All Roads Lead Home
Copyright
Published by Nammynools Publications
Copyright 2013 Diane Greenwood Muir
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover Design Photography by Maxim M. Muir
My deepest gratitude goes out to friends and family who have given me time to hide away and write and have encouraged me to be more than I ever dreamed. Thank you!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thank You
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
"Hallooo! Is anyone here?"
Polly nearly fell off the ladder hearing a voice come from the main level, then muttered, "I'm going to have to get a dog." She brushed her hand across her face, pushing her hair back and madly looked around for a place to prop her paintbrush. Things had been quiet and she hadn’t expected anyone to show up. Her heart racing, she glanced around, trying to think, and then saw the paint can on the floor. Well, that was obvious, where was her head? Skittering down the ladder, she placed the brush across the top of the can and headed for the main stairwell, arriving in time to see four women ready to mount the staircase.
"Hi there!" she said.
"Are you Polly Giller?" said one of the women, stepping up on the first step.
"Yes, I am. Can I help you with something?"
"We're here to welcome you to Bellingwood. We figured you might need a few meals, so we brought enough for the next few days." The women each had their hands filled with grocery bags and casserole dishes wrapped in brightly colored slings.
"I'm Lydia Merritt," said the woman, "and this is Sylvie Donovan, Andy Saner and Beryl Watson. We're the welcoming committee!"
Polly walked down toward the women and stopped a few steps from the bottom.
"Wow!" she said, "I wasn't expecting this. Thank you!" She motioned around the stairway to the back of the hall. "The kitchen is back here. Let me show you."
Polly stepped in between two of the women and led the way. Renovation of the old school kitchen was nearly complete since it was the first room she’d attacked. The back wall, filled with windows and painted a soft yellow, looked out onto the old playground. A counter which was currently being used to store small appliances followed the back wall to an eight-foot pine trestle table which sat next to the door. The window and counter at the front of the kitchen remained in place from the days of serving students. On the left as they entered, was a wall filled with pantry cupboards trimmed in dark walnut around glass doors.
On the right were two stainless steel refrigerator / coolers and a separate freezer. A large cast iron commercial stove and oven stood on the far right wall. Deep sinks were on both sides of the kitchen and an industrial dishwasher stood under the counter, which wrapped around to the right wall. A massive preparation space with a sink on each end and storage space beneath filled the center of the room.
"I'm sorry this is the only livable room right now," Polly said. "There is so much to do yet."
"Don't worry, Polly," said the petite woman identified as Andy Saner. "No one in town can believe you are taking on such a big project. You know, we all went to school here."
Polly spun around. "Of course you did!” she exclaimed. “I would love to hear stories you have about the building when it was filled with kids."
A rumbling chuckle came from Beryl Watson. "Do you want stories that are clean or stories that are true?" she said, her voice filled with mirth.
"Stop it, you," teased Lydia. "You don't need to start telling tall tales before the poor girl gets to know us."
The women bustled in and filled the center of the prep table with the items they’d carried in.
"We can leave this here for you, but we'd be glad to put it away if you don't mind us opening your cupboards." This came from the last to be heard from, Sylvie Donovan. She looked to be about eight years older than Polly. Her eyes were bright, if a little sad. Her blue corduroy jacket covered a green plaid flannel shirt and loose fitting jeans. She wore old tennies on her feet and her long, brown hair was pulled back with a loosely tied, crocheted hair ribbon.
"Oh," said Polly, "I can do it. This is so amazing; I don't know what to say."
"Really, Polly," assured Sylvie, "We're going to be in your way while we bother you for a few minutes, we might as well take care of it."
"Alright," Polly responded. "I’ll turn the coffeepot on. Would you like some?"
"Now you're on the right track," said Lydia. "We're all coffee drinkers, aren't we?" She looked around at the other three who nodded in agreement while opening pantry doors and unpacking bags.
"Coffee would be great," said Beryl. “Now, Andy, did you bring your label maker? I can’t imagine you will let us stuff things in here willy-nilly, will you?”
The petite woman chuckled and said, “Don’t you think it would be appropriate for the owner of the pantry to establish her territory before I start labeling everything? She might not like my methods of organization.”
Polly looked up. “I do pretty well, but if you have a good idea for organizing a large pantry, I’d love to hear it!”
Beryl wrinkled her nose, “You might not want to say that to this woman. She has a,” she paused and thought, “we’ll call it a flair for putting things in order. It’s a sickness, you know. We keep telling her she should turn that sickness into a business. Other people … normal people who don’t feel the need to alphabetize their refrigerators … might want a little of her influence.”
