by Darien Gee
Connie is muttering under her breath as she hurries over to their neighbors, hoping Serena will be in their yard. It’s become a bit of a routine now, though Connie is tiring of it and she suspects the Lassiters are, too. But when Connie looks over the fence, Serena’s not there.
Connie walks to the front of the tea salon, scans the street up and down. With a sinking feeling, she realizes that Serena could be anywhere. Nosing through garbage, checking out gardens, looking for new friends. Traipsing around Avalon without a thought for Connie, about how her morning—and Madeline’s—will be wrecked if Connie has to go out looking for Serena. Again.
“Connie?” Madeline appears at the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “The phone is ringing madly. It seems like everyone has decided to have a meeting this morning and wants some baked goods to go with it.”
“Serena’s missing,” Connie says, and feels the heat of tears. She scans the street one more time.
“Yes, well …” Madeline doesn’t seem surprised. “Goats are like that. This one, at least. Come on in, there’s no sense in fretting. She’ll turn up.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
Madeline looks grim at the prospect. “Well, then, she doesn’t. But if that happens, we’ll figure out what to do, all right?”
Connie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then reluctantly turns back toward the house. Serena doesn’t understand cars or traffic, doesn’t take well to instruction of any kind. Connie can picture her in trouble, and who would bother to help? She’s just a goat.
They walk into the house. Despite her agitation, Connie is comforted by the smell of buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh berries and warm syrup. When she sees that Madeline’s made up a plate for her, she smiles gratefully.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Madeline reminds her sternly. “Finish up these pancake orders and then get yourself a bite.”
Hannah is standing in front of the wooden cutting board. “Connie, I’ve peeled the potatoes. How do you want me to cut them?”
Connie quickly pours the pancake batter into perfect disks on the griddle. “Use the mandolin to slice them—we’ll be doing scalloped potatoes for lunch. I filled some muffin tins last night with a raspberry and blackberry mix and those need to go in the oven. They’re in the fridge and there’s a streusel topping there as well. Madeline, I was thinking we could take a few bags of Amish Friendship Bread starter from the freezer out back and make those olive oil loaves everyone seems to like.”
Madeline nods and says, “I’ll go grab some.” They usually keep a starter going in a glass container on the counter, but it quickly gets away from them. Madeline and Connie have found that it’s easier if they slow the fermentation process every now and then by refrigerating their starter and freeze any excess when it’s time to divide the batter. It leaves them with plenty of starter for recipes whenever they need them, without the daily hassle of having to care and feed it.
Connie serves up the pancakes, then quickly eats her own breakfast. She fills a few to-go orders and starts on another round of pancakes.
“I’ve forgotten how busy it can get!” Hannah remarks with happy exhaustion as she moves the now-baked muffins onto a cooling rack. She deftly slides several loaf tins filled with a rosemary lemon olive oil Amish Friendship Bread batter into the oven and closes the door with a flourish.
Madeline gives Connie a wink. This is their life five days a week, sometimes more if they have a special event, no break for the holidays. Two meals a day with dinner orders to go, just the two of them.
The breakfast crowd is starting to thin and it’s time to get ready for the lunch rush. Connie clears a few tables, takes an order, then sees Bettie Shelton coming up the walk. She’s pulling an oversized portable luggage stroller stacked with her telltale scrapbooking plastic bins. She’s looking spry and well rested, and Connie wonders if last night was a dream.
“Pot of Darjeeling,” Bettie says loudly when she walks through the door. She surveys the room critically, looking for the best spot. She settles at a table near the window and begins to unlatch her boxes.
Connie pulls a tin down from the shelf then spoons a few teaspoons of loose Darjeeling tea leaves into a teapot. As she adds the hot water she watches Bettie make a show about her new stencil samples, engaging the tables around her.
Connie brings a teapot, strainer, and teacup to Bettie’s table. “So … that was some night last night, huh?”
Bettie frowns. “What?”
