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STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR, LLC
KATE MCKENZIE, CEO (Chief Executive Organizer)
MEG BERMAN, VIP (Very Indispensable Partner)
BUSINESS PLANNER FOR MAJOR JOB # 3
DATE Monday, July 15th
9:00 A.M. TO 2:00 P.m. – Meet with Liz Tillman, business calendar author, on her Vermont animal rescue farm located near the New Hampshire border. Hired by her publisher to facilitate photoshoot for upcoming calendar release. From what publisher’s assistant said, author may not be as organized as her calendars imply. Will reserve judgment until more info is known. Besides calendar, Tillman runs a full-time rescue and is married with children, so need to show small business & family organization too. At present, no more specifics known.
* * *
KATE MCKENZIE PULLED her blue van onto the rutted driveway and the view changed from rural country road to picturesque farm with white railed fences and a weathered red and gray barn. A quintet of horses, each a different shade of brown, grazed quietly in the pasture that ran along the left side, the majestic animals taking turns raising their heads to watch the van pick its way among the dips and ruts in the graveled road. As they neared the white frame house snugged under a couple of hundred-year-old oaks, a long-eared red hound and a chocolate Labrador retriever loped into sight. They neared the turnaround in front of the broad single-story house and each dog let out several deep woofs to announce the van’s arrival.
“Isn’t this a pretty setting?” Kate asked her friend and co-worker, Meg Berman.
“Almost worth the long drive out here,” Meg replied. “We’re nearly in New Hampshire.”
Kate owned Stacked in Your Favor, an organization business she’d started in their Hazelton, Vermont hometown. Meg, her next door neighbor, had become her go-to person to help with any extra work. When Kate was hired to organize the home office of recent New York Times bestselling calendar author, Liz Tillman, to ready everything for a photo shoot, Meg jumped at the chance to ride along. So, Kate knew her line about the drive was not really a complaint.
“Besides, someone needs to watch your back,” her neighbor added. “And keep you out of trouble.”
There it was. An unspoken reference to the partners-in-crime nickname her family and Meg’s had recently given to the women. It was all teasing, she knew, but Stacked in Your Favor was barely a name on letterhead before people were more often talking about the murder investigations the two had become involved in than about the new business.
“Getting everything done for the photo shoot will keep us too busy to stumble onto anything else,” Kate replied.
Tillman’s publisher set everything up, though the women’s schedules had been difficult to bring together. This was the first date everyone could successfully meet at the author’s place, a fifty-acre farm north and east of Kate’s Hazelton, Vermont home. The photo shoot was only a week away and the organizer was feeling the pressure.
“Do we need to worry about the dogs?” Kate asked. Her family had only recently acquired a pet, a large loveable cat who was rather lazy most of the time. While she was getting used to the lively pair of dogs at Meg’s house, Kate wasn’t particularly adept yet at knowing which canine breeds were more aggressive than others.
Meg shook her head and her red curls danced. “Nah, the hound doesn’t look threatening, and Labs are mostly known for their ability to lick a person to death.”
“I’ll trust you on this,” Kate turned off the engine and pushed her sunglasses up to hold her blonde bob away from her face.
The women climbed from the van and the dogs took turns sniffing their shoes and pant legs. At the same time, a tall woman rounded the back corner of the squat farmhouse and strode toward them, her short dark hair half-hidden by a hat. As she walked she finished rolling one denim sleeve to her right elbow, then brushed both hands on the sides of her jeans. “Hi, I’m Liz. I hope you’re Kate and Meg.”
Kate stepped forward and extended a hand, “I’m Kate. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
Liz took a second to look at her right palm. “They’re mostly clean. Sorry. I’m babying a sick colt in the barn. The place is filled with straw and dust.”
“If you need to go back—”
“No, all done for now.” Liz shook Kate’s hand, then Meg’s. She directed them toward the back door. “Hope you don’t mind the back entrance. I have coffee inside, tea, water. My middle son made cookies last night, too.” She smiled and led the way. “He’s quite the baker. Here, this way. We’ll go through the mudroom.”
The sun hit them full on when they turned to the back of the house, and lovely dark pink roses climbed the wall beside a dark green Dutch door. Before Liz opened the door, she stopped with her hand on the knob, holding it rather than turning. “Guess I’d better start apologizing now. My house is a ‘lived in’ home. I have three boys and a husband, a lot of rescue animals, and I’m not the type to get up each morning and think ‘what can I clean first?’ I don’t know what my publisher told you, but I’m not a little-Susie-homemaker type.”
“Your publisher just told us we needed to get your office set up so it would photograph well for your next calendar. That they want to put a shot on next year’s cover and spaced throughout the pages,” Kate explained. She smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re not here to judge you. Only to help.”
