soft-soled nurse’s shoes. She stood four inches taller than Ervin
     and outweighed him by thirty pounds. She wore a shiny floral shirt over stretchy pants. Her short curly hair had more than
     a few specks of gray twisted in it.
    “I’m Peggy, Ervin’s wife. Been married twenty-eight years, and he’s hauled me all over the state of Texas, and some other
     places too.” She didn’t shake hands but grabbed Amanda immediately into a crushing hug. “I know just how you feel, honeygirl.”
    “Oh, I’m all right,” Amanda murmured into the polyester folds. “A little tired.”
    “It’ll get better,” Peggy assured as she patted Amanda’s back in a soothing rhythm. As if she’d known her forever, or was
     kin somehow. “And you’ll like Potter Springs too. Maybe not now, but it’ll grow on you. It’s like a fungus that way, but a
     good kind.”
    When Peggy released her, Amanda realized she’d been hugging the woman back.
    The men circled around Mark, talking, asking him questions. He looked for her over their shoulders, and she nodded to him,
I’m okay.
    Nonverbal marital permission.
Go ahead and play with the boys, I’ll go crochet with the womenfolk. My heart isn’t broken, and I can’t wait to exchange cookie
     recipes.
    Mark went back to whatever story he was telling. As Amanda followed Peggy across the driveway, she heard the men’s laughter
     and knew he had them in the palm of his hand already. Golden-boy.
    Peggy ushered Amanda through the bustling one-car garage and shooed the welcoming women out of the way. “Y’all get back to
     the truck and start bringing the little stuff in. Amanda here needs to sit down a minute, and she don’t need y’all pecking
     around her like a bunch of hens.”
    “Who’s calling who a hen around here?” In the kitchen, a rosycheeked woman with oversized pot-holder mittens took a steaming
     casserole out of the oven. “I’m Shelinda James,” she announced, shoving the oven door closed with one skinny hip. Placing
     the dish with care on the stovetop, she grinned at Amanda. “Hope you like King Ranch. We’ve got this for your dinner and a
     few more frozen besides.”
    “Thanks so much, you didn’t have to-” All the faces, the sincere smiles, combined to overwhelm Amanda. She couldn’t arrange
     her own expression in an appropriate response.
    But no one seemed to notice, or mind in the least.
    “It’s nothing. Really, we’re just busybodies and wanted to be the first to get a good look at you.” Shelinda laughed and covered
     the casserole with foil. “If I get to vote, I think you’ll do just fine.” She pointed a spatula. “And don’t you talk her ear
     off, Peggy. We want her to
like
us.”
    “Shelinda, hush now and get on out to the truck.” Peggy flapped her arms. “You can start with the kitchen things.”
    “She’s bossy, but good as gold, Mrs. Reynolds. I’ll catch up with you later. Maybe have coffee or something.”
    The woman’s easy manner and offer of companionship pulled at Amanda. She sensed a future friend here.