Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  * * *

  Ned leaned his hip against the wood piled in the city workshop. “Honest, we had to follow that trail of calk through half the store before we found Bobby.”

  Gloria looked up from the fabric samples spread across the top board, her eyes bright with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said waving her hand. “I’m sure it wasn’t funny at the time.”

  “Oh it w—was funny,” Ned assured her. “It would have been funnier if around every c—corner we didn’t run into someone who’d stepped in the calk. Not to mention I was r—running late—” His words stopped, and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, it was quite the sh—shopping trip.”

  Gloria rolled her eyes. “Speaking of shopping trips, I could tell you a few stories myself.

  “Oh yeah? Did you go shopping S—Saturday too?”

  A vision of the fiasco dancing behind her eyes. “Beatrice has decided to do a complete makeover on me, and we went on our first shopping spree.”

  Ned’s brow puckered in question. “B—Beatrice? You mean Lizzie’s mom?”

  She nodded, her expression serious. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “You’ll c—come out looking like—” Realizing he was being rude, he halted his words mid-sentence. A blush crept up his cheeks, and for the first time in several minutes, his nerves returned. “I mean…”

  “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,” Gloria said with a laugh. “I still have no idea exactly how I got roped into the whole thing.” She nearly added that the only part of the day that had been bearable was the strange note left on her porch, but that was her secret.

  Relieved that she wasn’t offended, Ned relaxed. “She is a f—formidable woman.”

  “To say the least,” Gloria agreed.

  A quiet but comfortable moment slipped past, then Gloria turned back to the fabric samples. “So, you think these colors are good then?”

  He nodded. “Sorry I d—don’t have all the paint here yet, but the colors I have couldn’t be a better match.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want lights around the second story windows?” Ned asked his mother as he surveyed the front of her house. Because if the woman could be persuaded to skip the second story, he was all about it.

  “Have I ever skipped lights upstairs?” his mother asked with a laugh. “It’s almost like you haven’t been paying attention for last ten years.”

  He tugged on the collar of his uniform jacket, wishing it would cover his red ears and block at least a little of the wind. “Where are the lights,” he asked with a sigh.

  “Right wh—”

  He lifted a hand to interrupt her. “I know, I know. Right where I left them when I took them down.”

  “There’s my intelligent and helpful son,” Mrs. Knight said with a proud smile.

  * * *

  Bells over the spa door jingled merrily, causing Lizzie and Gloria both to look up as Beatrice marched through. Her deportment was, as always, larger than life, giving the impression of a ship under full sail.

  “Hello, Mother,” Lizzie said, turning from the cabinet where she’d been arranging spa products. “What brings you by today?”

  “Good morning.” The older woman huffed. “Can’t I come visit my only daughter without being questioned?”

  “I didn’t mean—” Lizzie started, then decided it was hopeless. “Anyway, you look pretty today, Mom.”

  Beatrice fluffed her hair. “Well…”

  “I like your shoes,” Gloria added, with a wink at Lizzie, knowing full well that Beatrice would be in a better mood the more they addressed her ego.

  “And well you should!” Beatrice said. “They are brand new.”

  “I could tell,” Gloria assured with a smile.

  “Why don’t you sit down,” Lizzie said. “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

  “No need to go to a bother,” the older woman said, settling onto the sofa. “Cream and sugar please.”

  Lizzie headed to the teacart. “How’s Daddy?”

  “I have no idea.” Beatrice sighed dramatically. “I left him at the Inn.”

  “How long are you in town for?” Gloria asked, circling the front desk to sit on the ottoman. She was willing to offer Lizzie a moment of peace to make the tea.

  Beatrice sniffed. “Just for a few days. We have shopping to do, and I’m sure Lizzie will need help at the farm.”

  Lizzie coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a snort of disagreement.

  “I see,” Gloria said. “Do you enjoy staying at the Inn?”

  Beatrice strained to look over her shoulder, impatient for her tea. “Justin and Tara are top notch,” she said, “But there’s really nothing to do here.”