“I hope part of that help includes actually finding me an office. Due to the needs of running this animal refuge, I kind of work all over the place,” Liz said, waving everyone inside. A gray tabby took that as an invitation as well, and streaked in ahead of the women, disappearing down the hallway like a flash of fur.
“That’s Chester,” Liz said. “He’s headed for one of my sons’ rooms, probably to grab a snack. Every time I need dishes I tell my boys to go clean their rooms. Only the two youngest still live at home, but you would not believe the food bills.”
A long bench faced them as they entered, hooks above holding all kinds of ropes, tools and gadgets apparently used around the place. Strewn beneath were several sizes of athletic shoes, boots, hats, and...a bowling pin. Liz grabbed the pin. “My youngest is the worst packrat in our family, but he gets it naturally. You don’t want to go into my middle son’s room. Trust me.”
Glancing through to the living room, Kate saw an overstuffed reading chair and couch upholstered in coordinating blue patterns. The coffee table supported a month’s worth of books and animal magazines, and the pictures on the walls were a mix of framed family and animal photos. On the front window ledge, an orange cat and a black kitten slept in the sun.
They followed into a bright farmhouse kitchen, lots of white, big sinks, long counter tops. A bill paying workstation was set up under one cabinet and a large planner on the wall offered a half-dozen different colors. Kate realized Liz used individual colors for family members, exactly like she did for her husband, Keith and twin eight-year-old daughters, Samantha and Suzanne.
“Your boys are green, blue and purple,” Kate remarked. “I can tell by the activities.”
Liz nodded. “Correct. I’m red, my husband is black, and our animal intern is brown. Not that she keeps to the schedule though. Having the colors saves space and time since I don’t have to add the names each time.”
“What do your guys think about the photo shoot?” Kate asked.
“That they needed to get out of Dodge.” Liz laughed. “No, actually this week and the next were already planned as a group wilderness adventure trip for my husband and two youngest sons. They set out this morning at dawn to meet up with the rest of the mini-survivalists. My oldest son is away at college in Massachusetts, so he lives an hour or so away. That’s why purple isn’t as prevalent on the calendar as the other colors.”
“Kate has bins for her family to use in their colors, too,” Meg said. “The practice has helped me get my boys to put their stuff away, as long as I gather everything up from all the rooms and put it into the right bins first.”
“I’m not a natural organizer.” Liz waved her hand around a kitchen that was clean and a little cluttered. “My personal design style is ‘comfortable.’ But I keep so many balls in the air at one time I absolutely have to keep my schedule on-track.”
“And that led you to create your bestselling calendars?” Kate asked.
The author walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled open the door, removing a lidded box marked EXPENSES and the current year. Liz set the box on the counter top and slid back the lid. “Money is the reason for my calendars. The farm here had been surviving on small grants and donations. Well, more like struggling and barely surviving. I designed my calendar to handle the scheduling for an active family, a small family business, and reminders to make sure a woman cares for her own self-interests. Hoped it would make a little money to add to reserves. Needless to say, I was surprised by the outcome.”
The outcome, Kate knew from her research was bestseller status for the author and a growing sales base of loyal fans. However, the better outcome, the one she was sure the author was more proud of, was enough money after the first two calendars to allow Liz to create a foundation to help other rescue groups with small emergency grants to tide them over when needed.
“I like what you just said about a woman taking care of her own self-interests,” Meg said, smiling as she leaned against the beige Formica counter and crossed her arms. “We all get so wrapped up in our to-do lists, we tend to give everyone extra credit over ourselves.”
A half-grin crept onto Liz’s face, and Kate realized her client wasn’t yet a total convert herself. Always a work in progress. She knew the feeling. There was always something else that needed to be done before she could take a break.
Liz didn’t respond to what Meg said, but changed the subject, saying, “Coffee is probably burnt by now.” She opened a stainless steel refrigerator door practically covered in a white board and notes held by magnetic clips. “But I have fairly fresh lemonade and iced tea. Oh, and bottled water. The lemonade would go good with the cookies I mentioned a minute ago.”
“Anything is fine with me,” Kate said.
“I’ll take lemonade.” Meg turned to the cabinet near the sink. “Are the glasses up here?”
“Yes, right,” Liz said, withdrawing the lemonade pitcher and a plate of cookies, while Meg pulled down three tumblers. Kate passed around napkins from a holder made from three black-painted horseshoes welded together.
A moment later, cookies were the only things on anyone’s mind.
“Oh, I haven’t had ranger cookies in years,” Meg said. “I’d forgotten how much I loved good ones.”
Liz nodded. “You’re right there. A good ranger cookie is a real treat, but a meh one isn’t even worth looking cross-ways at.”
