by Chris Cooper
While Izzy went to change, Oliver yanked an old pair of sweatpants and a college sweatshirt from his duffel bag and slipped them on. He sat slumped over on the bed, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes and wishing he could crawl back under the covers and doze for another week.
“Come on! Come on!” Izzy yelled from the other room.
Oliver slogged downstairs and slid on a pair of gym shoes.
She led him out the front door by the arm and turned to go back inside. “You get in the car. I’ve got to grab a few boxes from the kitchen.”
The robin-egg-blue station wagon sat beneath the porte cochere. Izzy had taken him around in the car as a child, and it had become the Rolling Pin’s official delivery car when she bought the bakery a few years back. Sure, most of its parts had been replaced over the years, but its heart remained the same, at least according to Izzy.
The tan leather seat seared Oliver’s skin, and he pulled down his shirt to cover any remaining bits of exposed flesh. The sensation brought back memories of his last visit, shortly after his tenth birthday. He’d stayed with Izzy while his parents dealt with something his mom referred to as a ‘rough patch.’ He didn’t realize until much later how close they’d been to divorce.
Izzy bounced the screen door open with her elbow and emerged from the house, holding a stack of cardboard boxes.
“Need some help?” he yelled from the car as he started to open the door.
“I got it. I may be old, but I can still lift a few boxes,” she replied. After loading the cargo into the back of the car, she climbed into the driver’s seat.
“What’s in the boxes?” he asked.
“Honey for the store. We’re running low.”
The town was alive and bustling, in stark contrast to the subdued village Oliver had stumbled through the previous night. The car turned left at the market, which had an array of brightly colored fruits on display in wooden barrels out front. Two elderly women sorted through piles of oranges, squeezing them one by one, checking for freshness. The Rolling Pin sat on the other side of the town, next to a small law office. Izzy pulled the car around back, to the service entrance, and Oliver helped carry the boxes inside. The building had once been an abandoned lodge used for town celebrations, church, and club meetings. The town quickly outgrew the structure and built a larger hall on the other side of the square. The move left the original building vacant and in need of a new purpose, and Izzy was happy to oblige. Oliver had only seen the bakery in pictures prior to this visit, and the place was even more whimsical in person.
The Rolling Pin had all the traditional markings of a bakery but was also speckled with colorful bits and bobs that reflected Izzy’s vibrant personality. The entire front of the building was covered in chalk drawings, and she left a tub of sidewalk chalk out front so the neighborhood kids could draw whatever they pleased. Her collection of lawn gnomes stood guard over the front door, as did a giant metal dragon sculpture made from recycled pipes, gears, and bicycle chains. The bakery was unlike any Oliver had ever seen and was out of place amidst the town’s historic aesthetic.
The interior of the bakery was no less flashy. The dark-green display cases rose to Oliver’s chest and were filled with rows upon rows of tempting baked goods. He walked past cupcakes made to look like potted plants and admired the intricately decorated sugar cookies, which were topped with delicately piped honeybees. The displays were arranged in a U shape that formed an archipelago to the kitchen. Chrome industrial mixers and other kitchen gadgetry peeked out from behind the open doorway.
The bakery not only housed tons of baked goods but also dealt in crafts and local artwork. Several hand-stitched quilts hung from racks along the walls, and a set of copper fountains sat for sale next to a row of dining booths. The booths themselves were hand-painted, with deep-red vinyl cushions. A collection of Izzy’s paintings hung around the room, and a few of her smaller sculptures sat on the booth tables. The bakery was truly unique, and the hundreds of tiny touches here and there would have made it impossible to replicate.
Only one thing was missing from the store—people. The place was vacant, with no customers in sight. Oliver found this odd, since it was midmorning, and he assumed bakeries did most of their business in the mornings. Coffee and donuts. That’s a thing, right?
“You can put the boxes in the back,” she said. “I’m going to check the mail.”
“What time do you open?” Oliver asked.
“We opened hours ago,” she replied, walking toward the door.
He set the boxes on one of the display cases so he could lift the hinged counter to the back. Although the kitchen was mostly hidden from view of the customers, it had just as much artistic flare as the front of the house. The walls were covered with bright-yellow tiles, and an intricate mosaic patterned one of the walls. The design reminded Oliver of a Celtic tree of life, which protected those shaded by it and provided them with food and shelter. The branches intertwined, covered with little green leaves made from bits of chipped tile. He stood immersed in its beauty, completely forgetting that the boxes were, in fact, fairly heavy.
“Can I help you?” someone said from behind, nearly making him drop the boxes of fragile jars.
“Just dropping off a few boxes of honey,” he replied, turning to face the mystery woman. “Izzy's my great aunt.”
The woman stood on the other side of a large metal table. She brushed a patch of flour from her face and wiped her hands on her apron.
“You must be Oliver, then. Izzy mentioned you might be stopping over. Nice to meet you,” she said, reaching to shake his hand. “I’m Anna.”
Her handshake was incredibly firm, and he winced a bit when she gripped his hand.
