Read Online Homespun Christmas by Aimée Thurlo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aimée Thurlo
Ads: Link
store, but you’ve run a business with real flesh-and-blood employees.”
Before he could answer, they heard footsteps on the porch. “Here we go,” Myka said.
She opened the door to four women she’d known most of her life, then stepped onto the porch and waited for the others who were still arriving. “Come in, everyone,” she said. “Just move the boxes aside and find places to sit.”
Five minutes later, a dozen women were seated in her living room. The packing materials and boxes that had been on the sofa and chairs were stacked neatly against the wall.
“Have you heard about the problem with the elementary school?” Molly Westin asked from her perch atop the arm of the crowded sofa.
“Yes, I have,” Myka said. She and Joshua were now the only ones standing—him in the kitchen doorway.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Grandma Medeiros said. “Some of the big energy companies have sent their geologists nosing around here. If they find enough oil or gas beneath the ground to start drilling, that could be the end of our town. The ones who can will sell out in a hurry, taking the money and leaving behind those of us who aren’t lucky enough to cash out. Twenty years from now, maybe sooner, when there’s nothing left underground, all we’ll have are abandoned wells, pumps and buildings.”
“Have any of these companies actually found something to interest them here?” Myka asked.
“Not yet, but even if they don’t, we’re all going downhill fast,” Grandma said. “Unless we find a way to save this community, we might as well go home and start packing.”
Myka looked at the faces of the women crowded into her living room. Beyond the fear she could see glimmers of stubborn hope and the quiet determination that came from a lifetime of hard work.
“It’s time to build a new business here in Independence,” Grandma said.
Myka felt a new energy in the room. “If we’re going to do this, all of us have to get involved. Those who don’t have a craft can pitch in by sharing their business experience. We’ll also need everyone—from the colcha embroidery people to folks like Mr. Gomez, who do absolutely amazing straw inlay work on wood,” she said. “It’s time to think big. Halfway measures won’t be good enough anymore.”
“Mr. Gomez hasn’t been working much lately. The churches and art museums aren’t buying because their budgets are down,” Lydia Baker said. Like Myka, she processed and dyed wool, but only for her own personal use—at least till now. “I’ll talk to him and see what he could make for individual purchases. I’m sure he’ll join us—if there’s a market for his pieces. He loves Independence as much as the rest of us.”
“There are other men and women, too, who are incredibly gifted woodworkers, like Adam was,” Grandma said, looking over at Joshua, who nodded. “Maybe they could sell wood carvings, simple toys or those things people put on their lawns, like miniature windmills. Who knows? We should approach them and see if they’re interested.”
“I like that,” Myka answered. “But we all need to be aware of one thing. Doing this will mean throwing our hearts into it and working like crazy to make it pay off. Even so, we may not be able to reverse the slide. What we will do is give ourselves a fighting chance. On the internet, the world is our market.”
“You’re the only one of us who has an online shop with a following, Myka,” Grandma said. “You don’t necessarily need us, but we need you. Can a cooperative work?”
“Our crafts take different amounts of time, so I think it’s only fair to come up with a partnership formula based on our individual contributions and sales. We could each pay a percentage of our personal earnings back to the company to cover expenses, and any company profits would trickle back down based on an individual’s contribution. Those who manage the business will have to be paid by the hour, of course,”
Before he could answer, they heard footsteps on the porch. “Here we go,” Myka said.
She opened the door to four women she’d known most of her life, then stepped onto the porch and waited for the others who were still arriving. “Come in, everyone,” she said. “Just move the boxes aside and find places to sit.”
Five minutes later, a dozen women were seated in her living room. The packing materials and boxes that had been on the sofa and chairs were stacked neatly against the wall.
“Have you heard about the problem with the elementary school?” Molly Westin asked from her perch atop the arm of the crowded sofa.
“Yes, I have,” Myka said. She and Joshua were now the only ones standing—him in the kitchen doorway.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Grandma Medeiros said. “Some of the big energy companies have sent their geologists nosing around here. If they find enough oil or gas beneath the ground to start drilling, that could be the end of our town. The ones who can will sell out in a hurry, taking the money and leaving behind those of us who aren’t lucky enough to cash out. Twenty years from now, maybe sooner, when there’s nothing left underground, all we’ll have are abandoned wells, pumps and buildings.”
“Have any of these companies actually found something to interest them here?” Myka asked.
“Not yet, but even if they don’t, we’re all going downhill fast,” Grandma said. “Unless we find a way to save this community, we might as well go home and start packing.”
Myka looked at the faces of the women crowded into her living room. Beyond the fear she could see glimmers of stubborn hope and the quiet determination that came from a lifetime of hard work.
“It’s time to build a new business here in Independence,” Grandma said.
Myka felt a new energy in the room. “If we’re going to do this, all of us have to get involved. Those who don’t have a craft can pitch in by sharing their business experience. We’ll also need everyone—from the colcha embroidery people to folks like Mr. Gomez, who do absolutely amazing straw inlay work on wood,” she said. “It’s time to think big. Halfway measures won’t be good enough anymore.”
“Mr. Gomez hasn’t been working much lately. The churches and art museums aren’t buying because their budgets are down,” Lydia Baker said. Like Myka, she processed and dyed wool, but only for her own personal use—at least till now. “I’ll talk to him and see what he could make for individual purchases. I’m sure he’ll join us—if there’s a market for his pieces. He loves Independence as much as the rest of us.”
“There are other men and women, too, who are incredibly gifted woodworkers, like Adam was,” Grandma said, looking over at Joshua, who nodded. “Maybe they could sell wood carvings, simple toys or those things people put on their lawns, like miniature windmills. Who knows? We should approach them and see if they’re interested.”
“I like that,” Myka answered. “But we all need to be aware of one thing. Doing this will mean throwing our hearts into it and working like crazy to make it pay off. Even so, we may not be able to reverse the slide. What we will do is give ourselves a fighting chance. On the internet, the world is our market.”
“You’re the only one of us who has an online shop with a following, Myka,” Grandma said. “You don’t necessarily need us, but we need you. Can a cooperative work?”
“Our crafts take different amounts of time, so I think it’s only fair to come up with a partnership formula based on our individual contributions and sales. We could each pay a percentage of our personal earnings back to the company to cover expenses, and any company profits would trickle back down based on an individual’s contribution. Those who manage the business will have to be paid by the hour, of course,”
Similar Books
