by Meg Macy
“But how would a washer make them move?” several girls asked at once.
I pointed to the joint of my index finger. “Everyone hold up their hand and then wiggle your fingertip. Pin and lock washers are sort of like the ‘bones’ inside your finger. We can’t put them into our tiniest bears, since there’s not much room. But our larger bears can lift their arms to hug you back,” I said with a smile. “Now, the torso is the last part to finish. Here’s the stuffing machine, but please stay behind the ropes.”
Two girls wrinkled their noses. “It stinks!” The troop all convulsed into loud laughter, and I joined them.
“It’s been oiled recently. Once a worker places the unstuffed bear on the nozzle, they press that pedal near the floor—it fills the toy at a fast rate, faster than a speeding car. They have to make sure the bear is stuffed the same throughout, which is tricky. The seams might burst if the bear is too full, or it might feel limp and squishy with too little fiber filling.”
Lois, Flora, Harriet, and Joan waved at the girls. “Why can’t each of them sew the same thing? Like one all the arms, and the other all legs,” one leader asked.
“Too boring,” Flora said with a hearty laugh.
I nodded. “It also ensures a quality product. They check and recheck each other’s work, though. The very last parts the team sews are the tags, using a ladder stitch, right under the tail.” Many of the girls giggled, and I heard a few whispered “bear butts” before the leader hushed them. “Then we attach the Silverman Bear Factory cardstock tag to the left ear with a plastic tab.”
Another girl’s hand shot into the air. “Will you let us stuff a bear?”
“No, I’m sorry.” I fought a frown. Although one of our competitors allowed kids to stuff their toys and made three times the profits we did, we couldn’t afford the extra insurance. “Let’s go see our hospital and surgery center. Follow the bear tracks!”
The girls eagerly surged forward. Everyone oohed and aahed over the “hospital” corner. Two wooden shelving units with scalloped red and white awnings each held bears in soft paper gowns lying on padded beds. An adorable bear dressed in green scrubs and a mask stood ready to operate on one bear lying on a table for surgery.
“How sweet,” a leader said. “Poor things!”
“We guarantee our toys’ health,” I said. “For a nominal fee plus shipping, we make any necessary repairs and return the bears to their owners. This bear had to be retrieved from a Florida swamp. Unfortunately, the alligator thought it was real.”
Several girls gasped. “Oh no!”
“We sewed a new leg on without any trouble, so he’s like new again.” I herded the girls and leaders into the largest part of the building, where hundreds of plastic bins marched in rows holding bears from the largest to smallest sizes. “Guess how many bears are kept here.”
The troop seemed awed by the various bears all wearing silver satin bows. “A hundred bears,” one girl guessed. “Ten thousand,” another said.
I smiled, wishing we could sell ten thousand in a year. “There’s about three thousand. We take orders online besides what’s in the shop, pack them, and ship them to anywhere in the world. How about this bear to sell at the auction for the pet shelter?” The girls squealed when I plucked a large twenty-four-inch silver bear from a bin.
“Thank you so much.” The troop leader selected a light brown bear from the eighteen-inch-size bin. “We’ll buy this one as a second bear for the auction.”
The leaders shooed the troop out the door, back under the walkway, to our shop. “Girls, you need to be on your best behavior. It’s time to choose your own bear. Pick out the five-dollar size, any color you like.”
I followed the last straggler into the shop. “Do you make really teeny tiny bears?” a girl asked. “I’d like one for my dollhouse.”
“We only take special orders for miniature versions,” I said gravely. “They have to be made entirely by hand. That’s why they’re quite expensive.”
“Like ten dollars?”
“More like seventy-five to a hundred dollars or more. How about asking someone in your family, like a grandma or aunt, to sew one for your dollhouse?”
The kid’s face brightened at that. Better to raise a little hope than disappoint. She joined the other girls near the bins holding the smallest bears in white, silver, black, brown, pink, purple, mint green, and yellow. My parents had decided when they first opened the shop that only the smallest would be nonrealistic shades.
