The plan was simple, which was why it was hard.
Mrs. Clarke had helped Grace register her business formally, and then take a small group loan from a microfinance bank at a fraction of Madam Harper's interest. With it, Grace would clear her debt in one payment and be done.
"The risk," Mrs. Clarke warned, "is that Madam Harper won't like it. People who lend like her don't enjoy being paid off early. You become a customer lost."
"She will take her money," Grace said.
"She will. But she may not be gracious."
On the last Friday of the month, Grace dressed in her best blouse, placed an envelope in her bag, and took a minibus to the market side of town. The same provisions shop. The same ledger. The same eyes.
Madam Harper looked up. "You are late."
"I am not late. I am early." Grace set the envelope on the table. "This is the full amount. Principal, and all interest as per the ledger. I want it counted, and I want my paper back."
Madam Harper stared at the envelope. Then at Grace.
"Where did you get this?"
"I worked for it."
"Hmm." The old woman opened it, counted slowly, then counted again. When she finished, she leaned back and folded her hands.
"You know," she said, "I thought you would not make it. Most women do not."
"I know."
"They come in thinking one loan will fix everything. It only makes them hungry for another." She tapped the ledger. "I have been in this business thirty years, and I can tell you who will pay and who will not. You, I thought, would pay for a year and then disappear."
"I am not disappearing."
"No. I see that." Madam Harper slid a paper across the table, with a stamp and a signature. "Cleared."
Grace took it with both hands. It was a plain sheet, slightly yellow. It weighed nothing. It felt like the heaviest thing she had ever lifted.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For giving me a chance when nobody else did." Grace paused. "Even at thirty percent."
For the first time in all the years, Madam Harper's face moved. It was not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.
"If you ever need a favor," she said gruffly, "do not come to me. Go to the bank. But if you ever want to teach me how to keep books properly, you may come for tea."
Grace laughed out loud.
She walked out into the bright afternoon, and for the first time in seven years, she did not owe anybody anything. She stood on the pavement, holding a White sheet of paper, and did a very small, very undignified dance.
A passing schoolboy stared. "Auntie, are you okay?"
"I am more than okay, my son," Grace said. "I am free."
She did not know that in a few short years, a man she had not seen in a long time would be standing at the school hall, watching her eldest daughter walk across a stage.