“This is definitely a good one.” Kate brushed crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “I think I have a new favorite cookie. Does your son take orders?”
“Maybe he’ll make us a couple of big batches of dough that we can keep in our freezer,” Meg suggested. She turned to Liz, “My partner here has converted me to the practice of freezing cookie dough in the freezer, making small balls and freezing them on a cookie flat. Then I can just pull out what I want to bake each time without doing a full batch.”
“Don’t the dough balls stick together?” Liz asked.
“That’s why they’re frozen on a flat sheet first,” Kate explained. “Place the individual balls onto an aluminum or plastic cookie sheet or platter, cover them well with several layers of plastic, then let them freeze. Once the balls are frozen, you can dump everything into freezer bags and they won’t all stick together into one big cookie lump.”
“Good to know,” Liz said.
“Best of all, it keeps people like me from having huge batches of cookies sitting around to tempt my willpower.” Meg grabbed another cookie and gave it the evil eye. “Since I have absolutely no willpower when it comes to cookies.”
In the next second the sudden roar of speed coming from the front driveway, followed with a squeal of brakes and a loud skid of displaced gravel, sent them hurrying to the front window. Both dogs barked in a steady loud bass, and the cats fled to hiding places under the couch. Before Kate could ask what was happening, Liz raced out the backdoor and could be seen through the windows circling the house.
“Come on,” Meg said.
Kate nodded and followed as her neighbor traced the author’s path. When they reached the front of the house, it looked like Liz was trying to calm a shorter, red-faced brunette woman. Dust was still settling in the driveway after the wild way the beat up pickup had stormed into the yard.
Liz tried unsuccessfully to shush the dogs, then said to the woman, “Bren, please, st—”
“Don’t think you can get away with this,” Bren said, using her left index finger to poke Liz’s sternum bone. “Your publisher may have a few things to say when I call and tell what they don’t already know.”
Kate and Meg looked at each other and nodded. As they walked closer, Meg used her pinkie fingers to create a high-pitched whistle that she usually used to break up a fight between her boys. It worked with crazily over-charged women too. It even made the dogs stop their howling. Bren halted her rant in mid-poke, and Kate walked over and pulled Liz away so she could stand between them.
“Huh, didn’t know you had your own army now to protect you, but I should have guessed,” Bren said and crossed her arms.
“We’re not—” Kate began.
“Don’t bother trying to explain,” Liz put a hand on her shoulder. “Bren has her own idea of reality, and nothing you can say will change it.”
Bren shoved Kate aside to get back into Liz’s personal space. “How dare you act so high and mighty!”
“That’s enough.” Meg stepped forward and got between Bren and the other two women. “I don’t know what your beef is, lady, but you don’t go around shoving people and poking them. That’s called assault. And unless Liz asks you to stay, you’d better head out immediately, or I’m calling the cops.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” Meg pulled her phone from her back jeans pocket. “Liz, it’s up to you. Does she stay or does she go?”
“I don’t tolerate bullies of any kind,” Liz said to Bren. She pointed toward the road. “Go.”
Bren hustled closer again. “I’m not—”
“Calling 9-1-1,” Meg said, raising the phone to dial. Bren tried to slap it from her hand, but Meg held on tighter, and said, “Lovely, now you’re three-for-three for assault. And this last one came even after you’d been warned.”
“I didn’t assault you.”
“Try convincing the judge of that. Maybe I need to start taking video, too.”
Bren let out a guttural noise. “Forget it...just... I’m leaving! Satisfied?” She moved around Meg, keeping a wide space between them, and climbed back into the beat-up, faded red and putty-colored pickup she’d arrived in. The truck tires spewed gravel as the truck bed fishtailed wildly enough it almost clipped one section of the white board fence. The Lab kept watch on the truck, to make sure it didn’t return, but the dog didn’t follow.
Liz apologized. “I’ve tried to reason with her, but she just shows up and screams like a harpy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Is she dangerous?” Kate asked, watching as the truck finally straightened up and shot down the driveway.
“Bren is—” Liz started, then shook her head and said, “Bren thinks she should be getting half of what I make on the calendars, and she simply can’t understand she’s not entitled to it.”
“Why would she think otherwise?” Meg asked, reaching down to scratch the ears on the now quiet hound. Kate smiled, thinking the animal and her neighbor had almost the same hair color.
Liz sighed and picked up a fist-sized red rubber ball, tossing it toward the side of the house for the Lab to chase. Then she rubbed the back of her neck and said, “She used to work here at the rescue. Well, she was here. Her idea of work followed a routine of doing what she wanted. But Bren loved the animals and they loved her, so we kept her on. Mostly, she stood around with a cat in her hand, or rubbing one of the dog’s heads, or patting one of the horses, and while she did all that she watched me work. She saw me update all the schedules and juggle all the bills and cut coupons and write grants. She told me several times I needed to turn the marketing over to her. How marketing was her strength. I asked her, ‘What do you mean marketing?’ And she always laughed and called me shortsighted. One day, she remarked I should try to sell a calendar that helps people who do all the things I do. I told her it would never sell because no one is crazy enough to do all the things I do.”
