Page 14 of Grounded (May Hollow Trilogy #1)

Friday morning, Beulah piddled around the house, dusting furniture and doing a little laundry. About midmorning, she heard the wheels of a car crunch the gravel in the driveway. Evelyn came in carrying a Tupperware container while Beulah held the door.

“Your cinnamon rolls—how nice!” Beulah said.

“I couldn’t resist. Annie looks like she needs fattening up.”

Beulah reached for a coffee cup while Evelyn took off her jacket. “Well, Jake is coming down this weekend to meet with some farmers over in Rutherford. Camille has to work again and won’t be able to join him.”

“That’s too bad,” Beulah said.

“I do hope he brings her soon before they get too serious.”

Evelyn sat down at the table, the air seeming to go out of her with the effort.

“I had everything ready, flowers in the guest room, fruit and whole grain waffles for breakfast tomorrow morning. This is the third time she has canceled. What do you make of that, Beulah?”

“Probably nothing. You know the young folks don’t think much of commitments.”

“I suppose, but it makes me wonder all the same. Are you still going with us to Old Mill for dinner tomorrow evening? Jake said to invite Annie. With Camille not coming, he won’t even have to change the reservation.”

“Where are we going?” Annie asked as she entered the kitchen, taking a mug out of the cabinet and pouring herself coffee.

“I was just telling Beulah, Jake is coming down this weekend and has made plans for us all to go to the Old Mill on Saturday night for dinner.”

“Last time we all went there together was Jake’s graduation from college. What’s the occasion?”

“It was Jake’s idea for Mother’s Day,” said Evelyn, “and we thought it would be a nice place to take Camille.”

“Is she coming?” Annie said, her voice trailing off as she eyed the cinnamon rolls.

“Not this time.”

Evelyn pulled a cinnamon roll out of the container and put it on a plate for Annie. “I believe you still like these, unless your tastes have changed.”

“There’s not a bakery in Manhattan that makes anything close to your cinnamon rolls,” Annie said. She pulled a small piece of the dough and stuffed it in her mouth. “Mmm. They’re still warm.”

Beulah was heartened to see Annie interested in the sweet bread. Her appetite had been poor since she’d been home.

Evelyn reached across the table and took Annie’s hand. “I’m so sorry to hear about your job, dear. And your boyfriend.”

Annie swallowed and let out a sigh. “I think I’ll get my job back in a few months. I don’t want the boyfriend back.”

Evelyn leaned back in the chair, folding her arms and looking at Annie through narrowed eyes.

“Now, Annie, we have some fine, eligible bachelors here in town. You met Woody, and there’s also Scott. They are both single. I’m sure we can come up with a few other prospects.”

Beulah laughed. “Now, Evelyn, you know Scott and Mary Beth are sweet on each other, even though they haven’t figured it out.”

“I’m out,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “Even if I were interested, the odds are terrible for meeting someone here in Somerville. Everyone is married.”

“Odds, schmodds!” cried Evelyn. “It’s not quantity. It is quality, and we’ve got quality here.” Evelyn waved her hands as if to take in the entire county. Annie giggled, and Beulah realized it was the first time she’d heard her granddaughter laugh since she came home.

“Either way, here you are, and we are glad for it.” Evelyn squeezed Annie’s hand and smiled.

Right after Evelyn left, Beulah answered the phone while Annie wiped off the long farmhouse table.

“Hello, Bill,” she said, wondering why the local diner owner was calling during breakfast, his busiest time of the day.

“Beulah, there’s a woman here looking for a furnished place to rent for a couple of months. I knew the Millers moved out of your stone house awhile back. You interested?”

“Well, I might be. Is she from around here?”

“From up North. Says she’s looking for a place to write a book and needs privacy. Offering cash up front for a couple of months. Want me to send her out?”

Beulah thought about the stone house, which had been sitting empty since March. It didn’t do for a house to be without dwellers. Even checking on it regularly wasn’t the same; and she could use the extra money to paint this house.

