Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm. Rebecca Raisin

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СКАЧАТЬ promised, ten minutes later the small town came rolling into view. Snow drifted down, making the place look as pretty as a picture on a postcard. Neat store fronts lined the road, and for a small town, they had quite a variety. Jimmy pulled the bus into a park, and turned off the engine.

      I gathered my belongings, and inched my way down the rubber-floored aisle to the front. “Sorry for the scare,” he said, his face brighter now we’d stopped. “Enjoy your day.”

      “You too. Thanks, Jimmy.” I gave him a wave as I stepped off the warm bus and onto the curb.

      Behind me, CeeCee marched from the bus and gave me a great big launch hug that almost bowled me over. “Begonia Bed and Breakfast is thatta way,” she said pointing to the far end of town. “The only accommodation Ashford has.”

      “It’s like you can read my mind!” Though I suppose it was obvious, a girl heading into a small town would need a place to stay.

      She tapped her nose. “I always know. You go on and get settled then come back here for some breakfast. On the house,” she added as I went to protest. “You need a decent meal ‘fore you head off to the farm, if you sure that’s the kinda job you want.”

      ***

      Meeting the exuberant CeeCee put a smile on my face and took some of the ache away. I wasn’t used to being alone. Mom was always on my mind in Detroit, whether I was working or not. But the invisible cord that bound us was still there. Being so far away, the cord seemed infinite, and tugged, making me think she needed me.

      Soft winter sun warmed my back as I walked, my steps heavy. I was so far from home I was almost under a different sky. I took in the charming streetscape, mentally framing up every view as a potential sketch, one that I could post home, show Mom where I was.

      Cheery store owners nodded hello to me. I gave them a shy smile and averted my eyes. I headed toward the bed and breakfast, hoping the owner would have a room, something affordable too. When I passed a hardware store, I turned left at a sign advertising the lodgings, and meandered along until I found the B and B. Flowers spilled from pots in a riot of red, their sweet perfume wafting up.

      The door opened, catching me, hand balled ready to knock.

      A squirrely voice greeted me: “You must be Lucy! Come in, come in. I’m Rose.” Rose was rail thin, maybe in her seventies. She had a full shock of gray hair pulled back from her face in a bun. Her hands were liver-spotted and quivered slightly.

      “Yes, I am, err, how…?”

      “CeeCee called,” she said briskly, opening the door wide. “Said she met you on the bus. And that you were a dear little thing and I’m to make you comfortable, quick sticks. She’s never wrong about people, you know.” She gazed at me over the brim of her spectacles. “I see you are as pretty as a picture, all that lovely long blonde hair of yours, and those blue eyes… You know my mother, God rest her soul, used to call that shade of blue China blue… Did you know that?”

      “Umm, no I didn’t…thank you.” I followed Rose inside, slightly overwhelmed by her scrutiny of me.

      “Come on in. You’ll get used to me. I tend to say the first thing I think. Most of us do, being so used to one another, I suppose. Jimmy had another deer incident did he?”

      The small town grapevine sure would take some getting used to. In Detroit, you could be invisible if you wanted. There was no way of knowing who was new, and who wasn’t. It was a big, busy town, and easy to be just a faceless member of the crowd. It might be nice to have friends, people who didn’t know me, or my past. “He managed to avoid it, but it was pretty close,” I said, sure that CeeCee would have told Rose the story already with a lot more oomph.

      When I caught sight of the living room my head spun. Everything was floral. The curtains dusty pink with carnations, the carpet a ruby-red hibiscus, the wallpaper dotted with lemon-yellow daisies. I blinked the spotty vision away.

      “Sit, dear. I brewed a pot of tea. Chamomile, OK?”

      “Great,” I said. For someone so frail Rose moved with quick steps, fussing with her skirt as she went. I took a high-back chair and stared out the window while I waited, absently chewing a nail, wondering how I’d escape with any shred of dignity if the room was beyond my budget. It was my first day off in aeons, and it was nice to sit down, and relax. I was so used to rushing around that I was perpetually dizzy with it all. Time to sit and sip tea was a novelty.

      Rose strode back into the room, carrying a tray with tea things. She poured the steaming brew into two delicate china cups, and balanced one on a saucer, before shakily passing it to me.

      “So,” she said her eyes brighter than her years suggested. “How long are you staying?”

      I blew out a breath. “I’m not too sure, yet. Depends on finding a job. I hope that’s OK?” Maybe she’d want the money upfront and a definite time frame?

      “You just let me know whenever you’re ready,” she said, fluttering her hand. “January’s one of the quietest months for folks in Ashford, so I’m happy to have a bit of company no matter how long you stay for. I’ll make up the back bedroom for you. It has its own bathroom—you’ll be comfortable there.”

      “Thank you…I…” My voice petered out as I squirmed in my chair. Money angst, as usual. Almost every decision, every choice I made, was linked to money or the lack thereof. It was like chasing my tail, and just once I would have liked to be free of the never-ending loop of it.

      Rose gave me a once-over. “The room is a hundred dollars a week, is that OK?” Before I could respond with anything other than raised eyebrows she said, “That will include meals, if you’re here at night, and also your breakfast things.”

      “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like enough!” While I was all for saving, I didn’t want to take advantage of anyone.

      “It’s plenty. Let me show you your room.” She stood and smoothed her hair back. Rose was poised and graceful as if she’d been taught to sit with the right posture and sip her tea daintily with her pinkie finger pointing out. I picked up my travel bag and my art portfolio.

      “It’s right this way.” Her skirt swished around her ankles as she strode.

      We went through the kitchen, its wooden benches orderly, and continued down a hallway with walls lined with family pictures.

      “Is this you, Rose?” I pointed to a picture of a glamorous woman, soaking up sunshine in a striped bathing suit, and big Jackie-O style sunglasses.

      “Yes, quite the starlet wasn’t I?” she joked. “That was me back in my beach bunny days—I spent far too long tanning myself to leather beneath the Californian sun, until I moved here, and swapped the sunbaking for hiking.”

      “You look great.” Despite her age, I could still see that twenty-something woman in Rose, the quick smile, the grace.

      “These are my grandbabies.” Rose pointed to a picture of three boys with cheeky smiles and dimples.

      “Are they in Ashford?”

      She shook her head sadly. “They’re all the way in Australia. My son moved there for work, so I rarely see them these days. The distance is too much for me to travel. My old bones suffer from the flight. Just because we СКАЧАТЬ