“When did you decide to write the calendar anyway?” Meg asked.
The author looked at her watch and said, “Can we walk while we talk? I have someone coming by with a family of goats to leave with me, and I need to double check the pen I’m putting them into. Make a final lookover to be sure they won’t get out.”
“Sure, we’ll follow and help if we can,” Kate said, but inside she worried that Liz was putting off her explanation. Her contract in no way promoted the woman’s calendar business, however, if there was some ethical problem she might need to distance herself from the connection.
But she needn’t have worried, as they walked toward the barn on the west side of the house, Liz continued talking, “I didn’t actually decide to do a calendar. At least, I didn’t pursue the publication on my own. I was Skyping one day with an author who volunteers to write grants for organizations helping in animal issues, and she’d been given my name. Since she’s halfway across the country, we did a virtual meeting with our computers. One of the local high school boys had to get me all set up, but it was one of the best things that ever happened to our animal refuge.”
“Computers truly have changed the way we communicate,” Meg said.
Liz stopped the processional when they came to a weathered, wooden gate with crossed ties. She unhooked a wire used to keep the latch closed. With a hand signal she told the dogs to stay back and invited Kate and Meg to come through. “The dogs are better out of our way. They don’t bother anything inside, but they tend to bump into things.”
Kate watched the Lab’s tail wagging rate go from ecstatic to something around exuberant, and finally flagging sadly as the gate’s latch snapped shut.
“As you can see,” Liz said, holding up the wire she fed through a couple of holes in the latch to keep it closed. “We operate using every shoestring method available. Being able to talk long distance for free—and show the author some of my receipts and the reports I try to keep up with each month—made a big difference.”
“The grant writer must have seen your personal planner, too. Right?” Kate said, picking her way into the lot. She had become used to the one-eyed scruffy rescue cat her family adopted, but she felt her anxiety increasing as she noticed more animals. She put her hands behind her back and snapped the green rubber band on her left wrist, telling herself to focus on the client. “Um, how many animals are in there?” She pointed at the barn.
Liz waved a hand. “Just a couple inside that we’re nursing at the moment. Don’t worry. All the big animals are in the pasture. We’ve been lucky about finding forever homes and fosters lately for most of the smaller animals, so we’re not running near capacity. A couple of weeks ago we were up another six cats and eight puppies. Hoping to get something set up for the incoming goats, too, but we’ll keep them as long as needed.”
Kate picked her way through the lot, while the other two women walked unperturbed toward the narrow walking-door set into the side of the barn. A second later, they were all inside, and Liz led the way down a dark hall to corrals, introducing them to the different animals as they went along. Beyond the young buckskin colored horse recuperating in one stall, a small black and white calf laid on straw in the next one. A pen held a sleeping pig that had been rescued after being kept in the basement of a house in town its entire life. The animal needed a program of vitamins and medication before it could go into an outside pen. Across the hallway and down from the pig was a family of dogs that had been starved almost to death and were still weak. Liz quickly checked that each animal was comfortable and had fresh water. The dogs roused a little, then settled back down to nap some more. Kate felt her heart squeeze.
At the end of the hallway and near the front of the barn, Liz pushed open a small door and light spilled in from several windows. “This is a tack room I’ve kind of sublet as one of my offices,” she said, waving a hand to encompass bits, bridles, and lead ropes hanging on wall hooks. A couple of saddles sat in one corner and first aid supplies were neatly placed on shelves running along one wall. The shelves also held an assortment of brushes, towels, blankets, and soaps. Another corner held a half-dozen empty plastic buckets stacked inside each other, with a remaining white bucket turned upside down and placed near a drop-down table at the single window. “I like having the natural light.”
“Quite a few emergency items there.” Kate pointed to the first aid supplies.
“Too many of our animals come in already in a hurt or fragile state,” Liz said. “We have to be prepared to take care of them from day one. A local vet comes out to help us when we need and only charges for items at cost, but for the things we can handle ourselves it’s best we keep ready access to necessities.”
She turned and pointed to the overturned bucket. “That’s my desk chair about forty percent of the time. I bring the laptop when I’m tending sick ones, and I can get a lot of work done since this spot is near enough to the house to catch the wi-fi signal. I do have a phone out here, so that can be a distraction, but I can get a lot done just the same.”
