the children are being taken illegally from Temple Ranch by a vindictive, hateful aunt.
Bev was on her
twentieth heart shaped sugar cookie when she heard a couple of doors slamming
shut. Who would be coming just now? She
slid the dough onto the cookie sheet telling Howie she’d be “right back.”
Entering the foyer, she took hold of the glass doorknob. Opening the heavy Oak
door a crack, she looked, opening it further. A frosty puff appeared, and then
disappeared each time one of the women took a breath. Upon seeing Bev, they
managed to curve their lips into a shivering smile. Neither woman even faintly
resembled the other. .. Bev went to the door and saw a blue Packard out in the
snow. My goodness. Who could it be? It surely wasn’t one of those sales people
or peddlers who sold vacuums or encyclopedia or cleaning supplies or Bible
conversion stuff. It wasn’t gypsies. You wouldn’t drive a car like that and be
needing to sale those things, but just in case, she’d be prepared to say, “Go
away! No thank you. I have my own things and need none of yours. I have my
stores, my church, and my catalogues. Peddlers not needed.”
But wait…This woman
was no ordinary person. She looked like one of those fancy ladies from the
city. Who was that drab thing with her? Then Bev took note of her own
appearance− overweight in her blue plaid housedress and torn white apron. She
hadn’t put on makeup and didn’t intend to. She didn’t like the stuff, and if
Clark decided he wanted red lips, he could go hunting, But fiddlesticks, no
problem. She had nothing to worry about with a man who prayed for five minutes
at every meal, including cookies and coffee at bedtime. He would rather obsess
about the soil and rain than her lips or hips—besides, she wore rouge and a bit
of coloring to church. Her worry about Clark wandering ? Never.
The women
intrigued Bev. The fancy one had a green seudeskin, coat, trimmed in mink, stacked black suede heels, a green wool dress that came as an
ensemble with the coat, and a big green hat
with mink trim and yellow flowers, my stars! What sort of milliner had done
that one up? Might as well put a magpie in the flowers to finish it off.
The other one, the dowdy lady, who was wrinkled and ordinary, had a brief case, a wool scarf,
and an old plaid coat. Her eyes appeared to rest on the lenses of thick magnifiers.
Interestingly, the exquisite one had taken three tubes of lipstick and worked
them onto thin lips. Bev thought, she ought a bite the stuff off. Another
thing, she had those bulging kind of eyes, a perfect Bette Davis understudy.
Davis’s eyes had a bit of convexity−Was that the word for curve? Bev wanted to take her eyes and pull the lids
shut to keep them from freezing...
“Come in,” she said,
none too friendly, at least not yet. A woman should always know her company
before buttering up. She was putting the mink in on the bed when Fancy Woman
hollered from the living room. “Mrs., do you sleep with the animals”
“Why, no. No, we
don’t.” Bev answered. “We sleep with each other. If we want animals for
sleeping, they are all over this farm. Do you need one?” Bev was shocked.
“No.” The woman was saying, “I don’t.” She did not want to sleep with them. That
wasn’t it at all. “This is a farm, and I don’t want their hairs in the mink on
my coat.”
“Offended,” Bev,
tittered, feeling a little cocky. “Your
mink was raised on a farm.” Did that woman know that? Before she could ask, the
dowdy one noted, “Mrs., you have egg, food coloring, flour, sugar, and frosting
all over your apron.”
“Yes. I know that,” Bev chuckled, ready
with another smart answer. Who were these invaders she wondered preparing her
answer. “If I wear my ingredients, I can offer a cookie where ever I go. Want
this one.” The woman laughed and
laughed at Bev’s corny joke. The other
one wore a pierced expression, appeared mesmerized by Bev’s huge collection of
United States plates and souvenir spoons. Bev jumped in asking, “Would you like
the stories on those, my neighbors bring them from everywhere.”
The other woman
chortled, “And you just wish they would stop bringing these things don’t you.
You do, don’t you? Oh, I about forgot. There’s a picture of you and a young man
over here by the plates. Is he your son or a brother?”
“Him? He’s our pastor.” Bev was glad for her quick working
brain. The young man was Clark! However, by now the woman was onto telling her
to lower the wall hanging picture to eye level. Handing out decorator
instructions, the kind not asked for, was Bev’s job. “Thank you.” Bev said
frostily. “Let’s have a cookie and get acquainted. By the way, you would like
that skirt better if you took it up an inch.”
“I bet you got that idea from those
short, square dancing skirts you country gals wear,” fancy simpered. “Waltzing
in the city requires longer hemlines and ballrooms. Anyway, I see that you have
coffee over there. I really do not drink coffee, but I would put you up to
fixing a cup of hot tea. All I need is some hot water, a tea bag, sugar, cream,
a tea hook, and two napkins. I forgot. Add a spoon. Much easier than coffee…”
This was exactly what Bev wanted to do in the middle of cookie baking. While
she did that Fancy went to remove her hat and returned with a headful of black
waves. Bev secretly wished she was as slender and pretty.
