Софи Келли - A Midwinter's Tail

“Me either,” I said softly.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked, bending down to pull a file folder out of her tote bag.

I looked at her uncertainly. “About what?”

She straightened up and waved the folder at me. “Reading Buddies? The fundraiser?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know yet.”

“You’ll let me know what I can do, right?”

“You’ve already done enough,” I protested. “More than enough. That backdrop you painted was incredible. I wish people had had more time to enjoy it.”

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.” Ruby shook her head. With her two pigtails she looked for all the world like a stubborn toddler. “There’s no such thing as doing more than enough.” She came over and put one arm around my waist, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I’m serious. If you don’t ask me to help when you decide what you’re going to do, I will be mortally insulted.”

“Mortally?” I said. “Really?” Together we walked out into the main part of the library.

Ruby nodded solemnly. “Yes.” Then she smiled, let go of me and turned slowly in a circle. “Maggie said you’re getting a second tree. How are you going to decorate it?”

“I want to do something a little old-fashioned,” I said, looking at the big open space that made up most of the main floor of the library. “Like an old Currier and Ives Christmas card.”

She turned to face me and I could see by the gleam in her eyes that she had an idea. “Want to use my collection of old Christmas ornaments on the tree?”

“Yes,” I said at once. “Are you sure?” I added.

Ruby had a wonderful collection of vintage Christmas decorations from the 1930s to the 1960s.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. We’re not using them on the tree in the co-op store this year. Remember? Maggie had us all make ornaments for the tree that can be sold for Toys for Tots. So I’d love to see my collection on the tree here.”

“Thank you,” I said. Getting Ruby’s Christmas ornaments for the library tree meant I could cross one more thing off my to-do list.

There was a tap on the front door then. Susan was on the top step hunched into her heavy duffle coat, stamping snow off her boots.

I headed for the door to let her in.

“Tell me there’s coffee,” she said as she stepped inside. Her hat was pulled low on her forehead and all I could see were her eyes above the collar of her red coat.

“What happened to your green smoothie?” I asked.

She frowned darkly at me. “The boys happened to my smoothie. The boys decided to make my smoothie.” She kicked the snow off her knee-high brown boots. “There’s spinach on my kitchen ceiling, and that’s my mother’s problem since it was her idea to ‘involve the boys in meal preparation.’” She made little quotation marks in the air with her gloved fingers.

“Well, the coffee’s made and there are tea bags if you’d like a cup of tea.” I struggled to keep a straight face. I had a mental picture of Susan’s twins trying to make their mother her morning smoothie. The boys were genius-level smart, resourceful and totally fearless. It made life for Susan and Eric very interesting sometimes.

Susan shook her head. “No. I need more caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine.” She pulled off her hat. I picked a bit of spinach out of her updo as she moved past me.

She waved to Ruby and headed for the stairs. She was a woman on a mission. I was glad I’d made a full pot of coffee.

8

The journal-making workshop was just as successful as Vincent Starr’s talk had been. I wasn’t surprised. Ruby was a natural teacher—good at explaining her techniques in simple terms. When the class was over, five different people sought me out to ask if we were planning more workshops.

Maggie showed up about ten to twelve—dropped off by none other than Brady Chapman. The library closed at lunchtime on Saturdays. We climbed into the truck and headed for Wisteria Hill to have lunch with Roma and help her continue to fix up the place.

“How did Ruby’s workshop go?” Mags asked as I started up Mountain Road.

“Really well. All but two people put their e-mail addresses on a list to be notified about more workshops, and they were tourists from out of state.”

Maggie clapped her mittened hands together and smiled at me. “I knew people would love her class. I wish I’d been able to get there, but Oren and I spent the morning going over the plans for the changes to the store.”

Maggie had gotten a grant to renovate the artist co-op store and add a small space for demonstrations and courses in the summer and fall. Oren was going to do the work.

I glanced over at her. “What did he think about your drawings?”

Maggie pulled off her fuzzy hat and ran her fingers through her blond curls. “He had a couple of suggestions for changes—he thinks we should move the half wall about a foot to the right and he suggested glass block for the other wall.”

I tried to picture the sketches Maggie had made for the proposed changes to the main floor of the store. “I do like the idea of using the glass block,” I said. “It would let in more light.”

“I do, too,” Maggie said. “Oren says that costwise it should work out about the same.”

We talked about the renovations all the way out to Wisteria Hill. I wondered when Mags was going to tell me that Brady had dropped her off at the library. There was something going on between those two. I knew she’d tell me about it eventually.

As I flicked on my blinker to turn into the driveway of the old estate, I thought about all the changes that had happened since Roma bought the property from Everett. The house and grounds had been empty for so long. I’d always thought the whole place had an air of sadness. Now that Roma was getting ready to live in the old farmhouse, it somehow seemed alive again.

I had a big soft spot for Wisteria Hill. It was where I’d found Hercules and Owen—or to be more exact, it was where they had found me. It was where Marcus and I had become friends—and then more than friends.

Once Roma was living there full-time, she wouldn’t need her group of volunteers who made sure that the feral cat colony in the old carriage house was fed and cared for. I was going to miss watching Lucy and the other cats.

Roma waved from the kitchen window as we got out of the truck. This was my first chance to see the kitchen since Oren had finished installing the new cupboards.

We took off our boots in what used to be the old side porch. Now it was a combination mudroom/laundry/storage area.

“Ready?” Roma asked, eyes sparkling.

Maggie and I both nodded.

Oren had done a beautiful job on the new cupboards—not that I’d ever had any doubt of that. Maggie and I had helped Roma steam about a hundred years’ worth of wallpaper off the kitchen walls. Before training camp Eddie had patched and repaired them and Maggie and I had spent a weekend helping Roma paint the kitchen a creamy shade of palest yellow. The new kitchen cupboards were a simple Shaker style, painted white, and they went beautifully with the buttery walls and the wide boards of the refinished hardwood floor.

“Oh, Roma, it’s beautiful,” I said.

Maggie put her arm around Roma’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “It really is,” she agreed.

Everett and Rebecca had left Roma the original farmhouse kitchen table as a kind of housewarming present. It sat in the far corner, surrounded by a bank of windows.

“Hey, where did you get the chairs?” Maggie asked, pointing to the corner.

I looked across the room and realized Roma had four new-to-her chairs that looked as though they’d been made to go with the big table.

“Eddie and I found them at a flea market,” she said. She smiled at me. “Marcus said he’ll spray-paint them black for me in the spring.”