Ask a group of people a random question and most of them will either shrug or toss off an answer, factual or not. But ask a librarian the same question and they’ll research it until they can provide a definitive response.
“Okay, I found something on the website sponsored by Clarion’s folklore department,” I said, holding up my cell phone. “It seems that sugarplums have nothing to do with fruit, plums or otherwise. They are a type of sweet that was popular from the seventeenth through the nineteenth century. They were relatively small orbs, created by layers of candied sugar built up around a small center, like a cardamom or caraway seed or an almond. Also called a comfit.”
“So something like a jawbreaker or other simple, sugar-based candy?” My friend and library codirector, Sunny Fields, gazed down at me from her perch on a stepladder. “I guess the typical costumes for the Sugarplum Fairy in The Nutcracker are appropriate, then. Lots of small glittering baubles sewn into the tutu would be like old-time sugarplum candies.”
“Yeah, who knew?” I pocketed my phone. “You about done up there?”
“One last ornament.” Sunny held up a black pipe-cleaner spider liberally dusted with silver glitter. “Really more suitable for Halloween than Christmas, wouldn’t you say?”
“I bet it’s meant to represent Charlotte’s Web.” I stepped back to survey the artificial pine tree we’d set up in a corner of the Taylorsford Public Library’s reading room. A shaft of light falling from one of the library’s tall, deep-set windows illuminated the handmade bead garlands that draped the branches.
The tree fit the space perfectly, its star-topped tip just brushing the beams of the vaulted ceiling. It was a gift from one of our wealthier patrons, and its branches and needles looked uncannily real. All it lacked was the scent of actual pine. But I’d never use a real tree, especially one decorated with lights, in our 1919 building. As Ethan, my firefighter brother-in-law, would say, that would be foolish as well as illegal. The Taylorsford Public Library was a heritage building, one of the many libraries built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries with grants from industrialist Andrew Carnegie. I’d be devastated if its intricately carved wood trim was ever scorched by flames.
“I know we’ve always used traditional ornaments in the past, but I think it was a great idea to have our kids make them this year,” Sunny said as she descended the stepladder.
“Well, if anyone makes negative comments, we’ll just tell them we’re encouraging creativity along with reading.” I moved closer to the tree to tap a square ornament made of brown popsicle sticks enclosing an image of the moon in a night sky. I was glad that our younger patrons had embraced the challenge to create ornaments based on their favorite books or stories, even if some of their efforts were less than perfect. “I’m guessing this one is an homage to Goodnight Moon.”
“Maybe.” Sunny twisted a strand of her long blonde hair around one of her slender fingers. “We should’ve asked them to add a tag with the title.”
“I don’t know. I think guessing is half the fun.” I examined a miniature shield painted in vibrant colors. “This must be from a fantasy series, but I haven’t figured out which one yet.”
Sunny crossed to stand beside me. “I bet I can guess which ones Nicky and Ella made, with a little help from you or Richard.” She pointed toward another section of the tree. “A nutcracker prince and a mouse king. Pretty much a dead giveaway.”
“They are a teensy bit obsessed,” I said, unable to repress a sigh. “It makes sense, of course. Richard’s new production of The Nutcracker is their first time onstage, and it seems they both have inherited their father’s love for performing.”
“And his talent, I hope,” Sunny said, shooting me a wicked grin.
I was sure she meant rather than your lack of it. I wrinkled my nose at her, not really upset about her comment. I knew my limitations and was honestly glad that my five-year-old twins, Nicholas and Elenora, took after my husband when it came to athletic ability. “Thankfully. Although I do feel like the odd person out sometimes, since my dancing skills are mediocre at best.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Amy. You do okay dancing with Richard.” Sunny studied the tree, her blue eyes sparkling with good humor.
“As would anyone. He’s a great partner,” I said. “Anyway, now that Nicky and Ella are going to be in the Nutcracker party scene, they’ve been listening to the score nonstop. Which was okay the first hundred times …”
Sunny cast me another grin. “Kids that age don’t mind repetition, do they? I know our story-time kids are always asking me to read the same picture books over and over. I can recite several by heart.”
“You and me both.” I smiled, once again grateful that Sunny, who’d completed her master of library science degree shortly after my children were born, had agreed to share the position of library director with me. It was an arrangement that allowed me to continue working and still have enough time for my unexpectedly expanded family.
Fortunately, it was beneficial for Sunny as well. With her grandparents, Carol and P.J. Fields, now in their eighties, she’d taken over management of Vista View, the family’s organic farm. The funds the farm generated were enough to supplement the director’s salary she shared with me, especially since she lived rent- and mortgage-free in the family home.
Although the director’s salary isn’t that much, I thought. It was fortunate that my husband had a successful career as a choreographer and teacher. And that he’d inherited our historic 1920s farmhouse, so we were also mortgage-free. It was the only way I’d been able to afford halving my salary.