Maddie calculated the sale in a receipt book, added tax, noted our donation, and accepted the leader’s check for the other bears. The girls seemed pleased and happy when I led the troop out to the parking lot. Eighteen of our smallest bears plus a larger one made a nice sale. Especially for a Thursday. Only Will Taylor would complain. He was convinced these tours were useless.
Speak of the devil.
Will stood outside the door and watched the troop leaders herd the girls, each carrying a silver bag clutched tight, to the SUVs. While his ego was as big as Robert Downey Jr.’s and Matthew McConaughey’s combined, he was nowhere near as handsome as either film star. His dark gelled hair, silvered at his temples, and an untrimmed goatee clashed with his dapper suit and tie; burnished-gold cuff links winked in the sunshine. His citrus cologne hit me like a tidal wave.
“Let’s hope they didn’t leave sticky fingerprints all over the merchandise,” he said, walking into the shop. “I’m surprised you started tours before the school year.”
“Welcome back.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “This tour was a reschedule from last spring. Learn anything useful in New York?”
Will stuck a hand in his pocket. “My trip was profitable, as usual. New Jersey, not New York. Met your dad, too. He flew up from Tampa to see the toy show.”
I met Will’s sharp gaze in surprise. “Really.”
“I hope the tour group paid for that very large bear. Hmm?”
Ignoring him, I figured Maddie was itching to know when I’d return and let her get back to the office. Will’s cell phone beeped. Coins jangled in his pocket when he dug out his phone and then answered the call. His tranquil tone immediately changed to one of annoyance.
“—told you to send my shirts out to the cleaners. See you later.”
No doubt a call from his wife, Carolyn, who owned the Holly Jolly Christmas shop across the street. She often kept an eagle eye out for his car and called whenever she saw him. Everyone knew she didn’t trust him out of her sight. I didn’t care. Maddie did, since Carolyn often called the office if Will didn’t answer his phone. That drove Maddie crazy. My sister wasn’t responsible for keeping track of a wayward husband, though.
I unlocked the back door that led to our residence and whistled for my dog. A mix of Bichon Frise and Lhasa Apso, Rosie’s short brown and white curly hair and shaped ears resembled the teddy bears we produced—she looked adorable. My ex had named her after Eleanor Roosevelt when we rescued her; her hangdog look fueled our sympathy. During the divorce proceedings, I claimed her as my baby. Flynn couldn’t argue, since he’d never paid that much attention to her during our marriage. Rosie was the only thing I’d taken of significance besides my clothes. I was glad he didn’t claim shared custody.
My sweet dog bounded toward me now, leash in her mouth, sheer joy in her eyes. She barked, letting the leash fall at her feet. I clipped it to her collar and strolled out to the garden once more. I’d meant to fetch her earlier, so she was ready to do her business.
Rosie sniffed around, squatted, and then led the way back to the air-conditioned house. Mom had insisted on installing two units, one for the shop and one for the living quarters, plus ceiling fans, during renovations. Summer days above ninety weren’t my favorite, unless we visited the beach.
The cat swatted Rosie on her way to the kitchen’s window seat. Rosie barked sharply at Onyx, who backed away with a hiss. I sighed.
“Be nice, you two. Why can’t you share?” I asked them. They ignored me,
although Rosie’s tail wagged when she jumped onto the window seat. Onyx lay down in the bright sunshine, her back to the dog, defiant. Rosie curled up, indifferent. “Behave.”
I took the shortcut through the house to the shop in front, making sure the double doors were securely locked behind me. The last thing I needed was a customer strolling around our private quarters, picking up a few knickknacks or valuables. Unfortunately, I ran into Will Taylor, who blocked the door near the clothing racks. The flier for this weekend’s teddy bear picnic hid his face. Maddie darted toward the office with a grin and a wave. Traitor.
“So.” Will lowered the flier and raised his eyebrows. “I hear you didn’t get my message about the meeting tonight.”
I noted his tone’s steely edge. “No, but I will be there.”
“Your dad and I had an interesting conversation about sales.”
“Save it for the meeting.” I nodded to the front door, where two women had entered and set off the tinkling of tiny bells on a string. “Customers.”