  Gloria nodded in understanding. “Yeah, most folks are busy shopping and preparing for the Christmas p—”

  “Your tea is ready,” Lizzie interrupted, tossing Gloria a look to hush. She hurried across the room and handed a cup and saucer to her mother.

  But not one to miss anything, Beatrice glanced from Gloria to Lizzie. “Preparing for what?”

  Unsure what to say, Gloria’s gaze slid to Lizzie.

  “Oh, you know, the usual Christmas hustle and bustle,” Lizzie said, her expression unruffled.

  Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.

  Lizzie turned to hurry back to the tea tray. “Are two sugars enough, Mom?” she asked, trying to distract her mother.

  “What were you saying, dear?” Beatrice quizzed Gloria. “Don’t look at her.” She motioned to ignore Lizzie. “Tell me. Preparing for what?”

  Gloria hesitated, wondering how she’d managed to botch the situation instead of help.

  “It’s okay,” Lizzie said, offering Gloria a sad smile. She handed her mother two packets of sugar. “Smithville is putting on Christmas pageant, if you must know, to raise money for a community center.”

  “Well!” The woman huffed. “Was that so hard to say?”

  “No, Mother.” Lizzie sighed, returning to the teacart to pour herself a strong cup of coffee. “Would you like a cup?” she asked her friend.

  “Sure,” Gloria replied, searching for something to say that wouldn’t complicate the situation.

  “When is this pageant to be?” Beatrice asked, stirring her tea. She lifted the teacup to tentatively touch her lips to the rim. Finding the tea too hot, she lowered the lipstick-marked cup to her lap.

  “December twenty-fourth,” Lizzie answered, handing Gloria a coffee mug. She returned to the cart and poured another cup for herself. Straightening her shoulders, she returned to sit on the sofa facing her mother. “I’m sure you have plans with Daddy on Christmas Eve,” she offered, her expression hopeful.

  “Nonsense.” Beatrice huffed. “This town will need my help in order to pull off such an event.”

  Gloria hid a grin behind her coffee cup as she took a sip. Beatrice was a well-known busybody when it came to community events.

  “Where will the pageant be held?” the older woman continued. “Seeing as how Smithville doesn’t currently have a community center.”

  “In the city park,” Gloria said, sure her answer wouldn’t cause any harm.

  “The park?” boomed Beatrice, causing both Lizzie and Gloria to jump, nearly spilling their coffee.

  Once her coffee stopped sloshing, Lizzie took in a long breath through her nose. Finally, she was ready to speak. “And just what is wrong with the city park?”

  Gloria watched the exchange as she lifted her coffee mug.

  “It’s… well, it’s outdoors, for one thing.”

  “Parks usually are, Mother.”

  “What if the weather is foul?” Beatrice inquired, incredulous that her daughter didn’t see the problem.

  Lizzie stared into her cup, then looked up, her expression one of frustration. “People know it’s going to be outside, Mother, they will dress accordingly. Plus we’ll have the covered band stand, and some tents set up.”

  Gloria’s gaze bounced from Lizzie back to Beatri
ce.

  “Tents.” Beatrice snorted.

  Lizzie plopped her coffee cup onto a side table, nearly sloshing coffee over the edge of the cup. “Yes, tents,” she said. Her tone dared her mother to say anything contradictory.

  Taking her cue, Beatrice resituated herself in her seat and cleared her throat. “I see,” she said, but her tone clearly stated her disapproval.

  “I’m making the costumes,” Gloria offered, hoping to defuse the tension.

  That caught Beatrice’s attention, and she turned to stare down her nose at the redhead.

  Gloria squirmed but raised her chin a notch. She knew better than to slouch in front of the woman.

  “I wasn’t aware that you could sew,” Beatrice said, making the task sound more like shoveling manure than a craft.

  “I do,” Gloria said with a smile. “I enjoy it too.”

  Beatrice glanced to Lizzie in amazement. “Really?”

  Both Lizzie and Gloria nodded.

  “She’s very talented,” Lizzie assured her mother. “You won’t believe what she can create.”

