by Emma Woods
“Here we go,” I finally said into the silent car. I threw the strap of my canvas messenger bag over my shoulder, pulled the keys from the ignition, and stepped out onto the red brick pavers, which were laid in a herringbone pattern. After the drive up and the first view of the house, I could only whisper to myself, “Of course the sidewalk of Bumblebee House would be adorable.”
I rang the bell and smiled wryly when a pleasant two-note tone announced my arrival inside the house. It wasn’t long before footsteps sounded.
The door swung open, and a petite redhead looked up at me, a smile growing across her face. “Hello! You must be Emily.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Mae. I live here, too. You are going to love it. There is no place in the world like Bumblebee House.”
I returned her smile and gestured vaguely over my shoulder. “I left my things in the car. I wasn’t sure what to do with them.”
Mae stepped back and beckoned me in. “Don’t worry about that. Come in. Rosa has made tea.”
Without further explanation, Mae turned and padded off toward the kitchen. I followed her, my eyes roving as I tried to take it all in. The foyer was full of warm, gleaming wood floors, and an elegant staircase led to the second floor. I glimpsed a formal dining room, a shelf-lined study, and a less formal breakfast area before we turned into the kitchen. Everywhere I looked I saw fascinating artwork, inviting furniture, and a variety of wallpaper that all worked together to create a unique and very welcoming atmosphere.
The question of who Rosa might be was answered when we reached the kitchen. Behind the hanging copper pots, which hovered over the large kitchen island, stood a woman who must have been in her late 30s or early 40s. She was of medium height and was curvy all over. She had long, dark hair ending in straight-cut bangs above her dark, dramatic brows. Rosa’s rich brown eyes twinkled at me, and her dark-red, lipsticked mouth curved into a smile as Mae introduced us.
“I’m so glad to meet you in person,” Rosa said in a surprisingly husky voice. “I hope your time here at Bumblebee House is delightful. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“I would, if I could use the bathroom first.” And without further ado, Mae led me through the laundry room and up a few stairs to the little half-bath.
As I washed my hands, I took in a grouping of framed pictures which hung above the towel bar. The pictures were a quirky mix of old and new and worked perfectly with the blue-striped wallpaper. I washed my hands with the rose-scented soap and shook my head in disbelief. This place was something else.
Once I returned to the breakfast room off the kitchen, where Mae and Rosa sat at the table doctoring their individual teacups, I began to understand how this house was such a showplace. There was just something about Rosa that gave off beauty and welcoming at the same time.
“This house belonged to one of the early founders of Birch Springs,” she explained, pushing the little china creamer pitcher toward me. “It was in a near state of ruin when my grandfather bought it thirty years ago. He worked to restore it and asked me to help decorate it, since I was the only grandchild who lived in town. And, well, I have a flair for that sort of thing.” She looked as though she was embarrassed to be caught bragging.
I looked over her dramatic makeup and hairstyle, her vintage 50s-inspired floral print dress, and cameo necklace. “I can see that,” I nodded.
Mae grinned and waggled her eyebrows at me. “Rosa decorated this entire place. Every year at Christmas, it’s part of the Tour of Homes. Everyone for miles around comes to see what she’s done.”
Rosa waved that off. “When my grandfather died, he left the house to me. It was too much to live in all by myself, so I decided to rent the spare rooms to single women.”
Just then, the front door opened, and the sound of women’s voices drifted through to us.
“Sounds like the others are home,” Rosa said with a smile.
I gulped my tea and braced myself to meet the women who would turn out to be the rest of my new housemates.
I carried the last of my boxes up to my bedroom and laid it next to all the rest of my possessions. With the help of Mae, Rosemarie, and Jill, we’d finished the job in three trips up and down the stairs. This was a particularly good thing, I thought, because I’d chosen the attic bedroom across from Mae. After three treks up to the third floor, we were all glad it was over.
“I can’t believe this is everything you own,” Jill announced, hands on her hips as she surveyed the six boxes, two suitcases, three bins, and one large duffle bag. “I think I moved in with a dozen suitcases alone.”
Both Rosemarie and Mae nodded their agreement. I waited a little nervously to gauge their reactions. However, their expressions remained impressed, and I didn’t observe even the smallest flicker of disapproval.
“Well, I’m off to take a shower. Between those stairs and that spin class, I’m sure I stink.” Jill waved, and then bounced off, curly blond ponytail swinging.
Tall, slim Rosemarie tugged her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and smiled at me shyly. “My brother Matt owns the coffee shop. He told me you’d be working there.”
“Of course! I forgot that he said his sister lived here.” I felt stupid for not remembering. “I stopped there earlier. He seems like a really good guy.”
“He is. We’ve always been pretty close. I’m glad you’re going to work for him. Finding trained baristas in Birch Springs is always a bit of a challenge.” Rosemarie checked her watch. “I’d better head down and give Rosa a hand with supper.”
She loped out of the room with a surprising grace, and I was left with the boxes and the petite redhead.
“Do you want a hand unpacking, or would you rather do it alone?” Mae offered.
