Free Decoration Day by Vic Kerry

peas lined the shelves. The labels only had the picture of the food and black-and-white words identifying the product. No brand name dazzled him. He went down the next aisle and found canned fruit, but not peaches or pears. Plums and currants lined the shelves. He found the jars of preserves, but again, they were made from fruits most Americans didn’t eat.
    He started collecting cans of the least offensive foods. On the meat aisle he lucked out and found generic Spam and Vienna sausages. He liked both of those. Despite no fresh loaves of bread, the place had lots of saltine crackers. Meals might be like those eaten while camping, but it would suffice until the road to the highway was cleared and he could find a Walmart, Winn-Dixie or even a Piggly Wiggly.
    The checkout counter was just that, a counter. No conveyer belt ran the goods closer to the clerk, and certainly no barcode scanner rested in the middle. The old lady punched the price into the ancient cash register. She shoved each item into a brown paper sack she’d opened beside her. No care was given to the order of the sacked items. David felt lucky that the store didn’t have bread or eggs because they would have been demolished by her carelessness.
    “Why isn’t there any bread or fresh meat?” David asked as the woman punched in the price for the crackers.
    “Can’t eat it fast enough,” she said, cramming the crackers into the bag.
    “What does that mean?”
    The last item was a can of mushrooms. She slammed her fingers on the register tabs. It sounded like bone hitting bone.
    “We can’t get it all eaten by Decoration Day. Distributor won’t give us a small enough supply. They say it ain’t profitable.” The total rang up. “Your total is $24.50, correct change only please, no checks, and certainly no credit cards, so don’t even ask.”
    David dug a $20 and $5 bill from his billfold. He gave it to the clerk. “Keep the change.”
    “I was going to anyway.” She heaved the sack of groceries onto the counter and flopped the ribbon of receipt in with the purchases. “Have a good day, preacher.”
    David took the heavy sack of cans and left the grocery store. He opened the door with his hip and hoped he didn’t drop the sack on his foot. With the road still blocked, a broken foot might be something that the local doctor couldn’t handle. Thomas opened the car door for him when he approached. He placed the sack on the bench seat and shoved it across as he crawled in. The chauffeur closed the door just as if David were his master. A thought struck him when he saw the old checkout woman step out of the store onto the sidewalk—she’d called him preacher. He wondered how she knew that. As far as David knew, neither Marsh nor any of the other elders had announced his arrival. She looked like one of the servant class with less fat, so she might have heard it word of mouth. Innsboro was the smallest town he’d ever found himself in.
    “Thomas, how did the checkout lady know that I was the new preacher? Has Mr. Marsh made an announcement?”
    “Doesn’t have to. Word travels fast.”
    That affirmed what David thought. He reached into his sack and took out a can of Vienna sausage. It had been a long time since he’d had them: probably the last time he’d gone fishing, which had to be nearly ten years. A juicy steak would be better than anything he had in his sack. Even scrambled eggs could beat oversalted canned meat. At least they had Spam and not sardines. If all he’d had to eat were sardines, weight loss would be no problem. Marsh had served kipper the first morning David had come to town. Nothing at any of the meals he’d eaten with the man had been fresh. The vegetables were canned, the mashed potatoes instant, and the ham had been Dak or the black-and-white-labeled equivalent, no doubt.
    “Why is there no fresh food in the market?” he asked Thomas.
    “There’s not enough time to eat it all,” the driver answered.
    “That’s what