  “I made the costumes for the high school’s production of Annie,” Gloria said with a smile.

  Clearly impressed, Beatrice shifted in her seat to face Gloria. “Do tell!”

  Now that all the attention was on her, Gloria faltered, one again unsure what to say.

  “That’s right, Mother, and she’s an amazing cook as well.”

  Taken aback, Beatrice glanced from one girl to the other. “Well.” She huffed. “Will miracles never cease.”

  The rude comment fell on both women like a hailstorm. Lizzie had been reaching for her coffee cup, but when the words hit her, she froze then turned back, a scowl dark across her face. “Mother!” she cried.

  Working not to be crushed, Gloria stared down into her coffee mug.

  Lizzie stood and plopped both fists on her hips. “You apologize, right now!” she demanded.

  Shocked, Beatrice looked from Gloria’s pale face to Lizzie’s red one. “What? What did I say?”

  “It’s not a miracle that Gloria is talented,” Lizzie nearly yelled, with her hand flinging in the air toward Gloria.

  The color drained from Beatrice’s face, and she looked to Gloria for confirmation. “Of course, it’s not!” she cried, one hand coming to her chest. “That’s not what I said at all.”

  The anger on Lizzie’s face slipped a notch. “Yes, it is,” she defended, folding her arms across her chest.

  “No, no, no,” Beatrice corrected. “I said it’s a miracle that anyone in this day and age can sew.”

  Lizzie’s arms fell to her sides. “That’s not what you said.”

  “Well I can assure you, that is what I meant.” Beatrice blustered. “You understood that, didn’t you, dear?” she asked Gloria.

  Seeing that Beatrice hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, Gloria offered Lizzie a look of consolation. “I understand that now,” she said.

  Still angry, Lizzie stood for a moment longer, then with a heartfelt sigh, turned to retrieve her coffee cup and walk away.

  Beatrice pursed her lips, her eyebrows showing her pique. “It seems I have to be so careful what I say when I’m here,” she muttered, lifting her cup for a sip of now cold tea.

  Gloria lifted her mug as well, savoring the taste of the heady brew. Beatrice was a character, and hard to deal with, but she wasn’t all bad.

  * * *

  From his perch on the café stool, Ned watched as the people of Smithville hurried past the front window, hunched into their coats. Christmas decorations glimmered on the light poles and waved in the wind. The last two days had been mild, but as was the way in southwest Pennsylvania, the weather tended to take a turn without much notice.

  “…ain’t that so?” Willie said, interrupting Ned’s thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” Ned asked.

  “He said,” Marge stated with a bob of her head, “that we missed you in here over the weekend.”

  “Oh,” Ned muttered. “Thanks. I m—missed you too.”

  The old man grinned, showing more teeth missing than not.

  Marge, however, stared Ned down through narrowed eyes. “Are you ever gonna tell us where you go every other weekend?”

  Usually, Ned kept an eye out for these kinds of traps, careful to keep his life in Pittsburgh separate from his life in Smithville. “P—probably not.”

  “I knew it!” Willie cried. “I knew he’d say that. He never says nothing about where he goes.”

  Marge turned to frown at the old man.

  “This ain’t nothin’,” he added. “My neighbor done moved away and never said a word to nobody. Left his furniture, and his car. Even his dog.”

  Marge’s frown deepened, and Ned’s head swiveled toward the old man.

  Willie’s lips moved, but nothing came out. Finally, he spoke. “Okay, okay, he mighta took the dog.”

  Marge rolled her eyes, then returned her attention back to Ned. “Are you going to want dessert?” she asked.

  “What you got?”

  She held up one hand to count off options on her fingers. “Let’s see. We got cherry pie, pumpkin pie, chocolate cake, and fresh snicker doodles.

  Ned perked up. “Snicker doodles?”

  Marge motioned toward a glass dome covered pedestal dish at the end of the counter. “Yup, we’re giving them a try.”

  “I didn’t know Bud could bake cookies,” Ned said, glancing toward the kitchen.