“You know,” Connie prompts. “Last night? It was really late? You were out …”
Bettie stares at her blankly. “Out? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Connie isn’t sure if Bettie was sleepwalking or just embarrassed at being caught. But Bettie is looking at her, waiting for an answer, making Connie shift uncomfortably. “Never mind. Big moon, that’s all.”
“I must’ve missed it. I’m early to bed except on scrapbooking nights.” Bettie scans the blackboard where Connie’s written the daily specials. “I think I’ll take the pancakes,” she declares. She gives a satisfactory nod, pleased with her choice.
Connie raises her eyebrows in surprise. Bettie is notoriously cheap and she’s never ordered food before. “They’re $5.99, Bettie. Plus tax.”
“I can read, Connie Colls. One order of pancakes, and get me a pot of Darjeeling tea.” Bettie picks up a packet of stencils and frowns. “These don’t look like lilacs, do they?”
Connie points to the teapot on the table. “Bettie, your Darjeeling tea is right there.”
Bettie’s brows furrow as she takes in the pot of tea in front of her. “Oh. Of course.” She gives a sniff of indignation but her cheeks flush as she squints at a stencil sample in front of her.
Connie retreats to the kitchen, wary, and puts in the order for Bettie’s pancakes.
“Look what I got!” Hannah says a few minutes later when she reenters the kitchen with some dirty dishes. Tucked under her arm is one of Bettie’s scrapbook starter packets. “She gave it to me for free, isn’t that nice?”
“Nothing’s ever free with Bettie,” Connie informs her, but Hannah doesn’t seem to be listening. Connie glances outside and sees Bettie handing out business cards liberally as she floats from table to table. Connie frowns. “Madeline, I really think …”
But Madeline’s moved next to Hannah and the two of them are giggling as they watch Bettie zero in on a potential customer. “Hmmm? What was that, Connie?”
Connie lets a pan drop into the sink with a clatter. “Nothing.” Maybe she just needs to take her break and check on Serena. But as she begins to untie her apron, she remembers that Serena isn’t there.
Connie picks up the phone to call the Lassiters. To her dismay, Walter Lassiter answers.
“Hello?” he barks into the phone.
“Mr. Lassiter, it’s Connie Colls. Serena got out of her pen this morning, and I’m hoping that you’ll give me a call if you see her—”
“Good riddance!” he snaps. “I found hoofprints in my garden this morning and my hydrangeas look like someone took a weed whacker to them!”
“Really?” Connie hears the hopefulness in her voice. “I mean, I’m sorry!” She looks out the window toward the Lassiters’ backyard. If Serena found a way to get over there, then there’s a chance she’s still lurking about.
“If I see that goat again, I’m getting out the hose. Or worse!”
Connie hastily hangs up and makes a note to bring a casserole over to the Lassiters’ first chance she gets.
There’s a racket in the dining room. “Where’s my tea?” demands Bettie.
“I’ll get it,” Hannah volunteers.
“But I already got it for her,” Connie says. She turns to Madeline and gestures to the teapot sitting in the middle of Bettie’s table.
Madeline frowns. “Maybe she’s out of hot water. Hannah, why don’t you go check …”
“No, I can do it,” Connie says quickly, and cuts Hanna
h off as she heads into the dining room.
Bettie is scowling as Connie approaches her table. “Hey Bettie,” Connie says casually. She lifts the teapot and sees it’s still filled with hot water. She makes a point of pouring the tea into the teacup in front of Bettie. “There you go. All set?”
Bettie stares at the teacup as if it’s sprouted wings. Then she turns to Connie, her eyes flashing angrily. “I’m on to you, Connie Colls!”
“What?” Connie says, bewildered. Suddenly they have the attention of the tea room. Bettie is red in the face as she looks at Connie. In fact, everybody is looking at Connie. How did that happen?
“You can’t fool me! Now please get me some Darjeeling tea!”
Connie grits her teeth. She storms back into the kitchen, past the inquisitive looks, and is about to slam the teapot onto the counter.