A windup alarm clock sat on the window sill, its scratched black paint showing age and the longtime use of the item. Kate nodded toward it. “I haven’t seen a clock like that in years.”
“That’s because we don’t get rid of anything until it can’t be fixed anymore.” Liz walked over and lifted the clock, placing it face down in one hand so she could turn the key in the back. “I try to keep it wound every day, but it’s really here to keep me on schedule when I’m giving out medicine. You wouldn’t believe the racket this thing can make. Perfect for when I’m deep into a computer file and lose track of time.”
“You could use an alarm app on your laptop,” Meg suggested.
“But I’m used to Tin Lizzy here,” Liz said, pulling out the pin before returning the clock to the sill. She gave the bell a pat. “I’m as much a creature of habit as my animals are. That’s one of the reasons I balked at first when the grant writer suggested I do some kind of publishable scheduling calendar.”
“So, it was the grant writer’s suggestion instead of Bren’s?” Kate asked. She walked over to the stack of buckets and pulled out two, then separated them and placed one near the other, so she and Meg had places to sit. She pulled a notepad from her pocket.
Liz moved toward the door. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Should have found some chairs, I—”
Kate and Meg spoke at the same time.
“This is fine.”
“Buckets are okay.”
“Sit, sit.” Kate pointed with the pad. “This will give us a base to work from. We don’t need more yet.”
As everyone sat down, Liz continued, “Well, thank goodness the grant writer saw my living room instead of this room, or she would have likely thought we were worse off than we are.” She laughed. “I did the Skyping in there so I not only had wireless, but also easy access to the receipts and schedule archives I keep in the kitchen. I knew I’d need to check back on paperwork when she asked her questions for the grant information.”
“But Bren decided it was all due to her mentioning it,” Meg crossed her arms. “People can be amazingly clueless.”
“To be fair, Bren Mitchell has had a pretty difficult life. But she’s also, unfortunately, always expecting people to disappoint her. And I suppose she thinks I did as well. But me doing the first project was really due to the grant writer, who’d met my publisher months before at a conference for nonfiction authors. That grant writer was like a miracle worker for our rescue. She not only wrote an award-winning grant, but followed up on the calendar side and did all the prep work to get the project considered by the publisher, and she helped me get started planning my time to meet publishing schedules and complete the first calendar once my proposal was accepted. Her thinking was we could always try for more grants, but if I could use my own experiences to not only generate a yearly project that brought a spotlight on all rescue groups, but also offered ideas and small business insights to anyone needing something for their own careers and families, I could have a steady revenue stream to help free me from constantly looking for new money. Long way to say all of that, I know, but she was exactly right.”
Liz’s expression lightened as she continued, “We’re not millionaires or anything, and we still operate as frugally as we can, but we’re not just scraping by anymore. And we’re able to help other rescues who contact us for emergency funds with the ‘Shot in the Arm’ foundation grant program we’ve managed to set up.”
“You’re totally self-sufficient now?” Kate asked.
“Hardly,” Liz laughed. “But we’re getting there. We have some dedicated funders who’ve been instrumental in keeping us going all these years, and they continue sending yearly donations. And for big problems, I can still go to them with my hand out. But we try to stay away from pursing grants that other rescues need for their funding.”
Kate looked around the Spartan room and the aged board walls. “I got the impression from your publisher they wanted you to look like the public’s idea of a bestselling author, but given what you’ve just said, an idea like that may not be the best thing for you and your rescue.”
“Yeah, my editor has been trying to modify opinions circulating around the publishing house office, trying to help get my point across,” Liz said, frowning. “But the marketing people have really been pushing.”
“I’ll bet we can find some kind of happy medium,” Meg suggested. She stood and walked over to touch the wood on the door’s wall. “If we whitewashed the walls, it would give the space a fresh look but keep the frugal rescue idea. Maybe add some twig arrangements to bring the outside in.”
“Grapevines grow out back—”
“Perfect!” Meg interrupted, her face glowing. “I have a rustic grapevine wreath my mother made that we can hang on this wall. Then when the photographer comes we’ll make sure there are shots by your natural grapevines to tie everything together.”
“As long as we don’t go too elaborate,” Liz said, chewing her lip. “I don’t want folks to get the wrong idea.”
Kate shook her head. “No worries. We know exactly what we’re dealing with now, which means we can look into all kinds of recycled office and organization hacks. It will show frugality and de-cluttered simplicity at the same time. Your publisher may still want something flashy for some of the pictures, but this will help offset it all nicely. Have faith in us.”
When Liz smiled, Kate knew it would all work out.
The dogs started barking again and a truck horn sounded.
“Appears my new boarders have arrived,” Liz said. “Come along if you’d like to meet the goats.”