Andy threw a box of crackers at her friend. “I like things to make sense. A pantry isn’t simply organized alphabetically; it’s organized by how you use it. And then, it’s organized alphabetically.”
Beryl caught the box out of the air and stuffed it onto a shelf. “Well, there’s the ‘C’ shelf. I don’t care what you do after that.”
Polly watched the two women banter and then turned to see Lydia and Sylvie simply taking things out of bags while watching the entertainment
.
“Do I step in here?” she asked Lydia.
“Not unless you have something important to say. However, Andy will give a lot of thought to organizing your space if you let her. Just say the word, and you will never lose anything again. I keep her out of my kitchen though. Sometimes I like the adventure of wondering what will pop out at me when I clean the shelves!” Lydia smiled at her friend and winked.
“Wow, I suppose I should have asked you to help me with this before I started,” Polly said.
“Oh! Don’t say that. You’ve got a wonderful place here.” Andy started pulling things back out of the cupboard. “But, if you move this here with the chocolate and put these over here, then if you make sure this cupboard is used for your spices and over here you could put all of your canned vegetables ...” She turned around to see everyone staring at her.
“Oops. Sorry.”
“No! That’s great!” Polly exclaimed. “It’s all yours now.” She laughed and pulled a stainless steel cart out from under the front counter. “Here, we’ll put everything on this and you can have a ball.”
In a few minutes, every cupboard door was wide open and supplies unloaded. Beryl had found the coffee mugs and pulled five out. She gathered plates and napkins, and after discovering a platter, filled it with scones and cookies. The chatter of the women as they worked in her kitchen made Polly giggle. It seemed surreal. Women she’d never met before had walked in and made themselves at home.
Lydia was stowing casserole dishes and plasticware filled containers in her refrigerator and freezer. "The dishes are clearly labeled. You shouldn't have to cook for a while unless we keep visit every day," Lydia remarked. "And this kitchen is amazing! I'd show up every day just to cook here."
She walked over to the stove. "Andy, did you see this thing? It's got everything you could want in a stove!" To Polly, she asked, “How much did it cost?"
At Beryl's gasp, Lydia's face fell and she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've never seen anything like this in someone's home."
Polly chuckled. "If I'm going to pull off what I want to do here, it needs to be this big."
Lydia asked, “What exactly are you hoping to do?”
“A little bit of everything,” Polly responded. “A little bit artist’s retreat, a little bit community center, a little bit bookstore, a little bit crafting. Yeah, that.” She clicked off the coffeemaker, reached into a drawer for a trivet and carried both to the table.
Polly went on, "I haven't even thought about cooking since I got here. I appreciate the chance for good food."
She sat down on the far side of the table and the women gathered around. Andy kept glancing at the pantry shelves until finally Beryl said, “Enough, girl! I’m sure Polly will let you come back with your label maker and turn it into a thing of organizational beauty. Right, Polly?”
Polly took a bite out of a scone. She moaned a little as the aroma of raspberry and sugar filled her senses. “What? Oh. Sure. You can come back any time. Excuse me a moment while I enjoy this,” and took another bite.
Lydia was the next to interrupt Polly’s reverie. "The whole town is dying to know what you’re doing here. There are a lot of rumors. Most of the guys working on the renovation are from around here, but you know men. They never get it right and they never know what questions to ask to make us happy."
Andy said, "My daughter's boyfriend, Jimmy, has been working in here lately. I keep telling him to ask questions, but he's shy."
Polly nodded. "I know who that is. He is shy. He walks past a room where I'm painting, hesitates as if he wants to step in and speak to me, then shakes his head and goes back to where he was working. He seems like a nice boy, though."
"I’m glad he has a good job. He has to wait until my daughter is finished with college before he asks her to marry him. He knows I’ll kill her if she doesn’t graduate, so he's trying to be patient."
"Polly, why did you buy this old school?" Lydia pressed a little harder.
Polly sat back in her chair, holding her coffee mug between both hands.
"I wanted to live in Iowa again. I realized one day how much I missed being around real people. Mom died twenty years ago and then three years ago Dad was killed in a car accident. They owned a farm over by Story City. Dad sold out to his brothers about ten years ago - he made a really good deal. He moved into a little house in town and had a great time there. He loved working with wood, so he had a small shop in his garage. Christmas was his favorite time of year. He’d dress up as Santa Claus and take the toys he made to shelters in the area.
“I'd gone to Boston to college and got a job out there, working at the Boston Public Library. It was absolutely wonderful. I loved everything about it, but I missed the quiet of the farm and being around people who loved me only because I was family. I came back after Dad died and cleared out his house. I put everything in storage, went back to Boston and realized that what I loved about the library was the solitude I found in the stacks.