“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, lightening up on her grip. “The years of kneading dough have done wonders for my forearms.” Anna’s strawberry-blond hair caught the sunlight when she laughed, hinting at her Irish roots, as did her slightly freckled face. “So, how long are you here for, then?”
“Maybe a few weeks or so. Not really sure, to be honest,” he replied. He had momentarily forgotten about his current predicament, but her question brought his past crashing back into him. He swallowed hard to squelch the wave of nausea.
Anna seemed to sense his discomfort. “Why don’t you take those down to the cellar and put them on the rack next to the others? The door’s right over there.”
Oliver carried the boxes over to the door but couldn’t manage to turn the knob. Anna, seeing his struggle, rushed over to open it for him.
“And watch the pipe,” she said, ushering him inside.
Oliver had to duck to avoid smacking his forehead on a large metal water pipe. The stairs were narrow, only as deep as the heel of his shoe, and he had to turn sideways to step comfortably. The old wooden boards creaked under his feet, and the steps must have been old enough to precede any building codes that would have made them safer to use.
The stones making up the basement floor had shifted over time, leaving an uneven surface with several hills and valleys. The metal storage racks sat at the far end of the cellar, their modern design juxtaposed against the aging stone foundation. He unboxed the honey and lined the jars neatly on the shelves. As he turned toward the staircase, he noticed something strange. Each of the wooden ceiling beams had the same pattern burned into it. Oliver grabbed an old folding chair from the corner of the room and stood on it to get a closer look. The symbol was the same as the one he’d found on the monument in the town square—the familiar snake draped over an old wooden cross.
“Find everything all right?” Anna asked while putting dough balls on the shelf to prove as Oliver emerged from the doorway.
“I did,” Oliver replied. “The snake symbol on the wood beams downstairs—what does it mean? I saw the same thing on the plaque in the square.”
Anna gave him a puzzled look. “Oh, that’s the Elders’ seal. They’re kind of like a homeowner’s association for the town. They have a lot of say
over what happens around here and advise the mayor on new regulations and guidelines. Used to have a lot more power actually, but now they’re basically just a group of influential old people who complain when someone hangs curtains that are too bright or puts out a ‘distasteful’ lawn decoration.”
“They must love Izzy,” he replied.
“They’re also the reason why the shop is empty right now,” she added. “She’s on the agenda for the town meeting tonight, actually. They’ve been pressuring her to take down the decorations out front and bring the store in line with others in the square. She isn’t happy about it, if you can imagine. When she refused to redo the front, they passed a new ordinance, just to target the bakery. When the daily fine didn’t work, they initiated an unofficial boycott of sorts. Fortunately, we’ve got enough fans to stay in business right now—they just aren’t willing to be seen here. Believe it or not, we do most of our business through secret delivery these days.”
Oliver found it hard to imagine a group of old people with nothing better to do than dictate town decorations and create arbitrary regulations. Then he thought about his last visit with Izzy and was fairly certain his family would have thrived in Christchurch, a place where people were kept in line by an evolutionary need to fit in. His mom had sent him to Izzy’s with a legal pad full of rules, which Izzy quickly discarded. During his visit, he stayed up late, ate too much ice cream, watched inappropriately scary movies, and was returned to his mother with a pair of ripped jeans and a large knee scab. Although he had a blast, his mom was less enthused and promptly informed Izzy he’d never stay with her again, once Oliver disclosed the full details of his visit. He would receive birthday and holiday cards from Izzy and called her every now and then in college but was somewhat ashamed this was the first time he’d ventured to Christchurch to see her on his own.
“They’re a pain in my side,” Izzy said as she walked into the kitchen. “A little color never hurt anyone, but they’re too concerned with maintaining ‘order’ to worry about putting an old woman out of business.”
“That’s why we’re going to the meeting at the town hall tonight,” Anna said.
“I’m going to give those self-righteous geezers a piece of my mind,” Izzy said, shaking a fist. The revolutionary flame in her heart still appeared to be burning brightly. “You should come. It’ll be a great way to meet the fine townsfolk.” She smirked.
Chapter Five
The town hall sat in stark contrast to the small businesses surrounding it. The front of the imposing stone building was lined with tall pillars that supported an elaborate archway and clock.
When Oliver thought of town-hall meetings, his mind went to empty boardrooms with lots of vacant chairs, cold coffee, and a few attendees with nothing better to do than complain about Christmas decorations that had been left out for too long. This place, on the other hand, was packed. A large wooden desk sat elevated at the front of the room, facing the audience. The hall itself was dimly lit and contained row upon row of wooden chairs, all of which were occupied. A balcony overlooked the town council’s bench, and it too was filled to the brim.
Izzy, Anna, and Oliver all stood against the wall at the back of the room, looking diligently for vacant seats.
“Are these meetings always this crowded?” Oliver asked.
“We’re getting close to the town’s anniversary, so it’s been busier than usual, but the people here take town governance pretty seriously,” Anna replied.
“Fascists,” Izzy added under her breath.
Oliver felt a bony shoulder slam into his arm, which was hanging over slightly into the doorway.
“Excuse you,” the woman said as she strode up the aisle toward the front of the room.
“Who’s that ray of sunshine?” he whispered to Anna, rubbing his arm.