A green camper truck was backed up to the pen, and a lanky guy in jeans and a white t-shirt stood at the gate, working the wire on the latch. He looked up as they drew near and Kate pegged him at about thirty, noticing at the same time the warped brim of the cap that nearly covered his dark hair. She knew he probably kept the cap shoved into a back pocket when he wasn’t wearing it.
“Liz, you want them in the side pen?” he asked, giving them all a friendly grin. The Lab came over and tugged on one jeans leg. “Now, stop that. I can’t play with you today,” he told the dog, then scruffed the Lab’s ears with both hands.
“Yeah, Josh, they’re going in the open pen. I added chicken wire around the bottom yesterday for a little extra insurance.” She nodded toward Kate and Meg. “Ladies, this is Josh Barton, one of my best foster recruiters. And, Josh, this is Kate and Meg. They’re here to help me look professional for my publisher’s photographer.”
“What do you mean? You’re always professional.” he said, pulling the handle on the camper’s back door. “As a rescuer, you’re—”
“No, Josh, I mean on the writing side. I need to look more like an author for my publisher.”
“Oh, I get it. Wrong profession.” He motioned her closer. “We’ll take turns here at the door if you don’t mind.”
She hurried over to stand beside him. “Are we carrying them in? Or do we need to lead the goats?”
“They’re midgets, so carrying is easy.”
“Can we do anything?” Kate asked. A chorus of bleats erupted from the camper.
Liz nodded. “If you’ll both stand near the gate. That way as we bring them in, you can open the gate for us then close it quickly. Keep them in and the dogs out, and help us head them off if they make a run for it.”
As the camper door opened, the two animal rescuers quickly blocked the space. A second later they each turned with their arms filled with two little goats about the size of a lap dog. The animals were all similarly marked, with fur shaded from white to gray and with brown and black spots. Josh bumped the door shut again, and the rescuers carried the small family into the penned area. Meg quickly closed and latched the gate behind them, then she and Kate followed as the four goats were set down to get acquainted with their new temporary home.
“They are so cute,” Meg cooed. “I wonder what the animal restrictions are for goats in our cul-de-sac.”
Kate laughed. “Oh, gosh, I can hear Valerie James complaining already.”
“That alone makes the idea worth pursuing,” Meg said. She bent down and rubbed a finger along the closest goat’s nose. “Do they get bigger than this?”
“No, these four are probably full grown,” Josh replied. “But I don’t know about city living. They were rescued from a farm when their owner passed away and no one could take them. Not really acclimated for town.”
“She was only kidding about adopting one.” Kate waved a hand. “Right, Meg?”
“Maybe...”
Kate put her hands on her hips. “Trust me, she was only kidding. There’s no maybe about it.”
“Yeah, okay.” Meg rubbed a finger along the bridge of the goat’s nose. “Katie, you have to feel this fur.”
“No, I don’t think I do.” Kate snapped the rubber band around her left wrist, and Meg gave her a sheepish look. They’d talked about this on the way over, about Kate’s worries her slight OCD tendencies would be noticed if she had to be around a lot of animals. This conversation was not going the way she wanted, and she could tell from Liz’s quizzical expression that their client was trying to understand the unsaid message. She gave up and started to explain, but Meg jumped in quicker.
“Sorry, Katie, you’re right. Gil would kill me if I brought something else home.” Meg turned to Liz. “I’ve already let my boys have a couple of dogs and cats and a bearded dragon. When they try to add a snake or anything new to our menagerie my husband tries to put his foot down on any more animals. If I came in with a goat it’d likely be his limit.” She laughed and the others joined her, but Kate’s chuckles were more relief at her friend’s save than about the humor of the situation.
Josh headed back across the pen. “I have a bag of feed in the cab of the truck. I’ll put it in the barn for you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Liz said.
“Oh.” He stopped and turned. “Noticed Bren’s truck parked along the road a couple of miles from here, ahead of the turnoff to the main road. She’s not causing trouble again, is she?”
Liz sighed. “She tried a little while ago. I’d hoped she’d left for town. Was she in the truck?”
“No, it was parked half off the road.” Josh shook his head. “Wish she’d let everyone alone and quit causing problems. If she worked half as hard at her job as she does picking fights she’d be fine. Instead, Chet’s already talking about letting her go at the store.”
“She’ll probably blame me for that too,” Liz said.
“Can’t blame anyone but herself.” Josh scratched the back of his neck, then reached up to reset the cap, raising the brim slightly. “I’ll check out the truck when I drive back by. She may have broken down or needs gas. Thanks again, Liz, we really appreciate you taking the goats.”
“No trouble at all.”
He walked to his truck and pulled out a brand new sack of feed from the floorboard of the cab. “I’ll leave this inside the big door.”
“Terrific. Thanks, Josh.”