Honestly, I was a bit overwhelmed. This level of friendly involvement from near strangers made me a bit uncomfortable. The girls had been perfectly nice, and Rosa had made sure I was welcomed. Yet, when I’d moved to Oregon, it had been almost a week before I’d introduced myself to anyone. My first day in town, I’d carried my own boxes into my studio apartment before going off in search of a greasy fast food supper. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with so much attention.
“I don’t have much. I think I’ll take care of it myself,” I answered, deciding on the spot to at least attempt to keep some space.
This didn’t seem to bother Mae. “Sure. I’m across the hall. We share the bathroom up on this level. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell the part of the cupboard I cleared out for you. Holler if you need anything.”
I needed no more than forty minutes to put all my things away. Before I let myself sit down, I flattened my trusty boxes and stowed my suitcases for when I would need them next.
I had to admit, the room was very nice. Since I didn’t own any furniture of my own, I always had to rent furnished places. Normally, this was a fairly grim arrangement. Sagging beds, decades-old sofas, and mismatched chairs were old friends to me. My bedroom at Bumblebee House, though, was something else altogether.
The room was large, with big windows overlooking both the front and back yards. The walls were painted a pale yellow, and there were two large rugs covering the hardwood floors. I was pretty sure that the bedstead was an antique, and I kept running my fingers over the carved wood of the headboard whenever I paused to put my things on one of the end tables flanking it. There was a beautiful, large chest of drawers and an elegant vanity complete with mirror, as well as a small sitting area with an easy chair and a low bookcase.
Mae knocked on the open door just as I was putting the last of my suitcases away.
“I have to say, you might be onto something,” she said as she stepped into the room and looked around. “You can sure move into a place quickly.”
I laughed. “That’s why I do it. I like the idea of being able to carry everything I own with me and being able to leave whenever I want.”
The redhead cocked her head and contemplated that. I half expected some disparaging comment, but instead she said, “It’
s six o’clock. Supper should be ready.”
We headed down the stairs.
“Do you all eat together every night?” I wondered.
Mae nodded. “Every night except Sunday. We’re on our own on Sundays. We have a rotation for helping Rosa with supper. Depending on our work schedules, we each sign up to help cook and clean up a few times a week. It’s all included in the rent,” she explained.
When we reached the first floor, I saw that the dining room table was set. My eyebrows lifted at the tablecloth, colorful matching dinnerware, and crystal stemware.
“Rosa is a bit dramatic,” Mae whispered. “She has half a dozen sets of dishes, and she loves picking out which one to use every night. She often matches them to the meal she’s cooking.”
We headed into the kitchen, where we were put to work carrying dishes full of delicious-smelling food through the butler’s pantry and into the dining room. Jill joined us, her hair wet from her shower, and we were soon seated around the dining table.
Rosa took her seat at the foot of the table and said, “Let’s pray.”
The girls all reached out hands, and we bowed our heads. When Rosa said, “Amen,” Rosemarie on my left and Mae on my right both gave my hands a shake. I watched Jill and Rosa do the same.
Rosa caught my confusion and smiled apologetically. “I always forget to warn newcomers. We always ‘shake the love around’ after we pray. It’s something my grandmother did, and I just can’t seem to stop doing it.”
I nodded slowly. Life at Bumblebee House was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
The talk around the table was light and fun. The women asked me a few questions about where I was from and what my family was like. They were interested to hear all the places I’d lived, but they took the hint when I didn’t go into much detail about my family. My tone and short answers communicated clearly that it was a topic I didn’t wish to elaborate upon.
I learned long ago that the best way to get the attention off myself was to ask questions of other people. Before the meal was over, I knew that Jill was from Arizona and taught second grade at the local elementary school. Rosemarie was the youngest of three, and her oldest brother operated their family’s ranch just west of town. She and Mae had been roommates in college. When a job opened up at a small outdoor equipment company, Rosemarie had mentioned the job to Mae, who had enthusiastically applied.
The conversation swirled around me as we all cleared the table and helped clean the kitchen.
“Tonight’s ‘Are You the One?’” Mae mentioned, looking sheepish. “It’s totally awful, but we all watch it. Well, Rosa is too refined to indulge, but the rest of us never miss an episode. Want to watch with us?”
I hadn’t bothered with a TV in my last two apartments. I’d heard other women talking about ‘Are You the One?’, but I’d never watched it myself. To be honest, I had exactly zero interest in the show. But the friendly net of conversation over the supper table had snared me, and I found myself agreeing.
“Okay, this is the third episode of the season,” Jill explained as we took our seats in the enormous family room.
Rosemarie lifted the lid of a carved chest and pulled out a handmade afghan. “You haven’t missed much.”
“I’ve never watched before,” I admitted.
“It’s not complex,” Mae said, rolling her eyes. “One guy is chosen to be the hero, and he’s supposed to find his dream girl. There are twenty women who start, and they do these various tests to see if they are the one. It’s seriously the worst. I love it.”
I laughed and settled next to her on the couch. As the opening music came on, I looked around at my new housemates and had to admit that this was a much nicer first night in town than I’d ever experienced before.
