by Jennie Marts
“I did. But you just have to show them around the kitchen and tell a couple of stories about food or what cooking was like in the early 1900s.”
“I don’t have any funny stories about food or what cooking was like.”
“You’ll do fine,” he said, heading for the back door. “I’ll come back and check on you in a bit. Besides, after those pancakes you made me the other day, I already know you’re a great cook.”
“I made those with a mix. All I did was pour in some water,” she called after him, but he was already gone.
A murmur rose as the first guests poured into the living room. She peered anxiously around the kitchen, but she didn’t even have time to Google what some of these tools did. Apparently, she was just going to have to wing it.
Chapter Eight
An hour and a half later, Mack snuck up the back stairs of the Whitaker House, not wanting to interrupt Jocelyn’s presentation. There had been more questions than usual at the end of his blacksmith demonstration, and it had taken him longer than he’d planned to return. He hoped the house tours had been going well.
He stopped just outside the door as he heard Jocelyn’s voice. She had her back to him, and a group of five fascinated tourists was listening to her spiel. She waved her hands with a flourish as she pointed out the stove, the icebox, and the sink with the manual pump on its side.
She tossed out a few facts, then smiled sweetly as she asked if there were any questions.
One woman held up her hand. “Those look like some unique kitchen tools,” she said, pointing to the gadgets sticking out of the crockery on the counter behind Jocelyn. “Can you tell us what some of those do?”
“Sure. You bet I can,” Jocelyn said, turning to survey the tools in the crock. She chewed on her lip as she stared at her choices then finally pulled out a wooden spoon. “This is a tool that women often used to stir things.”
Mack covered his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing.
“But what about that funny looking thing with the squiggles on the end.”
“Great question.” Jocelyn pulled the tool from the crock and held it up. “What do you think this is used for?”
One of the women shrugged while another one jumped in with an answer. “Oh, I know that one. It’s a potato masher. My grandmother still uses one.”
“Very good,” Jocelyn said. “You’re practically teaching this part of the tour for me.”
“What about that crazy thing on the wall.” One of the women pointed to the tool hanging by its handle on the wall by the door. Thick wire came out of the handle for about a foot and then was bent into a swirled pattern at the end.
Jocelyn picked it up and studied the pattern before waving it in the air. “Let’s try to guess what this could have been used for. Was it some type of early racket used to hit a ball? Or maybe an early version of the fly swatter?” She turned it upside down. “Or could it have been used to stir up some biscuit batter? Any guesses? Anyone?”
The women shook their heads. “You’ll have to tell us this one,” the woman who had spoken earlier said. Apparently her grandmother hadn’t had one of these.
Mack couldn’t help himself. As much as he wanted to see what kind of crazy answer Jocelyn would come up with, he had to jump in before she had these women believing their ancestors were mixing up batches of biscuits with a carpet beater. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and waving to the women. “Sorry to interrupt. Looks like you were just about to get a neat demonstration of an antique rug beater.”
Jocelyn quickly flipped the carpet beater back around and held it aloft. “Yes, I was just about to expound upon all my wisdom about rug beating.”
“It’s unfortunate we’ll miss that,” Mack said. “I’m sure it was quite an extensive bit of knowledge, but we’re a little pressed for time so we need to finish up for today.”
The women shared their enthusiastic thanks as he passed them each a small sample of cobbler, then closed the door behind them.
“Sorry to step in on your presentation,” Mack said, turning back to her. “I have a feeling it was just about to get good.”
Jocelyn sagged against the counter. “Thank goodness you came in when you did. I had no idea what this was.”
“And neither did the woman who fed you the answer for the potato masher.”
“How long were you listening?”
“Long enough for you to artfully explain how to use a spoon.”
She playfully swatted him with the carpet beater. “You could’ve saved me earlier.”
“I was having too much fun watching you come up with creative answers.”
She picked up a torturous silver tool that had several long sharp tines extending off one side of the long handle. “I’m just glad no one asked me what this was. It looks like a cross between a fork and a musical instrument, and the only thing I could think to do with it was either comb my hair or use it to brush a dog. But both things seemed painful.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement as he took the tool from her. “It’s actually used to cut cake. It’s called a cake breaker, and this one is sterling silver. It’s quite valuable.”
“Glad I didn’t try to comb my hair with it, then.”
He laughed. “Yes, good thing. How did the rest of the tours go?”
“Better than that one. Most people just like to look around. And since I was at the end they were usually ready to peer around the kitchen, get their cobbler sample, and move on.” She pointed up the stairs. “Although that kid Will has been cutting up the crowds all morning. I’ve heard them laughing up there, and most of them are still cracking up as they come down the stairs.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Apparently he took your advice to heart and channeled his favorite fictional character. Except his favorite book is Harry Potter, so he’s been sharing the facts of the house in an adorable British accent.”
The muskrats frolicking in the pond caught Jocelyn’s attention as she and Mack walked back across the field after polishing off the last of Mrs. Crandle’s macaroni and cheese for lunch. She pulled her phone from her pocket to snap a photo.