The area around the gate and up to the barn door was trampled down from footsteps, but the rest of the pen promised lots of foliage for the goats to eat. But when the animals bypassed the clover for the weeds, Kate asked why.
“That’s the nature of goats,” Liz said, grabbing a hose to fill a couple of plastic water containers with sides low enough for the tiny animals. “Everyone always think goats want grass, and they will eat grass, but these cute little varmints love chowing down on weeds.”
Josh walked back to join them. He scribbled a note on a pad, then ripped off the paper and handed it to Liz. “That’s the daughter of the man who owned the goats. She said if any questions come up to feel free to call her. She was by her dad’s enough that she knows what he fed them and a little about their individual personalities.”
“Thanks.” Liz slipped the note into a pocket. “You never know when something like this will come in handy.
“Well, nice meeting you, ladies,” Josh said to Kate and Meg, touching his cap brim in a kind of mini salute. He got back into his truck and pulled away. As the women waved, the dogs barked and chased the vehicle halfway down the drive.
Kate and Meg followed while Liz talked to them and the goats as the group moved through the pen. Then she turned off the faucet and waved everyone back into the barn, just as the alarm clock began clanging. “See, that’s why I love my un-techy alarm,” Liz said, raising her voice as they retraced their steps to the office/tack room.
The front door of the barn was visible as Liz moved in to turn off the alarm. Kate pointed to the bag of food at the outer door. “Do you want help moving the bag? It’s new bag and looks pretty heavy.”
“Fifty pounds is nothing when you run a rescue.” Liz grinned, waving out the office doorway toward the feed. “I’ll move it later. I already have a partial bag I can use in the feed room. I’ll work from that first.”
Kate followed the short narrow walkway to the office, Meg behind her, and the top half of the right wall open to the run of pens buffering the tack rooms on the other side. Unique configurations of boards divided the halls, the rooms, the corrals. Dark spaces running toward the doorway opened to light.
Inside the office designated space, the room had a homey feel. Well used and filled with eclectic detritus. Kate took in her second impressions of the space, looking deeper for the job ahead while mentally cataloging: wooden boxes, a rustic table, faded cotton curtains on the windows, sunny streaks lightening the weathered floorboards. Dust motes rode the air currents, catching the sunlight momentarily to dance. Bridles and leads hanging from long used hooks lined up along wall studs. And on a shelf near the door, Mason jars filled with odd bits squatted along the surface, each housing different colored tags, separate metal collections, bundles of twine and nails and screws, all peppering the long length that ended at the corner. An antique ox harness hung on the far wall, high up and almost to the ceiling. On the floor stood an old flatiron. Kate bent down and caught the wooden handle.
“Now it’s a doorstop, right?” She hefted the heavy household implement that probably hadn’t been new since early in the previous century. “I cannot imagine how much work it took past generations to just keep a family looking clothed and tidy.” She returned the item to the floor. “Not to mention the muscles they needed. Those things are heavy.”
“Yes, I’m not about to iron with it,” Liz said. “Though my great-grandmother certainly did, and maybe even my grandmother.”
“Anything else in here that are family heirlooms?” Meg asked. “Those are the kinds of things we probably need to make sure get front and center attention.” Then the redhead laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m sounding more like an interior designer than the sidekick to an organizer.”
“Don’t apologize, Meg, you’re right,” Kate said, then turned toward Liz. “Connections of any kind, and especially historical ones, intrigue the public. But from a personal angle, I’m probably like most people out there in that I don’t have the luxury of a tremendous amount of family items left to me that I can still use today. Our mobile society reduces the ability for such luxuries. Your readers would like to know about anything well-loved and well-used, like the flatiron, as well as any other like-items you use regularly.”
“Plus, mixing in the family-handed-down things will match up with what we’ve been talking about for recycle/upcycle decorating and use,” Meg said. “Like that letter opener.” She pointed to a wickedly sharp silver deco-inspired opener on the table-cum-desk. The metal gleamed in the sunlight. “Things you likely use every day.”
Liz picked up the silver opener with her right hand and ran her left index finger along the edge running on the top of the blade. “This was my great-grandfather’s. He used it in a mercantile shop he ran in town. You’ll have your choice of old-but-still-in-use around here for sure.” She laughed and returned the letter knife to the desk. “This whole place is a mix of mostly old with some new. That same great-grandfather built this barn, and my great aunt lived on this land her whole life. Never married. When she died, she left the place to me, since my husband and I were newly married, and she wanted to help us get started. And because I’d spent so much time here helping her with animals as I grew up. Mom and Dad raised us in town, and when I was a teen I loved escaping to stay out here for days on end.”
“So, your house was her house too?” Kate asked.
