In total, she would need nearly 10,000 dollars. As an individual business owner from another province, she had to pay upfront for whatever goods she wanted—if the cold-resistant jackets and duck down jackets sold well and she made the expected profit, she could scrape together enough money for more stock. But the three storefronts couldn’t be ready yet; at this time, there was no particular style of decoration to speak of. The small building of the National Cotton Factory No. 3 was still vacant, and it would definitely need to be renovated before opening.
Just a simple paint job, leveling the floor, and hanging a big light bulb would suffice?
She might as well continue setting up a stall.
She needed to create a high-end feel while saving costs as much as possible, making the people of Harborfield proud to buy clothes from her store, and turning clothes bought at a wholesale price of 20 dollars into sales of over 50 dollars… Whitaker Scarlett wasn’t being ruthless; in business, she was just being practical. She wasn’t selling necessities like grain and oil; those who could afford such expensive clothes could certainly bear the price.
The positioning was clearly mid to high-end; was she supposed to buy at 20 dollars and sell at 25 dollars?
After deducting the round-trip ticket and shipping costs, she was practically doing charity!
She already had a rough idea of the renovation in her mind, but she didn’t know the specific conditions of the store. Basic renovations would cost money, and buying new clothing racks and shelves would also require funds. If she could secure the store, it would be a blessing to open before the New Year.
More likely, she wouldn’t be able to secure the store before the New Year. Whitaker Scarlett knew her uncle was working hard to negotiate with the leaders of the National Cotton Factory No. 3.
That deputy factory director was in charge of distributing housing to the workers of the National Cotton Factory. The factory was large, so why was there a small building left vacant? Whitaker Scarlett couldn’t understand. Logically, it should have been filled with workers by now; although the National Cotton Factory had family housing, who would complain about having too spacious a home?
Whitaker Scarlett could only continue to set up her stall while waiting for good news from William.
Fortunately, the Parker family hadn’t caused her any trouble. Setting up her stall was like a guerrilla fighter, taking a shot and then moving on. After a few days, the third batch of goods had sold out, except for the cold-resistant jackets and duck down jackets.
That night, Elizabeth kept flipping through those clothes, worried they wouldn’t sell.
Whitaker Scarlett knew that being anxious wouldn’t help; she could only wait for the temperature to drop.
After finishing the pig trotters that Amanda had brought from the countryside, Whitaker Scarlett still missed that taste. Elizabeth continued to sell oil residue, while Whitaker Scarlett chopped some spare ribs and stewed them in the pot. Elizabeth was thin, but her nutrition was guaranteed, and since the season of strong ultraviolet rays had passed, she seemed to have become a bit fairer.
Riding her bicycle, the wind was uncomfortable against Whitaker Scarlett’s face. She felt sorry for her mother and bought her a warm set of scarf, gloves, and hat, wrapping her face so that only her eyes were visible while riding. She also bought Elizabeth and Amanda some snow flower cream, a small box that smelled nice, which both of them found quite unfamiliar.
“Clam oil is so cheap.”
Clam oil came in small shell-shaped boxes, costing only a few cents for the small box and no more than a dime for the large one. Even workers in towns with tight economic pressure could afford it for hand and face use. Amanda used it in the countryside, but Elizabeth had never seen it. When she was at the Whitaker family, she had no money to spend, and using clam oil for her hands was probably a luxury only Maria and Veronica could afford.
When Whitaker Scarlett had just “woken up,” her impression of Elizabeth was that she was black, thin, and shriveled, with hands full of cracks. After leaving Wellwater Village and no longer having to do farm work, Whitaker Scarlett began to take good care of Elizabeth. She repeatedly washed her hands with hot water and soap, cut her nails down to the quick, applied a thick layer of clam oil, and wrapped her hands in a hot towel.
The heat could open the pores, and the clam oil would lock in moisture. After every hand wash, she would apply clam oil, and before going to bed, she would apply it again and wear clean cotton gloves to sleep… In just under half a month, Elizabeth’s hands had already improved a lot.
She didn’t even let Elizabeth touch cold water, trying to use hot water as much as possible for washing and cooking.
Beehive coal didn’t cost much, and placing an aluminum kettle on it provided hot water all day long. Of course, more often than not, Whitaker Scarlett would take the initiative to do the work herself. Although her cooking skills weren’t great, and she couldn’t make hand-pulled noodles, she could still boil instant noodles, right?
