Chapter 53
Beatrice’s craft bazaar to fund the local food bank was in full swing. The ladies on the committee all behaved—much to Beatrice’s surprise. A steady stream of customers came into the church hall and paid their five dollars or left a bag of canned goods at the front desk. Either way, the food bank would profit. Each of the vendors paid fifty dollars to set up and was giving the food bank 40 percent of the profit.
She took a break after collecting at the front door for a couple of hours and walked down the neat aisles of card tables aligned side by side. There were Christmas quilts, wreaths, and candle holders. Glittering homemade ornaments hung from Elsie Mayhue’s tabletop tree. Crocheted ornaments were lined neatly on the table next to Elsie’s, and next to that was a table of homemade cards and carved frames.
Beatrice had a dulcimer player sit on the podium and play music; the sounds of the strings soothed the crowd—or so it seemed. The scent of bayberry filled the air as Beatrice walked past Becky Richmond’s homemade candles. Beatrice never cared for smelly things like potpourri and strongly scented candles, but she did like bayberry very much. It reminded her of Ed, who had loved bayberry soap. The thought of Ed spread warmth through her. She would always love and miss him. Always. But there was enough room in her old heart for Jon, who, by the way, could not stand bayberry. Such was life.
Jon was surrounded by a group of women who were gathered around Sally Krestly’s table, looking over her lace. She was an amazing talent.
Jon held up the lace to the light. “Extraordinary,” he said. “Look at this!”
“Gorgeous,” Beatrice said.
She moved along to Mariah Skylar’s table, full of herbal crafts, mostly from her own garden. Lavender soap. Rosemary wreaths. Rose bath salts. Lilac sachets in homemade muslin bags. Mint tea. Beatrice found it all very charming. It reminded her of home and her cousin, Rose, who was an herbalist.
“Just wonderful,” Beatrice exclaimed.
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Matthews,” Mariah said.
The Skylars were mountain folk. Beatrice had known the family for years. They were good, solid, and kept to themselves.
“Rose taught me a few things,” she said.
Beatrice warmed.
“Ms. Matthews, can I see you a moment?” A woman came up beside her and pulled her off to the side.
“I asked if we could have the first spot and was told we could,” she said.
“I’m sorry, whoever told you that was wrong. We can’t make promises like that. First come, first served. Or in this case first spots.”
The woman crossed her arms and glared at Beatrice.
“It looks like you’re doing a fine business though.” Beatrice pointed out her table, full of homemade jellies and jams in glistening glass jars, as the dulcimer played “Silent Night” in the background.
“Yes, but we could be doing better. Placement is everything,” she said.
“Who told you that? Product is everything. Besides, we’re all here for charity, right?”
The woman looked down. “You know,” she said, “I grew up hungry. And I wanted to help as best I can. It’s an awful way to live, not knowing where you’re going to get your next meal.”
Beatrice’s heart melted and she wrapped her arm around the young woman. “You’re doing just fine,” she said. “Now, you better get back to your table.”
The woman walked over, stood behind her table and started answering a question about her blackberry jam.
“We have both,” Beatrice overheard her say. “We have the kind with sugar and without.”
Jam without sugar? Who would want that? Beatrice mused as she moved along through the aisle and spotted the table of baked goods that her committee was manning. DeeAnn had really come through and they were selling a lot: brownies, chocolate chip cookies, gingerbread, pumpkin bread, and scones. Oh Lawd, the lemon poppy seed scones! Beatrice needed to scoop oneof those up now.
Jon was close on her heels. “Do you want a scone? I do.”
“Yes, indeed, I do,” she said.
Beatrice spotted Sheila and Vera the next aisle over, at the table where the handmade rag dolls were lined up. Vera was purchasing one. Oh, Lizzy was going to love that doll. Christmas with a child was the best kind of Christmas. Beatrice never really minded the holiday, but since Lizzy had come along, quite unexpectedly a few years back, her Christmases had been pure magic. Only four years ago, she had given up hope of having a grandchild. Then Vera went and got pregnant right as her marriage was breaking up. After a brief stint of living on her own, Vera had moved back in with Beatrice. And it was working out. Now that Vera and Eric were getting so close, Beatrice wondered if her daughter would be getting married again.
Sheila and Vera spotted Beatrice and sauntered up to her.
“Well, if it ain’t the scrapbooking queen looking like hell on a Saturday morning,” Beatrice said to Sheila. But the next thing Beatrice knew, Shelia fell into her embrace and wrapped her arms around her. “I love you, too, you old bat.”
Despite herself, Beatrice blinked back a tear. “Glad you two are home safe and sound.”
“We’re home, all right, but I’m not sure how safe we are,” Sheila said. “I swear I think creepy guy is here.”
“Who?” Beatrice asked.
Vera explained. “I think that bump on her head has scrambled her brains.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Beatrice said. “I noticed a strange man a few days ago when I was walking Lizzy home from school.”
“I’m sure it’s just someone here for the holidays,” Vera said. “Can’t people visit this town without arousing suspicion? Don’t freak Sheila out even more.”
Beatrice took a good long look at Sheila. Eh, she appeared to be okay. Her disheveled self stood looking back at Beatrice, with her hand on her hip, as if to say “what are you looking at?”