“What are you doing?” Mack asked, turning his body as if trying to block her from view. “You can’t use your smartphone while you’re in period dress.”
“Oh shoot, I forgot,” she said and stuffed it back into the pocket of her skirt.
“Your grandmother would give you what for if she caught you carrying that thing around.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Warmth flooded her cheeks. She’d broken one of Gram’s cardinal rules.
Mack shook his head. “Is it really that hard for you not to use your phone for a few hours?”
“It’s a requirement of my job to use it. My livelihood depends on it,” she said rather testily.
“I get that. Or I understand it, at least. I don’t quite get why anyone would want to spend so much time in a virtual world when there are so many great things about the actual world to experience and enjoy.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ll make you a deal. If you agree to spend the afternoon in my world, this world, just for today, then I’ll spend some time learning about your world tonight, after supper when the ranch is quiet. That means you have to turn your phone off. No sneaking peeks at it, no quick checks. In fact, give it to me, and I’ll put it back in the house.”
Panic gripped her chest at the thought of not having her phone…which was a bad sign that she just might be a little too addicted to it. “What if Gram calls? She’s coming home from the hospital later this afternoon.”
“My grandma is bringing her home, and she’ll let us know when Molly arrives. I’m not asking you to get rid of the thing forever, just put it away for the next several hours and try to actually experience nature and history and people—without having to snap a photo of them or compose a t
weet or post or whatever about what they’re doing.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, then hesitated. It sounded easy. Just hand him her phone. So why was her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of not having the silly little piece of technology on her?
“What’s the worst that could happen? You miss an email or a phone call? No biggie—you can call them back. You miss someone’s post of what they had for lunch? You can catch up on all of it tonight.” He held out his hand farther, then dealt the final blow. “I’ll bet you can’t give your phone up for the next six hours.”
“Six hours?”
“Okay, five. I dare you to turn off your phone and give it up for the next five hours.”
She scrunched her nose and glared at him. “You know I can’t refuse a dare. Fine.” She turned the phone off and slapped it into his hand. “Five hours.”
“Five hours.” He pushed her phone into his pocket. “Now go enjoy some life. Whitaker House is open for tours for another hour and a half. I’ll check back with you later.”
Three hours later, Jocelyn found she hadn’t really missed her phone that much. She’d also been crazy busy finishing out the tours, getting the house shut back up, then helping another volunteer set up some quilting displays in the front room of another one of the historic homes.
She’d run into several people she’d known as a kid—volunteers who’d been around forever—and had spent a little time catching up. One had asked her to help organize the pieces needed for the yard games for the festival, and another had asked her to run an extra box of candy sticks over to the general store.
Everywhere she went, she heard people laughing and exclaiming over the sights and fun experiences at Harmony Ranch. There seemed to be something for everyone. A mom and two toddlers were laughing at the ducks in the pond, three teenagers were cracking up as they tried to master using the stilts in the grass, and an elderly couple was sitting on a bench listening to one of the volunteers who was picking a banjo.
Her grandmother had created a wonderful place that brought joy to so many people. She couldn’t let her lose it. Jocelyn spotted Mack over in the lawn area, where he and another man were pushing numbered markers into the grass. She set her jaw as she marched toward him, her determination stronger with every step. She wouldn’t let her grandmother down.
“How are we looking for tomorrow?” she asked Mack as she strode up to him. “What can I do to help?”
Without missing a beat, he handed her a ball of string. “Help me tie off these squares. They need to be about eight feet by eight feet. We’ve already set the posts, so just tie the string to one, then twist it around the next and keep moving to make squares.”
“Okay.” She peered around the funny setup as she tied a length of string to the first post. “What are we making eight foot squares for? Is this some kind of giant chessboard or something?”
“No. But that’s a fun idea. And it tells me you’ve got the picture of what we want this to look like. It’s actually the picnic area for the Boxed Lunch Social Auction.”
“The what?”
“Didn’t you see it on the list of events? It’s one of our best fundraisers. Each of these squares is a picnic spot and participants create a covered box lunch. They can decorate their spot and the lunch however they want, but the actual meal is a surprise. And so is the participant. Folks get to peruse the lunch spots, then bid on them in a silent auction. The winners all get to eat the lunch with the participants in these spots at noon.”
“How fun. But how do they know who they will end up eating with?”
“They don’t. That’s part of the fun. And why we put it all out here together. So everyone feels safe and this makes it feel more like a community thing instead of a romantic thing. Although plenty of guys have tried to impress women by bidding on the lunch boxes they were sure they’d made. One year, Kenny Jenkins spent a cool hundred dollars bidding on a lunch spot he was sure had been created by a gal he was sweet on at the time. Turns out it wasn’t hers—it was his grandmother’s. Which was good for the fundraiser, but has now turned into a yearly tradition for Kenny and his grandma and also earned him a wife out of the deal.”
