Reflecting Love's Charms (Bellingwood Book 14) (6 page)

"Yeah?"

"And touched it and thought about how it could go together?"

"No?" Sal was laughing by now. "But it sounds like you have."

"I don't even have a sewing machine. It never seemed like something I needed."

"Your mother didn't have one? My mom did and she never ever touched it."

"I don't think so. I’ve never seen it, but there are still a ton of boxes from Dad’s house in the garage. I wouldn't have to spend a ton of money to get started. If I learned, I could make curtains for the windows at the house and placemats for the table and quilts and..." She looked at Sal. "Stop laughing at me."

"I love you, sweetie, but are you kidding me with this?"

Polly frowned at her. "I don't have anything that I do. Rebecca sketches. Henry and Heath love working on cars. Andrew writes stories. You have a baby to plan for. Marie tried to teach me how to knit and I nearly poked her eye out with a knitting needle. I need something else."

"Because the new house isn't enough? Polly, you are going all the time. It's okay if you are idle for an hour in the evening. Come on. Let's go over to the antique shop and look around. Maybe you'll find something you absolutely need for your house." Sal picked up her two cups and carried them back to the sink behind the counter and dumped them out, then tossed them in the trash. "Sorry, Camille. My taste buds and I are having a disagreement this morning and they're winning."

Camille smiled. "Did I hear you say you're going over to the antique shop?"

"Yeah, are you looking for something?"

"I have a space about twenty-four inches wide that needs a small table or pedestal. If you see anything fun, text me a picture, would you?"

Sal glanced sideways at Polly. "Dang, I have to shop. This might kill me!"

They walked down the street to the antique shop. The bell tinkled as they walked in and Simon Gardner came out from behind a display of dolls.

"Good morning, ladies."

"Hello, Mr. Gardner," Sal replied. "Did you have any luck?"

"It's right back here. Follow me." He led them into the depths of the store and stopped in front of a beautiful old rocker. Beside it sat a short dresser and a side table. "What do you think?"

Sal turned to Polly. "What do you think?"

"Beautiful. I love the rocker."

"I've always wanted one. My friend, Judy, had a rocker in her house, but Mom said they were a waste of space."

"Why would she say that?"

Sal shrugged. "I don't know. She didn't like them. But I thought they were peaceful. And if I'm going to have a baby, I want one so I can sit and rock it back to sleep at night. How about lamps. Did you find any?"

"Not yet," he said. "But I'm not about to give up. Not when I have such a great customer."

"I want all of these pieces," Sal said. "They look pretty good right now. I wonder if they'll need much work. The finish I chose with Mr. Sturtz was a pretty walnut."

Simon Gardner patted the rocker. "That's what these are."

Sal sat down in the rocking chair and leaned back, then started it moving. "Oh my goodness, this is wonderful. I feel calmer already." She waved Polly off. "You wander around and browse. I'm going to stay right here and rest."

"Aren't you supposed to be looking for a table for Camille?" Polly asked with a laugh.

"You go look. I want to rock."

"What kind of a table?" Simon asked.

"She said she has a small space on a wall; about twenty-four inches," Polly said. "Or a pedestal."

"I don't know how much she wants to spend, but I just brought in a beautiful glove chest. It's eighteen inches wide and about thirty-six inches tall. It's quite delightful."

"Let's see it," Polly said. "I'll send her a picture." She looked back at Sal as they walked away. "She really likes the rocking chair."

"I brought that in especially for her," he said. "She's become quite a good customer and understands the worth of beautiful pieces." He stopped and put his hand on a small cherry chest of drawers.

"This is a glove chest?" Polly asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It is meant to be placed near your front door to hold gloves and scarves. Many homes had a beautiful mirror hanging on the wall above it so you could ensure you were prepared before you left the house."

Polly sighed. "If she doesn't want it, I do."

He chuckled. "You have one already. It's in the attic of your home. It needs a little work, but would be a very pretty piece once it's restored."

Simon Gardner had spent several weekends digging around in the Bell House this last spring, cataloging the furniture and other items. Polly still hadn't managed to pull everything out that needed to be restored. The garage was filled with furniture she needed to make decisions about and that was just from the rooms on the main floor. Bill Sturtz and Len Specek had taken apart the bedsteads on the second floor, stripped them down and were refinishing them. The dressers and chests of drawers, vanities and other bedroom furniture were in a storage unit waiting to be cleaned up. It was all so overwhelming, Polly usually just ignored it.

"I think I took on too much with that house," she said. She snapped a picture and sent a text to Camille with the cost and a quick description.

"I’m sure it feels that way," he said. "My advice would be for you to move in and fix the rooms one by one. Then one day, you'll find that each room has become part of your family, just like the people who live there."

"That's awfully philosophical for someone who doesn't have to do the work," Polly said.

He laughed. "Yes it is. If I were a younger man, I would offer to assist you, but all I can do is advise you these days."

Sal grabbed Polly's arm, startling both of them when Polly jumped. "I need to head back to the coffee shop right now," Sal said. "Let's go." She nodded at Simon. "Write up a ticket for all of it and I'll be in tomorrow with a check. Thank you!"