Chapter 3
Will stalked to the shop’s farthest room, muttering under his breath. I greeted the two older women and then gave them space. They quickly chose small tan teddy bears, one with a blue ribbon, one with pink, and brought them to the counter.
“Twins,” one woman said with pride. She patted the bears. “My first grandchildren, too. Jaclyn hasn’t chosen a nursery theme yet. I suggested blue and pink, but she might want a neutral color like yellow or green. Or Winnie the Pooh. Do you carry them?”
“Pooh is with Disney, while all our bears are unique.”
“That’s why we wanted these,” the other lady said. “My daughter Natalie said everyone has Winnie the Pooh or even Paddington. Jaclyn’s twins will love these bears.”
I smiled. “Congratulations, and best wishes for an easy delivery.”
“I hope Jaclyn makes it to the baby shower. Natalie had her last baby in record time.”
“It’s possible they’ll take the babies early. . . .”
The women discussed the possibilities while I processed the sale. Will paced between the rooms, his impatience distracting. Did he expect me to rush customers? They both admired the clothing and accessories while I wrapped the bears in tissue, stamped the receipt with a Thank You! and then placed them in our largest silver bag. I’d hoped Will would leave when another customer arrived, but no. He watched, arms crossed over his chest, as if supervising.
Once the last customer departed, I locked the front door. During the lunch hour, we closed to give our staff a chance to regroup and relax. Not that customers paraded through the door all day long. But closing the shop and factory meant visitors could head to one of the lunch spots in Silver Hollow, which helped other local businesses. Will blocked the double doors to the back, however, and stopped me cold. Ignoring my displeasure, he held up a flier.
“Another teddy bear picnic? I told you before tours and events like this are a big waste of time. Your dad hasn’t been around to run them anymore.”
“So? We have more than twenty families signed up to attend.”
“And half of them probably won’t show. People go to the bigger parks for the holiday, or else have big family barbecues at home instead.”
“Silver Hollow’s parade is on Monday, remember,” I said, and suppressed my smug tone. Something about Will Taylor burned me, but I wasn’t going to allow him to play the “Dad” card without a fight. “The teddy bear picnic afterward is tradition ever since Dad first started it. And Maddie will cover at the store on Monday.”
“What? We’re open on Labor Day?”
“We always get customers after the parade for our annual sale.”
“Another sale?” Will tapped a finger against his jaw. “I hope you realize that our profits are declining. They’ve been declining all year, in fact.”
“The sales figures I’ve seen tell a different story. Check with Maddie.”
“I had her make a report for the meeting.”
His sly smile annoyed me. “Like Maddie doesn’t have anything better to do.”
“One thing is certain. We need to sell more than just teddy bears,” Will said. “Bunnies, dogs, cats, foxes, you name it. And your dad is on board with cutting staff.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s produce more toys with less staff. That makes a lot of sense.” I snatched the flier out of his hand. “I’m starving. Now there’s only forty-five minutes before we open again and Rosie needs a walk. Thanks for wasting my time.”
I turned my back on his murderous glare, pushed past, and locked doors behind me. Once out of earshot, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Come on, Rosie!”
I whistled. Her claws scrabbled across the kitchen’s tile floor to meet me at the back door, tail wagging and leash ready in her mouth. I grabbed from the fridge the sandwich I’d slapped together this morning, crammed a floppy cotton hat on my head, and then raced ahead of Rosie outside. The day was a scorcher, as predicted. We kept to the shade. Given the meeting tonight, I had no choice but to exercise my dog on a midday walk.
Rosie didn’t mind the sun beating down, though. She kept straying back and forth, almost tripping me a few times, and snuffled trash left on the grassy meadow bordering Silver Lake. Grabbing the potato chip bag that scuttled across Theodore Lane, I marched to the closest bin under the stand of birch trees near Main Street and deposited it along with my sandwich Baggie.
“If only the copsh would catch the littering jerksh,” I mumbled, my mouth full from the last bite of peanut butter and bread. Rosie jerked the leash nearly out of my hand, trying to chase a squirrel. “Hey! Cut that out. You nearly caught a baby yesterday.”