“I agree with you about changing the decorations this year, though,” I said. “The vintage ornaments are beautiful, but it seems more appropriate to showcase our patrons’ talents during the town’s new festival.”
“Building community spirit. Wasn’t that the whole point of Winterfest to begin with?” Sunny stepped back, her gaze fixed on the decorated tree. “Even if some people seem to have forgotten that part.”
“You mean the festival chair?” I shook my head. “I don’t know what the mayor was thinking, placing Wendy Blackstone in that position. He had to know what a pain she can be, if only from her antics when she’s addressed the town council.”
“Well, Marty hasn’t really been a resident of Taylorsford that long, even if he has lived in the area for years.” Sunny dusted glitter from her hands. “And you know how it goes. Wendy was probably the only person who volunteered. It’s a pretty big job, setting up a town festival. Most people wouldn’t want to take that on.”
I was sure Sunny was right. Before going to grad school, she’d served as mayor of Taylorsford for a few years. She knew all about the difficulty of getting people to step into volunteer positions.
Sunny flicked Nicky’s mouse king ornament with her finger, making the wooden spool-and-pipe-cleaner figure bounce like it was dancing. “Speaking of The Nutcracker, I picked up tickets for opening night yesterday.”
“Will Fred be back in town by then? Or is it just you and your grandparents?”
Sunny glanced over at me. “We’re all going, although it will only be Fred and I on opening night. The grands are going closing night. They said they wanted Fred and me to have our own date night, and they wanted one for themselves as well. The grands adore Fred, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “They’ve been dropping little hints about a holiday engagement for months.”
I offered her a sympathetic smile. Sunny, who’d been dating private investigator Fred Nash for several years, still insisted that she had no plans to get married. I believed her, but it seemed her grandparents, once flower children living a vagabond life, had turned more traditional in their old age.
“I keep telling them they’re devolving into fuddy-duddies, but I know they just want me to be happy. Which, as I also inform them regularly, I am.” Sunny tossed her silky hair behind her shoulders. Although she was now forty-two and a few laugh lines fanned out from the corners of her lovely eyes, most people assumed she was still in her thirties. Especially since time hadn’t changed her slender figure.
Unlike me. Of course, for me, it’s time and twins, I thought, ruefully tugging down the hem of my emerald-green tunic top. Several inches shorter than Sunny, I’d always been curvaceous, which made it difficult to find clothes that didn’t make me look heavier than I actually was. Not that I hadn’t put on a few extra pounds since my pregnancy with the twins. It was a situation that no amount of walking or other exercise seemed to rectify. But I wasn’t too concerned. I was healthy, and my husband still thought I was beautiful. Which was all that mattered. At forty-one, I’d decided I was old enough to ignore other people’s opinions.
“Well, that’s done. And just in time, I guess.” Sunny picked up the box that had held the handmade ornaments. “Thanks for coming in this afternoon to help.”
“No problem. Richard and the kids are at a rehearsal this afternoon, and Aunt Lydia’s at the garden club’s booth at the festival, so it worked out. Besides, I didn’t want you doing everything by yourself. You already worked after closing yesterday to put up the other decorations.”
Sunny lifted her down-filled winter coat off the back of one of the reading room chairs. “Seemed like a good time to do it. Fred was out of town, and the grands were planning to get takeout, so I wasn’t needed to help prep dinner.”
“According to Wendy Blackstone, we’re already a day late.” I shrugged as Sunny turned to me, her golden eyebrows arching. “She sent me a text this morning reminding me that the festival actually started yesterday.”
“That woman.” Sunny yanked her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “We had to wait until today, because the library is only closed on Sundays. Surely she understands that.”
“Which is why I didn’t bother to respond,” I said as I slipped on my own, more-tailored, cinnamon-colored woolen coat. Sunny looked adorable in her puffy turquoise jacket, but I knew that wasn’t a style I could pull off. “The last time I checked my phone, it was already below freezing, so we’d better bundle up if we’re going to walk up to the town square,” I added, pulling an ivory knit cap over my dark-brown hair. “Now I wish I’d driven today. I thought the exercise would be worth the extra walk, but I didn’t figure on the temperature dropping so rapidly.”
“Why are you headed that way? It’s the opposite direction from your house.” Sunny adjusted her fuzzy blue earmuffs. “I have to meet some friends at the festival to help hand out flyers, but I didn’t think you were volunteering for anything.”
“I’m supposed to take Aunt Lydia and Zelda some soup and coffee before I walk home. I left my canvas tote with the thermoses in the workroom.” I tugged on my chocolate-brown, plush-lined leather gloves. “You have gloves, I hope?”
“Absolutely. Brought my arctic mitts.” Sunny held up her hands, displaying a pair of chunky mittens knitted in a Nordic pattern.