3
Believe it or not, “Are You the One?” was not only every bit as bad as Mae had promised, there was even an after-show in which the host sat with the contestants and rehashed what had happened during the episode. I begged off and escaped upstairs. The girls’ comments had made the show much more enjoyable than it would otherwise have been, but I had an early morning ahead of me. As I jogged upstairs, hooting came from my housemates, and I grinned. They were a fun group.
My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. and I rolled out of bed with my eyes only half-open. I grabbed one of my two pairs of jeans and a new black “Birch Springs Beanery” v-neck t-shirt. By the time I had shoes on my feet and my hair up in a bun on top of my head, I was at least awake enough to stumble downstairs without doing myself bodily harm.
There was a bowl of fruit on the kitchen island and granola bars in the pantry. I didn’t bother to make myself coffee, since I was headed to a café. Besides, I had a feeling that Matt’s setup far exceeded anything even Rosa could put together.
I was prepared to open the store but also relieved to see my boss pull in at the same time I did. We were both a bit groggy still, so we worked in tandem turning on machines and making sure everything was ready for the day without much conversation. Matt chose the brew of the day and talked me through more of the day-to-day details once we each had a cup of hot, sweet caffeine in our hands.
Saying that we had a morning “rush” might be a bit optimistic. Still, things stayed steady until around 9:30. By that point, I felt that I had a firm grip on how this coffee shop operated. I’d met many of my new neighbors in Birch Springs. Matt insisted I help myself to coffee whenever I needed it, so I was feeling pretty good when the bell on the door jingled and I looked up, my smile of welcome freezing on my lips.
Nate Weisert sauntered to the counter and leaned on it. “Hello, Emily. See, I remembered your name.”
I raised an eyebrow and swallowed the juvenile response of So? What do you want, a medal?
Instead, I said, “How can I help you today?”
“Depends on what you’re offering?” His beautiful sea-green eyes lit up with anticipation of coming flirtations.
“Coffee,” I replied shortly. “What do you want off the menu?” I jerked a thumb at the board hanging behind me.
Nate actually looked disappointed. He straightened and gave me his order, which I rang up as efficiently as possible. As I made his drink, I felt his eyes following my every move, and I was glad that I wasn’t someone who blushed easily. Because no matter how much I disliked the way Nate acted, I surely liked the way he looked. Having his attention was flattering, even though I knew he likely gave it liberally to any girl who crossed his path.
I handed the drink across the counter, realized I was too far for him to reach, took a step closer, and managed to skid on a damp patch on the floor. Frantically, I tried to stay upright. My free hand grabbed for the edge of the counter, and the hand holding the cup held on, trying not to drop it. While I was generally successful, I unfortunately sloshed the cup’s contents all over my arm and onto Nate as he reached forward in an attempt to keep me from falling.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized automatically the moment my feet were both on dry ground.
“It’s fine,” Nate crooned.
“You’re not burned, are you?” I was picturing the horrible image of causing a lawsuit-worthy scene on my first morning at a new job.
Nate held up his damp arm and grinned. “Nope. No harm done. I might go and wash up, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I’ll get you a new drink.” I went to the sink and mopped myself up, feeling like a prize idiot. Of all the people to do something stupid in front of!
I made his drink and mopped up the mess before he returned, whistling cheerfully. This time, I handed it over without any disaster befalling me.
“I’m really sorry,” I apologized again for good measure.
“Hey, Emily?” He paused until I stopped moving and gave him my full attention. Then Nate smiled and said, “It’s really okay.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and scratched my forehead, smiling ruefully.
Nate winked at me, and then whistled his way out the doo
r. I watched him go, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that he was as easy on the eyes going as he was coming.
“Well, I got my first big boo-boo out of the way,” I reassured myself. Sure, I would have preferred not messing up in front of Nate, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. He wasn’t hurt and had taken the whole thing in stride. In fact, he’d been a good sport. I wasn’t ready to change my opinion of him, but I did have to give him some credit there.
One thing I always try to do wherever I stay for any period of time is to find a way to give back to the community. I’ve served in soup kitchens, read to senior citizens, and planted trees. The notice board in the Beanery advertised a few interesting options.
On my break, I called the one that stood out to me. Dave at Just Horsing Around was enthusiastic about their summer program for kids with special needs. He suggested that I drop by his office after work and fill out the application to be a volunteer. I would need a background check and some training, but I hung up feeling confident that I’d be spending some time around kids and horses that summer.
It was exactly a week later, in fact, that I found myself climbing out of my van for my first day of volunteering. I’d never been on a ranch before, and I walked around the Triple Star Ranch feeling a bit intimidated. It was quite an operation. The ranch did more than just raise cattle, I had learned from Rosemarie, whose family actually owned the place. Triple Star also had a lodge and conference center where groups could come and stay for retreats or team building. The ranch ran summer programs for kids of all ages, too.
Dave waved me over to the barn, which was covered in childlike paintings.
“Good to see you, Emily,” he greeted me. Dave was tall, middle-aged, and balding. From our interview and training time, I also knew him to be very kind-hearted and concerned for the children in his program. “Let me introduce you to our full-time staff. This is Jake, over there is Sarah, and that’s Chloe.”