“I’ll talk to her. Tell her to come to the back door.”

Beulah hung up and stood for a moment, her hands on her hips.

“Who was that?” Annie asked.

“Bill said a woman’s at the diner looking to rent a place. She’s coming out so I can talk to her.”

“How much do you normally charge?”

“Well, the Millers paid six hundred dollars a month, but they left furniture when they built their new house. Now I’ve got a furnished house and it seems like that ought to be worth a bit more.”

Minutes later, a silver Focus pulled into the driveway.

They watched from the kitchen window as a slightly plump woman got out of the car and pulled a green cardigan tightly around her, crossing her arms over it.

She pushed her glasses back on her nose with one finger and studied the ground carefully for the stepping stones.

You would think she was walking through a minefield, Beulah thought, even though they were level with the ground and offered no danger if she missed one.

As she made her way to the house, red hair in flyaway frizz whipped around in the spring wind.

“Come in. I’m Beulah Campbell,” she said, opening the back screen door.

“Stella Hawkins,” the woman said, pulling her cardigan even tighter.

“This is my granddaughter, Annie Taylor,” Beulah said, and then led them to the kitchen. “Would you like some iced tea, Ms. Hawkins?”

“No. The man at the diner said you have a place in the country that might be furnished.”

Beulah pointed to a seat at the table and sat down herself but Stella Hawkins remained standing.

“I have a small stone house on back of my farm. There are two bedrooms upstairs, two rooms downstairs and a kitchen and bath built onto the first floor. It’s very old, built around seventeen ninety. There’s a small yard, fenced to keep the cows out. It’s furnished, but it’s nothing fancy.”

“Is it private?”

Out of the corner of her eye Beulah could see Annie grin, but she purposely did not look at her.

“Very. There’s only one other farm back that way and no houses.”

Stella nodded. “I have … two thousand in cash. I don’t know how long I’ll need it. Maybe two or three months,” she said, her eyes blinking a nervous rhythm behind the glasses. “Are utilities included?”

Beulah retrieved the key from a nail next to the wall phone. “Why don’t you look at it first before you decide. Here’s the key. It’s probably unlocked, but in case you take it, this is the key you can use. And yes, utilities are included.”

“I need privacy,” she said, taking the key.

“Bill said you were working on a book?” Annie said.

“Oh, yeah … well, I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.” The woman’s pale cheeks reddened. Beulah wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or frustration.

Annie arched her eyebrows and started to say more, but Beulah cut her off.

“You can have the house if you want it, Ms. Hawkins. Go back out to May Hollow Road and take a left out of my driveway. Take the next left on to Gibson’s Creek Road.

You’ll take another left a quarter mile back.

You’ll see a bridge going over the creek.

The house is just beyond the bridge. The other way is a dirt road straight back here behind this house, but I’d prefer you to use the paved road.

The utilities are still on, so everything should be in working order. ”

Stella Hawkins nodded and pulled a thick white envelope out of her handbag.

“Thank you,” she said, laying the envelope on the table.

Beulah wrote her name and number on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to her. “Here’s my number if you need anything.”

“Where are you from, Stella?” Annie asked.

“Here and there, up North lately,” she said. “Okay, thank you.” She backed a few steps away then turned to go, nearly running into the doorframe before she found the handle to the door.

After the woman left, Annie said, “That was weird, Grandma. Something is not right with that woman. You should have counted that money in front of her. It may be a wad of newspaper!”

“Now, Annie, this woman will be living on our farm, and I don’t want to start right off showing her we don’t trust her.” Beulah laid the envelope on the kitchen table.

“Well I don’t trust her,” Annie said. “I’ve lived in the city too long.” She sat down and started counting the bills.

“Looks to me like she just needs a new pair of eyeglasses. Probably ruined her eyes with all the book writing.”

“Maybe,” Annie said, and laid the last bill in the stack. “It’s all here.”

“People usually become who you think they are. I want her to believe that we trust her and will keep our end of the bargain. And, this money will go a long way toward painting the house.”