“Just a small part of what the house is now. The original was tiny, and we’ve added on all the bedrooms and baths. The structure she lived in was just the square footage of our kitchen and family room, with a miniscule bathroom tacked onto the side. But her house had really good bones, so we kept the original walls and simply added family and personal space for more people.”
The calf bawled from the back of the barn.
“Yes, I’m coming,” Liz called out the door, before turning back to the women. “I need to start another round of care. A calf, dogs, a pig, and a colt. If you want to look around, feel free. I’ll be happy to answer any questions. It’s kind of hard while I’m with the animal, but I’ll just be a short while. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“I think we have plenty to do while you’re busy,” Kate said, pulling out a tape measure and notepad while she watched Meg take pictures with her phone. Taking a deep breath of the wood and earthy smell of the barn made Kate smile. “Smells so calm and relaxing. They need to bottle that scent.”
“Just be glad there’s no fresh manure smell nearby.” Liz grinned, and waved as she fast-walked out the door.
Along with the large window in the front wall, the room was a mix of weathered walls and age-darkened brown studs. The wooden floor creaked in several spots and had a few stains. Kate wondered about using a rug to hide the small handicaps. A cubby stood against the side wall, no door, and held items that included ice skates, snow shoes, and an axe with half of the red paint on the handle worn down.
“Any ideas about first steps?” Meg asked when they were alone in the office.
“I think we probably need to start today with measurements, then work up the survey of questions tonight. We’re starting to better understand the different purposes between Liz and her publisher, but we still need to look for wiggle room. I’m not sure we can make everyone completely happy, but getting some parameters to start will help us develop a game plan.”
“I like your idea about recycling containers for storage.”
“Yes, Liz seemed to like it as well. It will help keep a rustic simplicity I think we can sell to the publisher, too,” Kate said, pointing the end of the metal tape measure toward Meg. “Grab the end for a second, please, and we can get the larger room dimensions.”
There were pockets in the space that held great promise already. What appeared to be an empty feed bin could be cleaned out, shined up, and used for files during the photo sessions. Maybe even continue the job once the calendar shoot was completed. A little paint or stain on the board floors promised possibilities, and Kate remembered her mother-in-law, Jane, had a braided rug in the room Keith grew up in that would be interesting in the space.
“Earth to Katie.”
“Huh?”
Meg laughed. “I’ve been talking several minutes, and you didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I was thinking. Sorry.” Kate waved a hand at the bins. “I’m seeing storage over there, and maybe chalk paint on the wall to give a made-to-order note space. Then if we move her kitchen schedule over there.” She pointed to the far wall.
“Trying to get the bulk of her business in here, in a same-but-different format?”
“Exactly. I want to go on her ideas, so the photos are as truthful as possible. Just tweaked to a slightly improved location and prettied up for the camera.” Kate stopped to make several notes on her pad. “I think we need to construct a kind of survey to send to Liz.”
“Good idea. Our questions will help us better define what she already does and how we can plan to highlight it.”
“And if she’s anything like I am, having a set of questions will trigger her thinking of more info we haven’t even asked yet.” Kate finished writing down the last task and slipped the pad and pen into the pocket of her khakis.
Meg walked to the window wall and activated the drop-down table Liz used as a desk. “This is a really handy idea. I’m surprised my mother doesn’t use something like this for her potting shed. There’s more available space than the table Mom has wedged in there.”
“Doesn’t she usually have pots and things sitting out in preparation for something?”
“Yes.” Meg sighed. “She’d probably have it up all the time anyway, so it wouldn’t really make any difference.”
“Worth mentioning to her, though.”
Liz returned to the room carrying three water bottles. “Got these out of the barn fridge. Thought I’d offer another of the vast array of our rural refreshments.”
They laughed. Kate and Meg each grabbed a bottle.
“Are you finishing the doctoring? Or taking a short break?” Meg asked.
“All done for a few hours. Now the poor things rest with the medicine helping their pain.” Liz said. “Anything else I can help explain?”
“We were just talking about working up a survey,” Kate said, waving a hand between herself and Meg. “To let us clarify what we’re thinking, and maybe jog your mind toward things you need to let us know about. We have some ideas going already, and if you have some time to answer a few open-ended questions it could lead to new ways to make this all work out best for all parties.”
“Sounds good to me,” Liz said. “I always think better when I’m writing than when I’m trying to think and talk. Send me the survey when you’re finished, and I’ll get on it as soon as I can. I do some of my best work about four a.m. after I’ve tended to sick animals.”
Frantic honking and a shout from outside pulled their attention to the window. Josh was back, exiting from the driver’s side of his truck as he called out to them.
Liz raised the window pane. “What?”
“Horses are out! Fence broken,” Josh said. Then added the chilling word. “Sabotage.”