  “Oh, Bud didn’t make those,” Marge said. “Gloria brought them by and asked if we’d tell folks to try them. You know, so they’d get hooked.”

  Now Ned was interested beyond just his stomach. “Hooked?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “So folks will want to buy more at the pageant bake sale.”

  “Ah,” he said, lifting his coffee mug. “The bake sale.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Marge said, reaching for a rag to wipe the counter. “Advertising.”

  “Right,” he muttered, contemplating the plan between sips. That Gloria was a tricky one. “Pack up the bunch for me, will you?”

  Marge stopped wiping up and straightened. “Well, that would ruin the whole plan wouldn’t it?”

  Caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak, Ned blanched. “I see your point.”

  Marge’s eyes narrowed again.

  “I just really like snicker doodles!” Ned rushed to add, not wanting Marge to see his interest in Gloria.

  She gave the words a moment of thought, then her rag went back into motion, swiping circles on the counter. When she reached the end, she straightened. “How about half a dozen?”

  “Perfect,” Ned said standing to tug out his wallet, admonishing himself to be more careful.

  Chapter Six

  Gloria hefted bolts of fabric up onto the cutting table. Sorting and ordering the fabric in her mind, she hummed a Christmas tune under her breath. When the brightly colored fabric was sorted, she turned to Tara. “I’m glad you guys liked the costume samples, now I can get to work. Thanks for coming with me.”

  “You bet,” Tara answered. “I don’t get out as much as I used to, but now that Isabelle is bigger it’s getting a little easier.” The baby chose that moment to screech, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot.

  Tara winced, and Gloria giggled.

  “What can I do for you?” the clerk asked.

  Gloria lifted the top bolt. “I need four yards of this one, please.”

  “I like that print,” Tara said. “I wouldn’t have picked it, and yet once you’ve made the costume, it’s perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Probably similarly to how you can see an old junky piece of furniture and visualize it cleaned up and painted.”

  “Maybe…” Tara drawled. “Somehow I see sewing differently than redoing furniture.”

  “What’s next?” asked the clerk, folding the cut piece.

  Pushing the next bolt across the cutting ta
ble, Gloria bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure about this one. I may need the whole bolt.”

  The clerk unrolled the fabric from the bolt, flopping it over, then over again. “Want to see how much is here?”

  “Yes, please.” Gloria turned back to Tara. “This is for the choir robes. Do you know how many people are planning to participate?”

  Isabelle threw her toy on the floor, then screamed and arched her back against the seatbelt holding her in the front of the cart. “I don’t know for sure,” Tara said, bending to retrieve the toy. “But I think you can plan on twenty.” She waved the toy in front of the baby to soothe her.

  Gloria watched the clerk pull out lengths of fabric and measure it against the yardstick built into the cutting table. Every yard the woman measured represented hours of measuring, cutting, sewing, and fitting.

  “It looks like you have six and a half yards,” the clerk said. “Do you want the whole thing?”

  “Twenty people at…” Gloria muttered, then continued to figure in her head. Convert inches to feet, then feet to yards, then times by price per yard. After a moment of consideration, she nodded. “Yes, please.” In order to get this whole thing accomplished she’d just have to cut back on sleep, or baking, or…

  The clerk scanned the barcode on the cardboard bolt, then punched a few buttons on her scanner. “Okay, next?”

  Gloria selected another bolt from the pile. “I need three-quarters of a yard of this one.” Then she turned to Tara. “Did I tell you about shopping with Beatrice?”

  Tara, still trying to draw the baby’s attention to the toy, brightened with interest. “No, you didn’t.” She squeaked the toy repeatedly, oblivious to the noise. “How did it go?”

  Isabelle calmed and reached for the stuffed reindeer.

  “Oh, about like you’d think,” Gloria answered. “Beatrice picked out everything and then she and the dressing room attendant talked about me like I wasn’t standing there.”

  Tara winced at her friend’s words.

  “What’s next?” asked the clerk.

  Turning her attention back to the fabric, Gloria pushed the next bolt toward the woman. “I need seven yards of this one.”