“A wife?”
“Yep. The girl whose lunch he’d thought he was bidding on heard the story and asked him out to the movies. They got married a year later, and now Kenny’s grandma has an annual lunch date and three great granddaughters.”
“Oh gosh.”
“It’s all in good fun. We’ve been doing it for years now and everyone seems to really love it. Some of the participants get really creative. Last year, someone set up a whole tea party thing, and another time there was a beach theme, and somebody did something once with teddy bears.”
“Sounds great. Can I still sign up?”
“You?”
She planted a hand on her hip. “Yes, me. Why not?”
“Didn’t you just explain to me this morning that you can’t cook anything beyond adding water to a pancake mix?”
“You heard that, huh?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I heard that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can certainly come up with some kind of picnic lunch idea. And I want to do whatever I can to help raise money for the festival.” She gazed toward the pond where a mother and father goose were leading their goslings into the water. “I really do love this place. So does my grandmother. And so many others. We can’t lose it.”
Mack put a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “We won’t. And you can absolutely enter the Boxed Social event. I’ll add another square right now.” He tilted his head, his reassuring expression turning mischievous. “And I look forward to trying to guess which one is yours tomorrow. I may have to put in a bid for it.”
He turned away before he saw the smile spreading across her face.
Loretta and Hank Talbot brought Jocelyn’s grandmother home from the hospital just before supper. Jocelyn and Mack had changed out of their period clothing and met them at the car when they pulled up in front of the house. Mack lifted Gram from the back seat, and carried her inside. He gingerly set her in her recliner and eased up the footrest. Jocelyn carefully raised her booted leg and piled a stack of pillows under it.
“What’s this?” Jocelyn asked as Hank carried in a funny wheeled contraption.
“That’s Midge,” Gram told her. “She’s a knee scooter.”
Only Molly Stone would name her medical apparatus.
“Our friend, Shirley, from our bridge group loaned her to me,” she continued. “She used her when she had bunion surgery last year and said she made all the difference. She dropped it off at the hospital this morning, and I’ve already been scooting around on it. It works like a charm. I just rest my leg on the seat and go.”
“Is it safe?” Jocelyn studied what looked like a designer bag affixed to the front of the scooter.
“Oh yeah. This is the KneeTraveler Supreme—it’s like the Cadillac of knee scooters. Shirley’s loaded, and she buys only the best. This gadget has all-terrain wheels and even has a cup holder.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Lucky for us, Shirley’s also a sweetheart and is generous with her friends,” Loretta said as she set Gram’s purse and the tote bag of things she’d had at the hospital on the table. “I think you’re all set, girls. Unless you want me to whip you up some supper.”
“Oh no. We’ve got plenty to eat,” Jocelyn told her. “And you all have done more than enough.”
Loretta huffed. “Nonsense. It’s nothing when it’s for your friends. Your grandma did as much if not more for me a few years ago when I had knee surgery.”
“I’m glad she has you,” Jocelyn said, walking the Talbots to the door, then leaning down to give Loretta a hug. “I’m glad we both do.”
“I’ll call you later,” her grandmother hollered from her recliner throne
. “Thanks again.”
“Glad to do it,” Hank said. “We’re here if you need us, honey. All you have to do is call.” He gave Jocelyn a hug as well.
“Thanks.” Hank smelled of Old Spice and pipe smoke. He’d been her grandfather’s best friend, and hugging him somehow felt like she was getting a hug from her grandpa too.
She stepped back to find Mack next in line as the Talbots filed out the door. She opened her arms then closed them, then opened them again. How awkward could this get? Should she just hug him? Was it too late to transition to a handshake?
He seemed just as uncomfortable and ended up giving her a quick one-armed hug with a sound pat on the back before slipping out the door. He came back a second later with her phone in his hand. “Almost forgot to give you this back. I’m proud of you. I didn’t think you could make it all afternoon.”
She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, although his compliment was warming her insides like a cup of hot cocoa. “It was no big deal.”
He offered her a grin that had her pulse racing as he waved, then took off after his grandparents.
She swore her emotions ran the gamut around that man. One minute feeling as comfortable as putting on an old sweater, the next feeling awkward and shy. Not to mention the moments of anger and hurt tossed in with bursts of happy memories and flashes of desire. It was like trying to hug a teddy bear who turned into a porcupine, then a hunky muscled blacksmith.
Pushing Mack from her mind, she shut the door, then directed her focus toward her grandmother. “Are you hungry?”
Gram shrugged. “I could eat.”
“A couple of people dropped off meals today. You feel like lasagna or tuna tetrazzini?”
Gram made a face. “I’ve never felt like tuna tetrazzini in my life.”
“Lasagna it is, then.”
“Tell me how the setup for the festival is going,” her grandmother said a few minutes later, as Jocelyn handed her a napkin and a plate of pasta.
Jocelyn sank into the chair next to her and filled her in on all the plans and preparations as they ate.