She rushed Polly out of the shop.

"Why are we in such a hurry?"

"Because I need to go to the bathroom again. Now, come on. Move it!"

CHAPTER SIX

Stephanie hadn’t replied yet, which was disappointing. The girl had been in the middle of some wildest thing at Sycamore House, but surely she realized everything always worked out in the end. Polly rolled her shoulder. Even if Polly took a few bumps and bruises along the way. The walk up to the coffee shop had helped and now, walking home, she was starting to feel more normal.

Traffic whizzed past Polly on the highway. She waved at a few people she recognized, then crossed to the Sycamore House corner garden when a break came. She sat on the bench and listened to the water trickling and moving in the pond. Spring had come early enough that the local gardeners had already planted and flowers were blooming.

Today was a perfect day. The sun beamed down, warming her face while a breeze brushed against her. Polly shut her eyes and allowed the moment to surround her. This was such a peaceful location and Polly never spent enough time out here. There was always something to do, or she was walking with dogs who loved tearing into the ground. Since Polly wasn't confident enough to replant anything, it was easier to just avoid it.

A horn honking drew her attention and she looked up to see Ralph Bedford waving from his wonderful orange truck. He was so proud of the paint job on that truck. She grinned. You could see that man coming from a mile away. She waved back and watched him head out of town. It was still surprising to Polly that she was part of this community. Even after four years, the ease with which people lived around each other was remarkable. Some days she felt as if she belonged here and was a part of the community, but there were still too many days like today when Polly felt separated from it all; as if she was gliding across the top of the town, dipping her feet in every once in a while, barely touching the activities and people.

Maybe it was the Bell House. During these last few months, when she'd spent hours and hours there, she'd been transported to a different era. Furniture and accessories all came from days long before she was born. And landing in a room with a body that came from generations past and a still that existed in her home’s history was surreal. Polly barely remembered what she'd learned in high school and college regarding Prohibition.

There were evenings when her father would talk about the things that he'd experienced during his lifetime, things that Polly read about in history books. They'd gotten a good laugh at that. He told her about looking up at the sky in July of 1969 and feeling excitement and wonder as Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, and about his shock and revulsion at the news of Martin Luther King's death.

Where were the people who would have known about Prohibition in Bellingwood? Polly laughed at herself. The Bell House was one hundred years old. They were no longer living. But maybe there were people around whose parents had talked about those days. Beryl's Great-Aunt Evaline would have remembered the opening of the Bell House, but she never said anything to Beryl about it. She hoped Lucy’s husband would be able to help.

It frustrated Polly that people didn't write out their memories before they died. Her dad hadn’t given Polly enough stories before he was gone. So much history was lost the day he died. And for that matter, so much of Rebecca's history had been erased with her mother's death last year.

"Was that really a year ago?" Polly asked out loud. How did time move so quickly? Rebecca only had a few weeks left of being a seventh-grader and then only a year before she went to high school. Heath had just one year left before he was off to college.

Polly sat forward and dropped her head into her hands. She heard Henry in her head telling her to relax and take a breath. There was no need to rush time along any faster than it was already moving. And if she worried about losing the kids, she'd miss out on all that they had to offer right now.

"I hate it when you're right," she muttered, standing up. She waved at Eliseo, who was mowing the lawn behind the garage.

Walking to the front door, she picked up a few pieces of trash that had blown up onto the sidewalk and kicked bits of mulch back into the garden beds surrounding the building. A large number of cars in the parking lot told her something was going on inside. She didn't want to go into the office and meet one more person, but then she mentally kicked herself. Making those connections were the anchors that tied her to Bellingwood. The new receptionist was a friend of Rachel's, but Polly was darned if she could remember the name.

"Hello, Ms. Giller," the girl said. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Polly put her hand out. "I'm sorry. I don't remember what Rachel told me your name was."

"Kristen," the girl said. "Kristen Travis."

"It's nice to meet you, Kristen. Is Jeff in?" Polly pointed at the closed door that led to Jeff's office. "Does he have someone with him?"

"No. He's just working. I can buzz him if you'd like."

"I'll knock." Polly knocked on Jeff's office door and heard a gruff "Come in," so she slipped in and shut the door behind her.

"It's you," he said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. I'm sorry. I'm frustrated."

"With Kristen?" Polly pointed toward the main office.

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "She's fine. I can't think, though. I keep worrying about Stephanie and Kayla. I wish they'd call and tell me that they're alive."

"I got this," Polly said. She swiped her phone to the text message she'd received and put it on the desk in front of him. "It has to be her. I sent a message right back, but she hasn't replied."

"The girl is killing me," he whined. "I don't want to be selfish about this, but does she know what she's doing to us?"

"I doubt she's thinking about anything but what's frightening her so badly. Her tunnel vision is completely focused on getting her and Kayla out of danger."

"Put a gun in my hand," he said, gritting his teeth. "I'll take care of that danger for her."

Polly smiled. Of all of her friends, Jeff was the last person she thought she'd ever see with a gun. But who knew? With as much fury as he felt right now, it might be a good idea for Stephanie's father to fear for his life. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

He gave a quick shake of his head, as if to clear the fog. "We have so much going on right now and I need her. When I'm out on a limb, Stephanie holds on to my pants leg so I don't fall off."