“All right, well, since we didn’t unlock any of the public doors, we can just switch off the lights and go,” I said, leading the way through the stacks.
When we reached the library’s main entrance area, we walked behind the circulation desk, where we switched off all the lights except for those in the staff workroom, located just off the desk. Crossing the workroom, I grabbed a large canvas tote from the floor and allowed Sunny to push through the staff exit ahead of me before I turned off the workroom lights and made sure the door locked behind us.
A brisk wind brought tears to my eyes as soon as Sunny and I walked around the side of the library. “It’s freezing out here,” I said, wiping the moisture from my face with one gloved finger.
Sunny’s breath coiled up like smoke. “It’s supposed to be colder than usual all week,” she said, increasing her stride when we reached the sidewalk that ran parallel to Taylorsford’s main street. “Good for some of the festival activities, like the ice-skating, I guess, but I feel bad for the people manning the booths on the square.”
“That’s why I’m toting this bag. Aunt Lydia and Zelda are in charge of the garden club’s booth this afternoon, which they agreed to before seeing any weather predictions.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate some warm liquids.” Sunny glanced over at me, her ivory skin now tinged rose pink by the cold. “But you’re going to have a longer walk home. Better grab a cup of coffee for yourself before you head off.”
“I might do that.” I switched the straps of the canvas bag from one shoulder to the other. “This feels a lot heavier than when I carried it to the library earlier.”
“It’s the wind. It picked up while we were inside, and now we’re walking right into it.” Sunny gripped her arms against her chest. “It’s probably a good thing that the festival shuts down earlier today. Eight o’clock will be late enough in this weather.”
“Did you leave your car at the town hall lot?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the wind.
“Yeah. I wanted to park there before everything got started today. Figured I might not find a spot otherwise.” Sunny shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’d offer you a ride home, but I promised to stay until things close down.”
“It’s fine.” I yanked my hat down, unrolling the cuff so it covered more of my ears. “At least I won’t be walking into the wind.”
As we approached the large lawn that stretched out in front of the Taylorsford town hall, I stopped for a moment to appreciate its transformation. A series of wooden facades had been set up to form an alley that replicated a vintage village street. Colored lights, strung overhead, glowed against the twilight sky. Behind the festively decorated openings cut into the facades, local businesses and organizations had set up tables to display information or sell food and crafts. The aroma of hot chocolate mingled with the scents of fried dough and grilled meats filled the air.
Sunny said good-bye before jogging off to join a group of people clustered around a lamppost at the edge of the town hall property. Instead of manning a booth, they were standing in the open air, handing out flyers as visitors walked in from the parking lot. A few held up placards that read Stop Blackstone Development, No Clear-Cutting, and Protect Our Forests.
It was an eclectic assortment of people—moms in puffy down jackets pushing strollers filled with blanket-wrapped toddlers, teens braving the cold in ripped jeans and hooded sweatshirts, twenty- and thirty-somethings in heavy jackets and boots, and even a few older folks bundled up in layers of knit and wool. In the center of the group, a young man with silky, shoulder-length dark hair and a close-trimmed beard and mustache lifted one quilted flannel-clad arm and held his black-gloved hand, palm out, to silence the chatter of the crowd. A young woman stood beside him. A mass of rose-gold curls framed her round face, mirroring the circular frames of her royal-blue glasses.
Sunny was welcomed with smiles and claps on her back and shoulders. I didn’t recognize many of the other participants, although I did spy local poet Emily Moore and noticed Candy Jensen, a young designer who was creating the costumes for Richard and Karla’s new Nutcracker, standing off to one side.
“Ah, I see the opposition’s troops are out in force,” said a familiar voice behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I had to tilt my head to look up into the rugged face of the speaker, and not only because I was rather short. Unlike many men of his age, seventy-nine-year-old Kurt Kendrick hadn’t lost any of his impressive height over the years. Nor had time taken his hair—it was as thick and as snowy white as when we’d first met several years before.
“Opposition to what?” I asked, looking away from his commanding blue-eyed gaze.
“The new development on the mountain,” Kurt said, moving to stand beside me. “You must’ve heard something about that, since the planned subdivision butts up against Ethan Payne’s property.”
“Oh, is that what this is all about?” I frowned. Ethan owned a house and a few acres of land just outside of town, farther up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was the home my brother, Scott Webber, shared with him when Scott wasn’t off on some clandestine mission for the secretive government agency he worked for. “I guess it makes sense that Emily, like Sunny, would support efforts to block the project.”
“As former and current hippie flower children, you mean?” Kurt laid a hand on my shoulder. “I suppose that does come into it. Although I think Emily, like many others, is simply distrustful of Wendy Blackstone’s promises. As am I.”
“How ironic,” said a clipped female voice behind us. “As if anyone would ever trust you, Kurt Kendrick, any farther than they could throw you. Which, as we all know, is no distance at all.”