protested, her kind eyes twinkling.
“It’s happened, and you know it,” Lucy insisted, then whispered to Bess. “But don’t mention it to Pastor Brown. He gets a mite long-winded if provoked, and then the mayor snores and drowns out the sermon. Mortifies his poor wife, Lydia.” Lucy sniffed and dropped her voice. “Even snooty folks don’t deserve being mortified in the Lord’s House.”
“Mum’s the word,” Bess promised, crossing her heart with a swipe of her fingertip and grinning from the heart out. There were some aspects of small town life she adored. This bonding among the villagers was one of them. She cupped her glass.
Lucy’s smile faded to a puzzled frown. “You’re wearing a wedding band.” She slid her gaze to Miss Hattie, who remained serene-looking, then back to Bess. “You’re already married?”
“Yes, I am.” Now why did Lucy look so disappointed? And why did Miss Hattie have that sparkle in her eye?
Looking resigned, Lucy stepped away, splashed tea into someone’s glass at the next table, then called out to the man behind the bar. “Fred, darlin’.”
When he looked at her, Lucy pointed to a cork bulletin board hanging on the wall just below a Budweiser beer clock, then used the same cut-off-at-the-neck hand signal Sal had used to nonverbally instruct Bess to disconnect Tony’s call.
Bess sent Miss Hattie a questioning glance.
“Jimmy Goodson shops in neighboring towns for the villagers twice a week. Lucy keeps the list for him on the bulletin board.”
“What’s that got to do with me being married?”
“Nothing.” She gave Bess an angelic smile.
“Miss Hattie, I do believe you’re avoiding answering me.”
The old woman’s cheeks again went pink. “The villagers amuse themselves with friendly little wagers, dear. It’s nothing important.”
“I see.” Bess said, not really seeing at all, and certain Miss Hattie preferred she didn’t see.
“Not yet.” Miss Hattie lifted her steaming white mug. “But soon.”
Bess shivered and glanced at the rain-speckled window. Looked as if the storm was easing up. Had it been the storm—Lord, how she hated them—or Miss Hattie’s innocent statement that had her on edge and uneasy? Had to be the storm. Why would such an innocent statement scare the socks off her?
“Have I told you about the village and how it came to be?”
Subject evasion. Clear and simple. “No, you haven’t.”
Straightening the condiments on the table, Miss Hattie smiled. “It all started with a wedding. Lester and Dora Sanford’s wedding, to be exact. They were relatives of my friend, Millie.”
Getting a divorce, the last thing Bess wanted to hear about was a wedding. But Miss Hattie looked eager to impart the village history and Lucy Baker’s pleading look cinched it. Bess had to ask. “Miss Millie who owns the antique shop down the street?”
“Yes, dear. That’s her.” Miss Hattie sipped from her cup of tea. “All this land was Lester’s father’s wedding gift to them. Financially blessed, the Sanfords. Anyway, Lester was a shipbuilder and he and Dora wanted to open a small yard to build fishing boats. He had contracts to build three lobster boats, so he and Dora opened the yard, right where Fisherman’s Co-op is today.”
“Ah, industry.” Thinking the story over, Bess tabled her napkin then started to rise.
With a hand to her shoulder, Lucy Baker pushed Bess back into her seat. “This is just the beginning.”
Lucy surely had heard this recounting a hundred times and still she looked twinkly eyed at hearing it again. Grinning, Bess looked back to Miss Hattie. “What happened?”
“Lester’s family was very angry. They thought the shipyard was a foolish venture and Lester and Dora would end up bankrupt.”
“A family rift over money.” How many times did Bess encounter that in counseling? Far too many.
“Worse.”
“And better, Miss Hattie.” Lucy gave the next table over a good rubdown with the red
“It’s happened, and you know it,” Lucy insisted, then whispered to Bess. “But don’t mention it to Pastor Brown. He gets a mite long-winded if provoked, and then the mayor snores and drowns out the sermon. Mortifies his poor wife, Lydia.” Lucy sniffed and dropped her voice. “Even snooty folks don’t deserve being mortified in the Lord’s House.”
“Mum’s the word,” Bess promised, crossing her heart with a swipe of her fingertip and grinning from the heart out. There were some aspects of small town life she adored. This bonding among the villagers was one of them. She cupped her glass.
Lucy’s smile faded to a puzzled frown. “You’re wearing a wedding band.” She slid her gaze to Miss Hattie, who remained serene-looking, then back to Bess. “You’re already married?”
“Yes, I am.” Now why did Lucy look so disappointed? And why did Miss Hattie have that sparkle in her eye?
Looking resigned, Lucy stepped away, splashed tea into someone’s glass at the next table, then called out to the man behind the bar. “Fred, darlin’.”
When he looked at her, Lucy pointed to a cork bulletin board hanging on the wall just below a Budweiser beer clock, then used the same cut-off-at-the-neck hand signal Sal had used to nonverbally instruct Bess to disconnect Tony’s call.
Bess sent Miss Hattie a questioning glance.
“Jimmy Goodson shops in neighboring towns for the villagers twice a week. Lucy keeps the list for him on the bulletin board.”
“What’s that got to do with me being married?”
“Nothing.” She gave Bess an angelic smile.
“Miss Hattie, I do believe you’re avoiding answering me.”
The old woman’s cheeks again went pink. “The villagers amuse themselves with friendly little wagers, dear. It’s nothing important.”
“I see.” Bess said, not really seeing at all, and certain Miss Hattie preferred she didn’t see.
“Not yet.” Miss Hattie lifted her steaming white mug. “But soon.”
Bess shivered and glanced at the rain-speckled window. Looked as if the storm was easing up. Had it been the storm—Lord, how she hated them—or Miss Hattie’s innocent statement that had her on edge and uneasy? Had to be the storm. Why would such an innocent statement scare the socks off her?
“Have I told you about the village and how it came to be?”
Subject evasion. Clear and simple. “No, you haven’t.”
Straightening the condiments on the table, Miss Hattie smiled. “It all started with a wedding. Lester and Dora Sanford’s wedding, to be exact. They were relatives of my friend, Millie.”
Getting a divorce, the last thing Bess wanted to hear about was a wedding. But Miss Hattie looked eager to impart the village history and Lucy Baker’s pleading look cinched it. Bess had to ask. “Miss Millie who owns the antique shop down the street?”
“Yes, dear. That’s her.” Miss Hattie sipped from her cup of tea. “All this land was Lester’s father’s wedding gift to them. Financially blessed, the Sanfords. Anyway, Lester was a shipbuilder and he and Dora wanted to open a small yard to build fishing boats. He had contracts to build three lobster boats, so he and Dora opened the yard, right where Fisherman’s Co-op is today.”
“Ah, industry.” Thinking the story over, Bess tabled her napkin then started to rise.
With a hand to her shoulder, Lucy Baker pushed Bess back into her seat. “This is just the beginning.”
Lucy surely had heard this recounting a hundred times and still she looked twinkly eyed at hearing it again. Grinning, Bess looked back to Miss Hattie. “What happened?”
“Lester’s family was very angry. They thought the shipyard was a foolish venture and Lester and Dora would end up bankrupt.”
“A family rift over money.” How many times did Bess encounter that in counseling? Far too many.
“Worse.”
“And better, Miss Hattie.” Lucy gave the next table over a good rubdown with the red
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