"Use this number," Polly said, showing her phone to him again. "Keep telling her those things. Make sure she understands how important she is to you ... to us. Remind her that Bellingwood is her home and we're her family." She tapped her index finger on the desk twice to get his attention. "But maybe you don't whine at her about how tough she's making your life."

"But she is." Jeff intentionally overdid his whine and leaned back. "I know, I know. You're right. I have an extra room in my apartment. She and Kayla could move in with me until this man is found and tossed back in prison. He'd never find my place. Hell, I'd let her work from there if she wanted to. And Kayla could just be sick or something while she took time off from school. Yes?"

"Anything you want," Polly said. "For now, though, keep communicating with Stephanie and hope that eventually she'll talk to you."

"At least I have hope now." Jeff clicked his mouse and said, "I talked to her landlord. She's paid up until the end of the month."

"What did you tell him?"

"Just that she had an emergency and had to leave town for a couple of weeks."

"And he didn't think that was odd?"

Jeff laughed. "Maybe, but when I told him that if anything came up while she was gone, I'd take care of it, he quit asking questions. He's probably heard stranger things. Dang, I want to get her out of that place and into something that looks nice to begin with. It would be good if she and Kayla could spend their money on fun decorations rather than trying to cover up crummy carpet on the floor, dingy walls and ugly linoleum."

"Stephanie is pretty frugal. She isn't going to make the move until she's completely ready."

"I know that," he groused. "That makes her really good around here, but she should do better for herself. I know they can afford it."

Polly shook her head. "Not if she's hiding that kind of money in the wall of her trailer. She's been socking that away rather than spending it."

"I hate that man for doing this to her," Jeff said. "And I'm not too happy with her mother for letting it happen."

"Some people can't hold up under that kind of pressure," Polly said quietly.

"But they were her daughters. She's supposed to protect them."

Polly just looked at him and smiled.

"I know. I know. Being angry at a dead woman who had no options doesn't help the situation. Is that what you're trying to tell me?" He stood up and paced over to the front window. "How are things coming over at the Bell House? Are you going to be ready to have people there for the sesquicentennial celebration?"

She wasn't prepared for the change in conversation and took a quick breath. "I don't know. I don't even know what we should be doing."

"Did you really find an old still?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Yeah and a tunnel leading back to the house."

"Maybe you should turn the front foyer into a speakeasy. The committee isn't limiting things to what happened a hundred and fifty years ago. We're celebrating the whole history of Bellingwood."

She nodded thoughtfully. "But I can't serve liquor without a license and I don't want to push Henry to finish something just so we can have a party. He's really busy. Since I fell in that hole, I don't even know if we can open the back yard to people until he's made sure it's safe. The front of the house looks pitiful without a porch and the back of the house is just destroyed. The only reason the inside doesn't look awful is because we haven't started tearing the walls out."

"You're scaring me," Jeff said.

"Scaring you? I'm terrified that I forced Henry into buying a money pit. When I think of all the things we have to do to bring that house around, I want to crawl back into that hole and hide my head. There isn't enough time left in my life to get that place to where it should be."

"Exaggerate much?" he asked.

"No. I can't do what needs to be done there and Henry is too busy to commit to it. We're never going to move in." Polly waved her hand. "I don't want to think about it. What's happening here during the sesquicentennial? Shouldn’t I know about this?"

He laughed. "You'll know when you need to, but Stephanie had a great idea..." Jeff's voice trailed off. "Damn. She was really working hard on it, too."

"What is it?"

"We're turning the classrooms into classrooms from history. One will be set in the late eighteen hundreds, one in the nineteen fifties or sixties and then the computer room is going to be set up with all sorts of futuristic tech. She asked Elise for a contact at Iowa State and they're going to help us design some advanced presentation type of technology in there. After it's over, we're donating that to the elementary school in town."

"Miss Bickle-Pickle?" Polly asked. "She's going to let you?"

"She couldn't refuse such a great offer. Especially when the head of the school board is on my committee."

"Perfect. Are we doing the quilt show again?"

Jeff took a deep breath. "It's gotten too big, even for us. Especially if we want to do anything else. They're splitting it up this year among several different venues. Church sanctuaries and the elementary gymnasium will be the main showrooms. Most of the church halls will be serving food at one point or other throughout the week, and nobody wants food around those quilts."

"What are we doing in the auditorium?" Polly asked.

"It will be wild," he said. "Square dancing a couple of nights, regular dances on other evenings. One night will be a western-themed banquet." He shook his head. "Stephanie was working on all of that, too, getting people lined up to decorate during the day so we'd be ready in the evening. What am I going to do?"

"She's coming back," Polly said. "You have to believe that."

Jeff waggled his hand at the door. "You go now. I have a million things that I need to keep working on. The guys at the garage over there," he pointed northwest and Polly knew kind of where he was talking about. "One of them has an uncle who is a blacksmith and they want to set up a working smithy, but don't know where to find what they need." He laughed out loud. "Me. Talking to big, burly men about all of this. Tell me that isn't the funniest thing you've heard today."