By 11:25, Mason came running toward me, barely able to contain his excitement. They had already sold fifty dozen. I was about to congratulate him when I noticed a familiar silver Buick turning into the parking lot.

Grandma Marjorie stepped out, wearing her church shoes and carrying a small leather change purse. She approached the crates slowly, while the firefighters suddenly became very interested in their surroundings.

“I would like a dozen,” she said.

Ruby looked at her grandmother, then at the sign bearing her own name. She wiped her hands on her shorts and answered calmly, “It is six dollars a dozen, Grandma.”

Marjorie began counting coins, but her fingers trembled. Two quarters slipped onto the concrete. Mason quietly picked them up and returned them to her. When she struggled to count the rest, Ruby stepped down from her bucket, opened the purse, and carefully counted out the six dollars. She selected twelve of the best ears and handed over the bag.

“Thank you for your business,” she said.

Then Marjorie whispered something that changed everything.