“Then, something happened and I realized how much I wanted to be here. I started scouting around for a small town and the son of one of Dad's old friends is a realtor. When he sent me pictures of this school and I realized how close it was to Ames and Des Moines, I decided I didn't need to work at the library any longer and I didn't need to live in Boston either. I gave them my notice, packed my stuff and made the move."
"What happened to make you suddenly leave Boston?" asked Sylvie.
"Oh, nothing much. It was the right time for me to go." Polly's eyes misted a little and they noticed her slight shudder. She averted her eyes and took another bite of the scone.
"So, how long have you been in Iowa?" Lydia asked, moving the conversation along.
"I left Boston in April, rented an apartment in Ames while the purchase of the school went through and began making plans to renovate it."
"You surely aren't going to live in this big ole place by yourself, are you?" Beryl's eyes were huge.
"This is exactly what I want,” Polly replied. “I'm putting an apartment upstairs and turning the downstairs into my dream. I’m going to play and invite everyone else to play with me. Someday it will have everything in it I've ever wanted; a little craft shop where we can teach knitting and crocheting, cake baking and other cooking classes, and maybe a little library and bookstore. Open computers and Wi-Fi if people have their own. Comfy chairs and tables all over the place. Kind of like a community center, but more."
She went on, "We will host parties and events in the auditorium and on the stage. In the other three rooms upstairs, I’ll have space for artists and authors and anyone who needs a getaway for a while."
Polly sighed, "It's a dream I have and now I’m going to go after it."
"Wow," said Andy. "That's a pretty big dream. I hope your Dad left you lots of money."
Beryl scowled at Andy. "You girls are awfully personal today." She looked at Polly. “You’d think they’d never been out in public before.”
Polly's eyes sparkled as she laughed. "He left me plenty to do this and even screw it up a little."
"Don't you have any sisters or brothers?" asked Andy.
"No. I was an only child," Polly replied. "That’s probably what makes me so comfortable in the quiet."
She looked around the table, then said, "I don't know anything about you all, except you're courageous enough to walk in on a strange woman. Oh, and that you went to school here. Tell me things I should know about you."
Lydia said, "I'll start. My husband, Aaron, is the sheriff. He's a good old guy, even if he seems a little gruff. We have five children. They're all grown up and two of them have gotten married and have kids of their own. If I start telling you about my brood I won't stop, but the youngest, Jim, is over at Iowa State in his last year. He's already got a job lined up when he graduates. We're pretty proud of all of them.
“My oldest daughter, Marilyn, lives over in Dayton. They have twins and even if I got to see those cuties every day, it wouldn't be enough. T
he next daughter, Jill, lives in Kansas City. Her husband works there. They have one little boy. I wish they lived closer so I could spend more time with him. After Jill is Daniel, who lives in Des Moines, and then Sandy. She’s in Minneapolis. As for me, I don't do too much. Just wait for my kiddos to show up!"
Beryl smiled at her friend, "Lydia does everything. She organizes meals for shut-ins, manages the Sunday School program at the Methodist church, drives some of the widows whenever they need to shop. Heck, she shops for those who don't want to get out. Don't let her fool you! She's everyone's best hope for the good life, it seems."
"Hush, you," said Lydia. "That's enough."
Andy laughed. "Don't you love them already, Polly?"
Polly smiled. This felt right. "What about you, Andy?"
"Well, I'm a widow, but I'm not one of those ladies Lydia has to take care of." She stopped, looked around the table and said, "Am I? Oh no. I'm not, am I? That's not why I'm here with you?" Her voice began rising until Lydia lightly punched her in the forearm.
"Stop it, you fool," Lydia said. "We've been friends since elementary school."
"Oh," responded Andy. "That's right."
She went on, "I've been feeling a little old lately and sometimes a little lonely. Fine, I got stupid for a minute.
"I'm retired, I guess. I used to be a high school English teacher. I taught here in this school, right up at the top of those stairs for years. When they closed the building, I taught in Boone. My husband, Bill, died about five years ago. He was a wonderful man. He farmed and we raised three great kids out there. The two older boys, Billy and John, run the farm with their families. Melanie, my youngest is in grad school in Iowa City. I moved into town so Billy and his wife could have the farmhouse and it's probably a good thing. I miss the farm, but at least I'm close to my friends."
Beryl waited for a breath, then said, "My turn! I'm single and I love it. I kicked my first husband out thirty years ago and then when I thought I'd found a great man a few years later, he up and died on me after only two years. I decided to say 'to hell with it.' I'm great all by myself and I'll stay that way forever. If a man wants to hang out with me, fine, but he can own his own house and live his own life."
All Roads Lead Home (Bellingwood) Page 1