A week later, Clara noticed the man who once threatened her standing across the square. He was now selling sugar and flour, both cheaper than anyone else. She understood his plan: drive her out with low prices, then raise them again once she was gone.

She didn’t panic. Instead, she studied his stall. His goods looked fine but his attitude didn’t. He shouted at customers, pushed them to buy more, and refused to trade with those who lacked exact change. Clara knew people disliked that kind of pressure.

She whispered to Mary, “We’ll do something different.”

That evening she cleaned the stall and wrote on her sign: “Fair trade every day. Buy two, get one small bag of herbs free.” It was a simple idea but powerful. The next morning, crowds returned. People smiled as she handed out the free bags. The rival shouted that she was stealing his business. Clara only said, “Let the people decide.”

By noon her stall was full, while his stood empty. The sound of coins in her box grew heavy. She realized that kindness was the strongest form of strategy.

Still, success had its price. She was exhausted, her hands cracked, her back sore. Mary insisted she rest. Clara laughed. “Rest? We’re just beginning.”

That night she and Mary counted coins by firelight. Clara explained numbers, showing how to keep records and plan costs. Mary listened with wide eyes, learning what no school had taught her.

Soon Clara began dreaming bigger. She imagined a roof over her stall, maybe a wooden structure with real shelves. People could walk inside and browse, not just buy quickly and leave. It was something she remembered from her old life—a store with space, order, and light.

Two days later she went to the carpenter. “I want to build a small room by the road,” she said. “Just wood and a roof, open front.” The man raised an eyebrow. “A shop? Only men build shops.”

Clara smiled. “Then I’ll be the first woman.”

He agreed after she paid half the price upfront. For a week she and Mary worked from sunrise to sunset, selling and preparing. When the wooden frame stood finished, Clara hung a new sign: Benton’s Market.

The townspeople came to watch. Some clapped, some whispered. She stood by the door and said, “Welcome. Fair prices for everyone.”

Inside the small wooden shop, jars lined the wall, baskets filled the corners, and a faint smell of herbs floated through the air. For the first time Clara felt she had stepped beyond survival into creation.

Late that night, after the crowd left, she sat alone inside the shop. Her fingers traced the wood grain of the counter. The moonlight shone through the open front. She whispered to herself, “This is only the start.”

Outside, the rival watched from the shadows, his eyes full of envy. He didn’t yet know that the girl he tried to crush would soon build the first chain market in America.