The twin to our Victorian house-turned-shop, Barbara and Richard Davison’s home, looked romantic with its black shutters, wraparound veranda, central tower, and stone steps. They had a far better views of the lake, since trees blocked most of the shimmering blue expanse from our windows. Richard Davison, a retired CEO from one of the Big Three automobile companies, and his wife must be out of town given the lack of cars in the long driveway.
The former one-story carriage house opposite the Davison’s house had been converted into an upscale restaurant, Flambé, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Tyler and Mary Walsh, owners of Ham Heaven in the village, lived in a small cottage next door surrounded by a white picket fence. Past that, around the lane’s curve, a brick Queen Anne–style house boasting several gables and blue trim nestled among a stand of trees. Owned by Glen and Jenny Woodley, the Silver Leaf Bed and Breakfast looked empty with only one car in the lot. That was surprising given the upcoming Labor Day holiday.
Both of them waved to me when I walked Rosie down the street. Jenny weeded in the garden while Glen painted a fresh coat of white on their mailbox. Perhaps their guests wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. It seemed too hot to be working outside, but to each his own.
I race-walked to the end of Theodore Lane and Kermit Street, where the Holly Jolly Christmas shop stood on the corner. Rosie nosed the huge green ceramic pots of red geraniums in front of the narrow white-painted Italianate building. Lush ferns drooped from hooks hung along the veranda. Carolyn Taylor kept her red and green door propped open, showing off sparkling Christmas trees in every corner and window. Even the letters “Holly Jolly” above the door sparkled, and twinkling lights lined the eaves. She never closed for lunch. Inside, she stood chatting with customers and pointing out Santa Claus figurines.
I had no idea how Carolyn tolerated Will’s conceit. His arrogance grated my nerves to pieces. She looked fashionable, dressed in black as usual, wearing an overly large flashy red necklace over a sleeveless maxi dress, plus beaded sandals. A black and red bracelet clunked against the counter when she processed a sale. She wore bright red lipstick, and her boisterous laugh was infectious. Carolyn’s bouncy blond curls also made me envious.
Some people had all the luck. Sigh.
Customers to her shop breathed in tantalizing scents of pine, balsam, peppermint, plus gingerbr
ead—from the dozen cookies she baked for customers. Once in a while I stopped in to grab one; not that I was proud of it, but why waste an opportunity for a good cookie? Carolyn had Marilyn Monroe–worthy curves. I had the Silverman gene for thunder thighs, a trait I could live without. Walking Rosie every day helped. My sister could eat anything but never gained an ounce. Maddie had a notorious sweet tooth but rarely indulged or thought about food. Ever. Me, I had to fight sugar cravings with a whip and chair.
Rosie and I quickly headed down Kermit Street. A few pedestrians exchanged waves with me, including Ben Blake, the village pharmacist who had the best smile in Silver Hollow. He soon disappeared inside the corner café. Rosie and I hurried past Fresh Grounds, run by two good friends, up the sloping hill toward the village green. The courthouse, an imposing three-story stone building with Ionic columns between the tall windows, looked huge compared to the rows of brick shops in the village.
The green swath of lawn behind the courthouse was Rosie’s favorite spot. She sniffed around, cocked her head at a few odd smells, and then headed toward a tree. I tied the “doggie doo” bag, trashed it, then led her back to Main Street. My great-grandfather had somehow talked the town’s original surveyor into naming Silver Hollow’s streets for President Theodore Roosevelt’s family: second wife Edith, daughters Alice and Ethel in the historic home district, plus Archibald, Kermit, and Roosevelt in the main shopping district.
Grandpa T. R. Silverman had resented leaving school in eighth grade to work. He learned every job from the ground up at the Quick Mix factory, taking over management when his father died, but passed on his love of toys to my father. Dad had chosen law school but after two decades of a punishing schedule quit to open the Silver Bear Shop & Factory. He’d hired Uncle Ross to supervise the factory production. Once Dad retired seven years ago, I took over as manager—although he and Mom still attended toy fairs. Was Will Taylor privy to information Dad had kept from me? I doubted it. My sister would be worried sick if sales had taken a turn for the worse. Mads hadn’t said a word to me about our shop nose-diving into the red.