Read Online Threading the Needle by Marie Bostwick - Free Book Online Page B

restained the dark floors with alternating eighteen-inch squares of white and mossy green in a checkerboard pattern that let the natural grain of the wood show through, then painted all the wood and glass display cabinets white. Finally, we’d removed the fluorescent lighting and replaced it with lots and lots of spotlights in ceiling cans, which flooded the room with clean, white light. Walking into this room is like walking over clouds on a clear day, surrounded by sunlight above and around, with glimpses of the green earth below.
    Reverend Tucker stopped in the middle of the room, next to the candle display, and looked around. “I remember this shop back when Edwin Hargrove had his antique business here. Everything was so gloomy. The place smelled like mold and wet dog.”
    The reverend wasn’t the first person to mention this. Apparently, Mr. Hargrove had a shop dog, a golden retriever who liked to roll in mud puddles.
    â€œWhat a difference,” he continued. “It’s so bright and it smells so fresh. Not at all perfumey,” he said in a slightly surprised tone.
    â€œI use real plants and herbs for my products, no artificial perfumes. Lavender is our most popular scent, but I make products using rosemary, peppermint, lemongrass, bergamot, clary sage, roses, gardenia, and all kinds of spices and citrus peels too.”
    â€œSmell this!” Margot said eagerly, taking the cap off a tester of lavender lotion and holding it under the minister’s nose. “Sharon would love it.”
    He sniffed at the bottle. “Very nice. Does this come in some sort of gift basket? I’m not very good at wrapping things.”
    Three minutes later, I’d made my first sale of the day. Mrs. Tucker would be getting a Lavender Luxury Basket for her birthday, a bottle of lavender body lotion with matching glycerine soap, lavender sugar scrub, and a candle, prettily arranged in a white wicker basket and tied with a purple tulle bow.
    â€œThis is perfect,” Reverend Tucker said as he shoved his change into his pocket. “Last birthday I bought Sharon a coffee grinder. Didn’t go over well.”
    Margot looked at me with eyebrows raised and lips pressed together, trying to suppress a smile. I had to look away to keep from laughing. Under his starched clerical collar, Reverend Tucker was a man like any other, one who hadn’t heard the “never get your wife anything that plugs in” rule.
    â€œFeel free to come back anytime you need a gift, Reverend. I’m happy to help.”
    â€œThank you, Tessa. I will.” He picked up his shopping bag and walked away from the counter, getting halfway to the door before Margot stopped him.
    â€œReverend? Aren’t you forgetting something?”
    He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then spun around to face me. “Oh yes! The fund-raiser! The church is hosting a fund-raiser in September, a benefit for the Stanton Center and New Beginnings. Their donations have been down this year, and if they can’t raise some money, they’ll have to begin cutting back programs.”
    The Stanton Center is our local shelter for women and children who’ve been victims of domestic violence and New Beginnings is an offshoot of that, a community center offering counseling, career training, and enrichment classes for victims of domestic violence or, as space allows, any woman who needs help making a fresh start. They do wonderful work. In other circumstances I’d be happy to help, but . . .
    â€œI’m sorry, Reverend, but it hasn’t been a very good year for me. I just can’t make any donations right now. I wish I could.”
    â€œOh, no. We’re not asking for money,” Margot assured me. “The church is sponsoring a country fair on our grounds and on the town Green in September. We’ll have a used book sale, a quilt show and raffle, cakewalk, carnival games and pony rides for children, a