throat. “Meadow, I’m not up to par yet with the quilting, but I’m happy to help you out with planning a direction for the group. It sounds like you want to maybe change course and start doing more shows. Maybe after I get settled in a little I can help you with that.”
Piper beamed at her as Meadow nearly squeezed the life out of Beatrice with a bear-sized hug. As Meadow started excitedly babbling about possibilities for the guild, Beatrice was already regretting that she’d spoken up.
* * *
The next morning when Beatrice got up to get her paper, there was a glass Nehi Orange Soda bottle on her front porch. She stooped, frowning, to pick it up. Stuck in the bottle was a message in a very careful, up-and-down, uniform print:
Don’t push it!
She looked around but there was no sign of anyone anywhere around. Don’t push . . . what? Beatrice stomped back inside in irritation and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin. What wasn’t she supposed to push? Was the note referring to the way she’d brought up the whole antique-quilt issue? The fact she’d volunteered to help spearhead the effort to change the direction and purpose of the guild? Or did the anonymous person mean something else entirely? Beatrice shivered. She couldn’t tell if the note had been left with malicious intent, or as a friendly warning. And, really, were
any
warnings friendly?
She looked down at her corgi, Noo-noo, who was lying on her back, sound asleep. “Some guard dog you are,” she scolded. Noo-noo opened her eyes halfway before drifting back to sleep.
The incident last night at the bee, compounded with the anonymous note this morning, left Beatrice more shaken up than she wanted to admit. She tried reading the tiny local newspaper before giving up completely. The
Dappled Hills Dispatch
was full of names she didn’t know going to places and events she hadn’t heard of. She blinked in amazement at stories written about a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party, a family reunion, and extensive and somewhat rambling coverage on the winning streak of a Dappled Hills Little League team. There was also an odd column where residents could trade unwanted goods with each other. She had a sudden and intense longing for the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
.
A walk was what she needed. She’d clear her head a little and get some feeling of control over her day. She needed it and she had a feeling her tubby corgi did, too. She quickly dressed in her usual uniform of khaki capris and a button-down shirt and ran a brush through her platinum hair. “Where’s your leash?” she asked Noo-noo, and watched as the dog exploded into action, scrambling to get off her back as Beatrice found the leash and collar for their walk.
The morning mountain air was crisp, and Beatrice pulled her light jacket up around her neck as a breeze blew by. Noo-noo, whose regular walks had been disrupted by the moving and unpacking, pulled eagerly at her leash. Clouds of misty fog covered the ground in patches as Beatrice and the corgi headed briskly toward the park.
A tiny figure approached them, walking an equally small dog. As they walked closer, she recognized Posy, the quilt-shop owner, with a beagle trotting ahead of her. Noo-noo joyfully jogged toward the dog to greet it.
“Beatrice?” said Posy with a smile. “It’s such a pleasure discovering other early-morning walkers. Maybe we can make this a regular date!” She reached down to stroke Noo-noo’s head, and the corgi eagerly flopped over for a tummy rub.
The two women chatted as they strolled into the park. The beagle soon interrupted their small talk, though, lunging against her leash and giving an insistent, baying bark. Noo-noo joined in, figuring something must have been wrong, even if she couldn’t suss out what it was.
Posy frowned as the dog persistently pulled at the leash. She knelt down next to the dog and put a comforting hand on her. “Duchess! What’s going on, girl?” She looked
Piper beamed at her as Meadow nearly squeezed the life out of Beatrice with a bear-sized hug. As Meadow started excitedly babbling about possibilities for the guild, Beatrice was already regretting that she’d spoken up.
* * *
The next morning when Beatrice got up to get her paper, there was a glass Nehi Orange Soda bottle on her front porch. She stooped, frowning, to pick it up. Stuck in the bottle was a message in a very careful, up-and-down, uniform print:
Don’t push it!
She looked around but there was no sign of anyone anywhere around. Don’t push . . . what? Beatrice stomped back inside in irritation and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin. What wasn’t she supposed to push? Was the note referring to the way she’d brought up the whole antique-quilt issue? The fact she’d volunteered to help spearhead the effort to change the direction and purpose of the guild? Or did the anonymous person mean something else entirely? Beatrice shivered. She couldn’t tell if the note had been left with malicious intent, or as a friendly warning. And, really, were
any
warnings friendly?
She looked down at her corgi, Noo-noo, who was lying on her back, sound asleep. “Some guard dog you are,” she scolded. Noo-noo opened her eyes halfway before drifting back to sleep.
The incident last night at the bee, compounded with the anonymous note this morning, left Beatrice more shaken up than she wanted to admit. She tried reading the tiny local newspaper before giving up completely. The
Dappled Hills Dispatch
was full of names she didn’t know going to places and events she hadn’t heard of. She blinked in amazement at stories written about a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party, a family reunion, and extensive and somewhat rambling coverage on the winning streak of a Dappled Hills Little League team. There was also an odd column where residents could trade unwanted goods with each other. She had a sudden and intense longing for the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
.
A walk was what she needed. She’d clear her head a little and get some feeling of control over her day. She needed it and she had a feeling her tubby corgi did, too. She quickly dressed in her usual uniform of khaki capris and a button-down shirt and ran a brush through her platinum hair. “Where’s your leash?” she asked Noo-noo, and watched as the dog exploded into action, scrambling to get off her back as Beatrice found the leash and collar for their walk.
The morning mountain air was crisp, and Beatrice pulled her light jacket up around her neck as a breeze blew by. Noo-noo, whose regular walks had been disrupted by the moving and unpacking, pulled eagerly at her leash. Clouds of misty fog covered the ground in patches as Beatrice and the corgi headed briskly toward the park.
A tiny figure approached them, walking an equally small dog. As they walked closer, she recognized Posy, the quilt-shop owner, with a beagle trotting ahead of her. Noo-noo joyfully jogged toward the dog to greet it.
“Beatrice?” said Posy with a smile. “It’s such a pleasure discovering other early-morning walkers. Maybe we can make this a regular date!” She reached down to stroke Noo-noo’s head, and the corgi eagerly flopped over for a tummy rub.
The two women chatted as they strolled into the park. The beagle soon interrupted their small talk, though, lunging against her leash and giving an insistent, baying bark. Noo-noo joined in, figuring something must have been wrong, even if she couldn’t suss out what it was.
Posy frowned as the dog persistently pulled at the leash. She knelt down next to the dog and put a comforting hand on her. “Duchess! What’s going on, girl?” She looked
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