Read Online Hark! The Herald Angel Screamed: An Augusta Goodnight Mystery (with Heavenly Recipes) by Mignon F. Ballard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mignon F. Ballard
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on Ben to keep his mouth shut, too.
“I ran into Nettie at the library this morning and she told me you had made new window treatments for Julie’s room,” Jessica mentioned later as we finished decorating the tree. “When do I get to see them?”
“Anytime,” I said, watching Roger boost Teddy up to put the star on top of the tree. It was a pitiful-looking star my great-grandmother had made by sewing gold oiled paper to cardboard but, dog-eared as it was, it was tradition, and traditions die hard in our family.
“What about now?” Jessica was already on her way upstairs so there was nothing I could do but follow.
Augusta had fashioned simple tab curtains from a heavy cotton blend, and since Julie loved purple, the pattern featured inch-wide vertical stripes in that color against a white background. At intervals, a scattering of fern fronds lent a bright touch of green.
Jessica fingered the fabric and inspected the lining. Naturally, she found it perfect. “This is absolutely lovely!” she exclaimed, turning to me with a new glow of respect. I know she must have been wondering how I learned to sew so well after the disaster of Teddy’s Halloween costume—or what was meant to be Teddy’s Halloween costume—but, of course, she was too polite to mention it. “I’ve been looking for something similar for that little upstairs bedroom. Bought those curtains in a hurry when we first moved in, and I never have liked them. Did it take you very long to make these?”
“Oh, not too long … I worked on them off and on, of course.” I stiffened. I could
feel
Augusta standing behind me and I didn’t dare turn around.
“Do you think you might show me how? I hate to pay somebody to make them, and I’d really like to learn if you think it wouldn’t be too terribly hard.” Jessica turned imploring blue eyes on me and I felt like the lowest kind of worm. My daughter-in-law seldom asks favors and I really wanted to do something special to please her.
“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Don’t tell me you
made
those!” Roger stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock—an expression, I thought, which was unnecessarily exaggerated. “When did you learn to
sew?”
“I’m afraid I’m not a very good instructor, but if you’ll measure your windows and decide on the fabric, I’ll be happy to make your curtains,” I said, turning to his wife.
Behind him in the hallway Augusta laughed silently.
“I guess I stepped into it this time,” I told her after the others had left. “You are going to help me, aren’t you?”
“Of course, but they really aren’t all that difficult to make,” she said. “I could show you how.”
“When I was in high school, I made a C-minus in home economics—and I was lucky to get it,” I said. “Our teacher, Mrs. Settlemyer, retired after that year. Everybody said she went to live in Alabama with her daughter but we always suspected the poor soul had a nervous breakdown. … You might be an angel,” I told her, “but you’re not a saint!”
The two of us sat in the darkened living room watching the lights of the tree reflected in the window while the fire burned low on the hearth. Since Teddy had done most of the decorating, a lot of the ornaments hung on the lower branches but that was fine with me. I closed my eyes, drinking in the fresh cedar smell. “Just two more days until the caroling party,” I reminded Augusta, “and we’ll finally get to meet Melrose DuBois!”
he next day was Friday and Weigelia Jones was coming to help me get ready for The Thursdays’ caroling party the following night. Weigelia and I became friends when I was her tutor in the literacy program several years earlier, and when I’m in a bind she’s good enough to work me in on her house-cleaning schedule. There’s no spot of dirt that can elude Weigelia Jones’s keen eyes, no cobweb too far from her reach, and when I see her coming I want to throw my arms around her and shout
“I ran into Nettie at the library this morning and she told me you had made new window treatments for Julie’s room,” Jessica mentioned later as we finished decorating the tree. “When do I get to see them?”
“Anytime,” I said, watching Roger boost Teddy up to put the star on top of the tree. It was a pitiful-looking star my great-grandmother had made by sewing gold oiled paper to cardboard but, dog-eared as it was, it was tradition, and traditions die hard in our family.
“What about now?” Jessica was already on her way upstairs so there was nothing I could do but follow.
Augusta had fashioned simple tab curtains from a heavy cotton blend, and since Julie loved purple, the pattern featured inch-wide vertical stripes in that color against a white background. At intervals, a scattering of fern fronds lent a bright touch of green.
Jessica fingered the fabric and inspected the lining. Naturally, she found it perfect. “This is absolutely lovely!” she exclaimed, turning to me with a new glow of respect. I know she must have been wondering how I learned to sew so well after the disaster of Teddy’s Halloween costume—or what was meant to be Teddy’s Halloween costume—but, of course, she was too polite to mention it. “I’ve been looking for something similar for that little upstairs bedroom. Bought those curtains in a hurry when we first moved in, and I never have liked them. Did it take you very long to make these?”
“Oh, not too long … I worked on them off and on, of course.” I stiffened. I could
feel
Augusta standing behind me and I didn’t dare turn around.
“Do you think you might show me how? I hate to pay somebody to make them, and I’d really like to learn if you think it wouldn’t be too terribly hard.” Jessica turned imploring blue eyes on me and I felt like the lowest kind of worm. My daughter-in-law seldom asks favors and I really wanted to do something special to please her.
“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Don’t tell me you
made
those!” Roger stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock—an expression, I thought, which was unnecessarily exaggerated. “When did you learn to
sew?”
“I’m afraid I’m not a very good instructor, but if you’ll measure your windows and decide on the fabric, I’ll be happy to make your curtains,” I said, turning to his wife.
Behind him in the hallway Augusta laughed silently.
“I guess I stepped into it this time,” I told her after the others had left. “You are going to help me, aren’t you?”
“Of course, but they really aren’t all that difficult to make,” she said. “I could show you how.”
“When I was in high school, I made a C-minus in home economics—and I was lucky to get it,” I said. “Our teacher, Mrs. Settlemyer, retired after that year. Everybody said she went to live in Alabama with her daughter but we always suspected the poor soul had a nervous breakdown. … You might be an angel,” I told her, “but you’re not a saint!”
The two of us sat in the darkened living room watching the lights of the tree reflected in the window while the fire burned low on the hearth. Since Teddy had done most of the decorating, a lot of the ornaments hung on the lower branches but that was fine with me. I closed my eyes, drinking in the fresh cedar smell. “Just two more days until the caroling party,” I reminded Augusta, “and we’ll finally get to meet Melrose DuBois!”
he next day was Friday and Weigelia Jones was coming to help me get ready for The Thursdays’ caroling party the following night. Weigelia and I became friends when I was her tutor in the literacy program several years earlier, and when I’m in a bind she’s good enough to work me in on her house-cleaning schedule. There’s no spot of dirt that can elude Weigelia Jones’s keen eyes, no cobweb too far from her reach, and when I see her coming I want to throw my arms around her and shout
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