“Let me take care of that,” Madeline says, rescuing the teapot before it becomes a heap of useless shards.
Connie takes a dish towel and balls it up in frustration. “What’s wrong with her? This tea was perfectly fine!”
Madeline sets about putting fresh leaves into a new teapot and adds hot water. “Maybe she’s preoccupied,” she says, but Connie can tell that she’s not convinced.
There’s a bit of commotion as a woman races into the salon. “There’s a stray goat outside! It almost got me!” She fans herself as someone pulls out a chair for her.
Connie hurries to the window and sees that it is indeed Serena, munching on some grass. She feels a flood of relief. “Serena!”
She hurries outside, set on reprimanding the wayward goat, and finds herself on her knees instead, her arms wrapped around Serena’s neck. Connie knows she’s a sight but she doesn’t care. After a few silent minutes—her clinging to Serena, Serena oblivious and eating grass as usual—Connie takes hold of Serena’s rope collar and leads her back to her pen. Madeline and Bettie are standing in the doorway, watching.
“Well,” she hears Bettie murmur. “Who would have thought it would be possible to love a goat? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Madeline’s voice is quiet, full of understanding. “I suppose that’s what makes us human,” she says. “We can love anything, even the impossible.”
“These are lovely.” Margot West, owner of Avalon Gifts ’N More, bends over Ava’s portable display box. She picks up one of the sparkly vintage rhinestone rings rimmed by a silvery bottle cap and slips it onto her finger.
“I burnished the brass ring finding to a gunmetal tone,” Ava explains, embarrassed by the praise. The shops in Barrett had turned her away so this compliment comes as welcome relief. “That’s new. Everything else is upcycled.”
“Upcycled? Is that like recycled?”
“Recycled items make items of lesser value, but upcycled items repurpose things for equal or greater value.” Ava points to a large rhinestone gracing the center of the ring, an orbit of small silver balls encircling it. “That used to be part of a brooch that was cracked and missing smaller rhinestones. I found it at a garage sale. The silver ball chain had been cut too short at a jewelry store and was in a box of discards. And, of course, the bottle cap. It’s an antique cap from Reisch Brewery, which used to be in Springfield, Illinois.” It had been an unexpected find, and Ava still isn’t quite sure what to make of it. It had been in the bag Colin had given her, but the brewery hadn’t been around since 1966. It didn’t make any sense that he would be serving beers almost half a century old. “Taken individually, the value isn’t much, but putting it together significantly increases its use and overall value, plus becomes an entirely new creation.”
Margot holds out her hand to admire the ring. “You could even wear it with evening wear!” The large rhinestone winks at them.
Ava beams. She loves when people get it, when they see exactly what she sees. “I designed it to be versatile. It could go with a little black dress or jeans and a T-shirt. It’ll look wonderful either way.”
“I agree. I may have to put this aside for myself.” Margot peers down at the rest of Ava’s items. “So you have three rings, ten bookmarks, and ten of those adorable hair clips.” She looks at the price list. “Well, I think I’ll take them all.”
“All?” Ava can’t believe it. “I mean, that’s great. Thank you!”
“The packaging is wonderful, too,” Margot notes. “Free Hearts.” She taps the small cellophane packets with Ava’s triptych heart logo hand-stamped across the top on creamy card stock, three hearts in a row. “Touching and sweet, very nicely done. I think I’ll put the hair clips and bookmarks in a basket and maybe put the rings with the jewelry and body care items. Let’s see how we do with that and go from there.”
“Thank you,” Ava says. “Um, terms are net thirty …”
Margot waves her hand. “You’re here, I can pay you now. It’ll save me the stamp. Just give me a moment.” She disappears into a small room in back separated by a pink gingham curtain.
Ava is grateful for the moment alone, so no one has to see the huge smile on her face, her damp eyes. Her first real sale! It’s not much but it’s a start, and the woman is taking all of her inventory, which means Ava doesn’t have to worry about knocking on any more doors until she has more. Which she’ll start on tonight. In fact, she can’t wait.
