OUTSIDERS?
Do you want STRANGERS knocking down YOUR door?
Stop them NOW!!
PETITION the BISHOP to STOP the INVASION!!
Signers welcome, night and day,
at Kitchen’s Emporium.
But if any provide not for his own,
and specially for those of his own house,
he hath denied the faith,
and is worse than an infidel.
—I Timothy 5:8
“ Take that, Vicar!” Emma peeked at me over the flyer and came perilously close to losing her tenuous grip on sobriety. She was saved by the sound of two hands clapping.
“Bravo,” called Bill. My husband had come up the side path and stood at the rear corner of the cottage, grinning broadly as he applauded Emma’s performance. He’d exchanged his workaday suit and tie for sneakers, shorts, and an old Harvard sweatshirt. Thanks to the bicycle, his legs were shaping up nicely, his face was ruddy with good health, and he was beginning to lose the broker’s bulge he’d brought with him from Boston. Some men went to seed under the burden of fatherhood, but my Bill was blossoming. “No need to ask who composed that call to arms. Will your name be on the petition, Emma?”
“Absolutely not,” she declared. “After what Lori’s told me, I’m going to stay as far away from Peggy’s shop as possible. Are you going to sign the petition, Lori?”
“I have to,” I replied gloomily, “or Peggy’ll be out here with a bullhorn. I can’t wait until she moves to Little Stubbing.”
“I pity the poor people of Little Stubbing. They don’t know what’s about to hit them.” Emma reached for her riding helmet and got to her feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. My computer skills are, as always, at your service.”
“What’s all this about Little Stubbing?” Bill asked as he bent to examine Rob’s bouncing menagerie.
“I’ll tell you after dinner.” Will had long since finished his afternoon meal, so I handed him to his father and buttoned my blouse. “You’re home early. Rainey wore you out, did she?” I expected a bantering reply, but Bill answered seriously.
“ To tell you the truth, I feel sorry for her,” he said. “She doesn’t have anyone her own age to play with.”
“No one?” I said.
Bill raised Will to his shoulder and gently patted his back. “When Sally Pyne came by to fetch Rainey, we got to talking, and she told me that there aren’t any children in Finch. A few kids out on the farms, yes, but none in the village.” He rubbed his cheek against Will’s fuzzy head. “It’s going to be a long summer for that little girl.”
“Poor kid,” I said. “We’ll have to come up with an extraspecial birthday present for her.”
Bill’s nose wrinkled suddenly and he leaned closer to Rob. “Right now I think our boy has a present for us. Here, you take Will and I’ll change Rob while you start in on dinner.”
I stretched out my arms for Will and smiled as I recalled the stockpot simmering on the stove. “Have I got news for you. . . .”
Francesca not only prepared our dinner, she served it to us in the dining room, on real plates, and cleaned up the mess afterward. It was a revelation to me, to relax and enjoy a meal with my husband after four months of snatching mouthfuls on the run.
“She did the laundry, put the linen closet in order, and got dinner ready while I was in town,” I told Bill as we lingered over the raspberries and cream. “And she never gets her apron dirty.”
“She’s beginning to sound vaguely supernatural,” Bill commented.
“Now that you mention it . . .” I lowered my voice, feeling for the first time like a chatelaine with servants to consider. “When she arrived, the cottage was filled with the scent of lilacs.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “No chill in the air? No smoke?” He was referring to tricks Dimity had once used to rid the cottage of an unwelcome visitor.
“Just lilacs,” I replied.
Bill sat back and rubbed his jaw. “I guess Ruth and Louise picked the right nanny.” He
Do you want STRANGERS knocking down YOUR door?
Stop them NOW!!
PETITION the BISHOP to STOP the INVASION!!
Signers welcome, night and day,
at Kitchen’s Emporium.
But if any provide not for his own,
and specially for those of his own house,
he hath denied the faith,
and is worse than an infidel.
—I Timothy 5:8
“ Take that, Vicar!” Emma peeked at me over the flyer and came perilously close to losing her tenuous grip on sobriety. She was saved by the sound of two hands clapping.
“Bravo,” called Bill. My husband had come up the side path and stood at the rear corner of the cottage, grinning broadly as he applauded Emma’s performance. He’d exchanged his workaday suit and tie for sneakers, shorts, and an old Harvard sweatshirt. Thanks to the bicycle, his legs were shaping up nicely, his face was ruddy with good health, and he was beginning to lose the broker’s bulge he’d brought with him from Boston. Some men went to seed under the burden of fatherhood, but my Bill was blossoming. “No need to ask who composed that call to arms. Will your name be on the petition, Emma?”
“Absolutely not,” she declared. “After what Lori’s told me, I’m going to stay as far away from Peggy’s shop as possible. Are you going to sign the petition, Lori?”
“I have to,” I replied gloomily, “or Peggy’ll be out here with a bullhorn. I can’t wait until she moves to Little Stubbing.”
“I pity the poor people of Little Stubbing. They don’t know what’s about to hit them.” Emma reached for her riding helmet and got to her feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. My computer skills are, as always, at your service.”
“What’s all this about Little Stubbing?” Bill asked as he bent to examine Rob’s bouncing menagerie.
“I’ll tell you after dinner.” Will had long since finished his afternoon meal, so I handed him to his father and buttoned my blouse. “You’re home early. Rainey wore you out, did she?” I expected a bantering reply, but Bill answered seriously.
“ To tell you the truth, I feel sorry for her,” he said. “She doesn’t have anyone her own age to play with.”
“No one?” I said.
Bill raised Will to his shoulder and gently patted his back. “When Sally Pyne came by to fetch Rainey, we got to talking, and she told me that there aren’t any children in Finch. A few kids out on the farms, yes, but none in the village.” He rubbed his cheek against Will’s fuzzy head. “It’s going to be a long summer for that little girl.”
“Poor kid,” I said. “We’ll have to come up with an extraspecial birthday present for her.”
Bill’s nose wrinkled suddenly and he leaned closer to Rob. “Right now I think our boy has a present for us. Here, you take Will and I’ll change Rob while you start in on dinner.”
I stretched out my arms for Will and smiled as I recalled the stockpot simmering on the stove. “Have I got news for you. . . .”
Francesca not only prepared our dinner, she served it to us in the dining room, on real plates, and cleaned up the mess afterward. It was a revelation to me, to relax and enjoy a meal with my husband after four months of snatching mouthfuls on the run.
“She did the laundry, put the linen closet in order, and got dinner ready while I was in town,” I told Bill as we lingered over the raspberries and cream. “And she never gets her apron dirty.”
“She’s beginning to sound vaguely supernatural,” Bill commented.
“Now that you mention it . . .” I lowered my voice, feeling for the first time like a chatelaine with servants to consider. “When she arrived, the cottage was filled with the scent of lilacs.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “No chill in the air? No smoke?” He was referring to tricks Dimity had once used to rid the cottage of an unwelcome visitor.
“Just lilacs,” I replied.
Bill sat back and rubbed his jaw. “I guess Ruth and Louise picked the right nanny.” He
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