“Madeline.” Anna said the name as if she were gagging on it. “She’s the reigning Elder president and one of the reasons why the shop is a ghost town.”
Madeline had the frame of an aged supermodel. She was tall, thin, and clad in a tailored black business suit and white blouse. Her silver hair had been styled into submission, with perfectly constructed layers completing her executive look. She marched to the front of the room and took a seat on the right side of the council desk. After shuffling through a stack of papers, something in the first row of chairs caught her eye. She hopped up from her seat and motioned toward the back of the room with her clutch, bobbing her head with each gesture. Two teenagers stood up and slowly sulked to the back of the room while Madeline watched to ensure their full cooperation. They found a place next to Izzy, just close enough for Oliver to hear them mumbling their dissatisfaction.
The rest of the council members took their seats, and the meeting came to order.
“That hunk in the middle is the mayor,” Izzy whispered to Oliver. The mayor appeared to be in his forties, with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and sandy-blond hair.
“Let’s get started,” the mayor said. “For the first item on the agenda, we have a committee update on the Christchurch tricentennial celebration. Cynthia, please go right ahead.”
A woman stood in the center of a row of chairs but was so short that seeing her was difficult.
“Things are moving along swimmingly. We are in need of additional volunteers for booth setup and teardown, though. Is anyone interested?” She looked around the room.
Madeline gave a sharp glance to one side of the room, and a few hands immediately shot up from the crowd.
She really does control this town.
The meeting dragged on for more than an hour, but the time finally came for new business. Izzy stepped out from the back of the room and walked up to the small podium facing the imposing council desk. The council members towered over her as if she had committed a capital offense and was pleading for mercy from a hopefully magnanimous jury. Izzy had always appeared to be an extremely confident person, but even she seemed to waver somewhat in the spotlight.
“Um, yes. Two weeks ago, the council issued an ordinance violation and fine to the bakery, and I’ve come to ask that it be lifted,” she said with a forced pleasantness.
The mayor started to speak, but Madeline jumped in before he had the opportunity.
“So, you’ve addressed the issues, then?” she asked.
“No, but—”
“The businesses in the town square are all required to follow a set of visual guidelines. You know this, Isabelle.”
“Actually, I voted against—”
“How you voted doesn’t matter. The ordinance passed by a majority vote, and you, as a business owner in the square, are obligated to follow the rules. We’ve been over this again and again—the front of your store is completely out of line. We have the tricentennial next week, and visitors are coming from all over the state. They come to admire Christchurch’s historic beauty and our rustic charm, something they won’t be able to do if confronted with that atrocity of a storefront.”
“Hold on,” Izzy said, quickly shedding her polite demeanor.
“Remove the decorations, and we’ll lift the fine. Now, please step aside, and let the next person speak.”
As Izzy clenched her fist and prepared for verbal warfare, Anna’s voice boomed from the back of the room. “Now, you wait just a minute,” she said.
Oliver turned to look at her, shocked by the sudden outburst and catching only a brief glimpse of her beet-red face as she squeezed by him and into the aisle.
“The matter has been se—” Madeline didn’t have the opportunity to finish her sentence.
“I don’t care, you old bat!”
This resulted in an audible gasp from the crowd, and the two teenagers next to Oliver snickered.
“You walk around here with nothing better to do than starve our business and make up stupid rules to target us. You’ve nearly run us into the ground!”
“That’s enough!” The mayor stood, and his voice thundered across the room. He didn’t need a gavel to
get Anna’s attention although he probably would have slammed it on the table if he had one. The loud interjection stopped her in her tracks. “You will not stand there and name call. If you have an issue with the policy—”
“But, Dad!” she pleaded.
“No, this is not the way we do things around here. Now, step away from the podium, and return to your seat.”
Oliver watched her, his mouth agape as she stomped down the aisle and out the door, slamming it behind her. Her dad is the mayor?
Izzy stood next to the podium, seemingly unsure of whether to laugh or cry.
This particular town meeting must have been the most entertaining in some time, because the council had difficulty bringing the crowd back to order. Madeline clenched the edge of the desk and appeared to be digging into the wood with her fingernails.
“Anything else we can do for you today?” she asked Izzy in a mock-cheery tone.
Chapter Six
The brightly colored chalk ran down the side of the building and into a gray puddle on the sidewalk. Izzy couldn’t stand to wash the drawings away, so she’d asked Oliver to do it for her. He swept the garden hose back and forth, slowly erasing the images the town’s children had so carefully crafted.
“I can’t believe they’re making her do this,” Anna said. “I’m so angry I still can’t see straight. I’ve already started plotting my revenge, but the most sinister thing I could think of was to put too much vanilla in the tricentennial cake.”
“Dastardly,” he replied.
Unable to afford the continuing fines and dwindling customers, Izzy had agreed to restore order to the storefront. Upon her notification to the council, business rapidly returned to normal, and they had even asked Izzy to bake the town’s celebration cake as a sign of goodwill.
“I told her to imagine there had been a bad thunderstorm. It’s just chalk,” Oliver said. “We could set the kids loose on the building, and it would be back to normal in an afternoon.”