She hovers by the wooden toys, admires the train set in the window. It’s a nice shop, filled with something for everyone. Maybe she’ll bring Max here sometime and see if there’s anything he’d like for his birthday. Ava checks the price tag on one of the toys and gives a start. Maybe not.
The door opens and an elderly woman tumbles in, pulling a luggage cart behind her.
“Mercy, it is hot today,” she mutters, touching her brow. She sets her cart upright and then picks up one of the mosaic-tiled hand mirrors by the door and checks her silvery-blue hair. She sees Ava in the reflection, and tosses the mirror back into the box.
“Who are you?” the woman demands. She marches up to where Ava is standing and Ava doesn’t know what to do. “Where’s Margot?”
“She’s, um, in the back,” Ava stammers, taking a step back. “She’ll be right out.”
“Are you the new shopgirl?” The woman is squinting at her.
“No, I had some business with her. With Margot. The owner.”
“I know who Margot is,” the woman retorts. “I just don’t know who you are.” Then a look of recognition crosses her face. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you used to work in Dr. Kidd’s dental office?”
Ava feels the heat race to her cheeks, feels her heart pounding in her chest. She remembers most of their patients, but not this one, and at any rate she has done her best to avoid running into anybody who might remember her. She knows no one will want to hear her side of the story, and she knows it will never be right in the eyes of most people. Even Ava doesn’t feel completely right with it but it is what it is, and she’s trying to be okay with it, not just for her sake, but for Max’s.
Margot emerges from the back room. “Here we are.” She hands the check to Ava and grins at the woman. “Oh, Bettie! I have to show you what Ava brought in. So original!” She gestures for Bettie to follow her to the register.
Ava edges toward the door. “Well, I should be going,” she says, folding the check and tucking it into her purse. She doesn’t even bother to see if the amount is right, she just wants to get out of there. “Thank—”
“How clever!” she hears Bettie exclaim.
“And look! I have one on!” Margot sticks out her hand and shows off her ring.
“Of course you’d choose the one with the biggest rock,” Bettie sniffs. “It’s just as well. I like this rose one here, with the vines. What is that?”
“It’s a vintage gold button,” Ava says. Despite wanting to leave she can’t help adding, “It’s resting on a champagne-pink bottle cap, which reflects onto the button, giving the entire piece a rosy glow.”
“Oooh.” Bettie slips it on and gazes at her finger. “How much?”
“I haven’t priced these yet,” Margot tells her.
“Margot West, are you turning down a sale? What kind of businesswoman are you?”
Margot looks put out. “If you’ll give me a minute, Bettie, I’ll figure it out. Anyway, aren’t you here to drop off those scrap packs?”
Bettie nods. “The last of the summer soda-pop colors. I’ll have the fall packs ready next week. It’s more of a service to Society members than anything, mind you. I’m not always available when they want materials in between meetings.”
“Well, I’ll have to mark them up so I can make some kind of profit,” Margot points out. “As a proper businesswoman, you understand.”
The sarcasm isn’t lost on Bettie, who glances at Ava still hovering by the door. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get back,” Ava says, her mind a blank. “I have errands, and …”
“Amateurs,” Bettie says to herself with a shake of the head. She waves to Ava’s inventory on the counter. “You have a potential customer here. Me. You need to work on your sales pitch, present yourself as the artiste. Get my drift?”
Ava nods but doesn’t move.
“So …” Bettie prompts. “Any day now. I’m not getting any younger standing here, that’s for sure.”
“Her bark is worse than her bite,” Margot says to Ava, beckoning her. “Come on over and tell her what you told me.”
Ava hesitates, then walks forward, her chin tilted up. “The ribbons and findings are new,” she says, “but all the other items are upcycled or repurposed. The beads on the hair clips are vintage—I took them off a beaded purse that had a broken clasp and ripped lining. Everything’s been thoroughly washed and, where necessary, treated with a clear coat to prevent any further rusting. All of these pieces are original, one of a kind, and should last a long time.”