Tiny House on the Hill

by Celia Bonaduce

  He kissed her quickly on the cheek and went back to the road show.

  He did not look back.

  Summer stopped for more tea bags on the way home. Was she out of her mind? She had a real shot at romance with Bale. He was a good man. He was strong. He was kind. He cared about her. Keefe, on the other hand, was maddening! She had no concrete idea where she even stood with him. Why would she give up the stability of a man like Bale when her relationship with Keefe was so unsteady? She turned the truck around and headed back toward Seattle.

  Within a half hour, she’d convinced herself that Bale was right. She did have to come to terms with her past, and especially Keefe, if she planned on moving forward with her life. She turned on her blinker and once again swung Big Red toward Cat’s Paw. She turned around two more times before heading back to Flat Top Farm.

  “I hope you’re happy,” Summer said, looking in the rearview mirror at the caboose.

  * * * *

  Even with her indecision on the road, Summer was back at Flat Top Farm by midafternoon. She easily got the caboose settled on the hill. Too bad Keefe hadn’t seen how adept she’d become at maneuvering it.

  Summer shook her head. She really needed to stop thinking about Keefe.

  She was exhausted. She knew a showdown with Keefe was inevitable, but all she really wanted to do was draw a hot bath and put everything out of her mind.

  * * * *

  Heading into the caboose, Summer heard a low rumble coming from somewhere on the farm. She looked around and saw what it was: Keefe was driving the farm’s backhoe. He was filling in the well!

  Summer watched him. Keefe was not the young man she fell in love with and she was not the young girl he once loved. They were adults now. Hearts had been broken and needed to be mended. When the well was full, it would not be the same as the earth around it. It would be strong, possibly stronger than ever, but it would be patched.

  She walked toward Keefe… and her future.

  Chapter 31

  Bale Barrett’s hunch was right. He made a name for himself at the Tiny House Road Show. He also subscribed to The Cat’s Paw Chronicle, to keep tabs on events as they unfolded.

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  THE CAT’S PAW CHRONICLE

  Cat’s Paw welcomes its latest merchant to town: Ms. Mary Lynn “Lynnie” Laite. Lynnie has moved from Hartford, Connecticut, and is selling handmade felted purses made by local artisans in both her Main Street shop and online.

  * * * *

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  THE CAT’S PAW CHRONICLE

  The Grand Opening of DOUGH FREE DOUGH, Cat Paw’s new gluten-free bakery, was a huge success, with lines around the block. Queenie Murray, her granddaughter Clarisse, known to locals as Summer, and longtime manager Keefe Devlin gave out free samples to an enthusiastic crowd. Festivities were cut short when Evie Caleb went into labor. She gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Mother and son are doing fine.

  * * * *

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Clarisse “Summer” Murray and Keefe Devlin, co-managers of the popular Dough Z Dough gluten-free bakery in Cat’s Paw, announce their engagement. Wedding plans will be announced in an upcoming issue of The Cat’s Paw Chronicle.

  * * * *

  Bale smiled.

  And canceled his subscription.

  Nanaimo Bar Recipe

  Bottom Layer

  ½ cup unsalted (also called “sweet’) butter (European style cultured)

  ¼ cup sugar

  5 Tbsp. cocoa

  1 egg, beaten

  1¼ cups graham cracker crumbs

  ½ cup finely chopped walnuts

  1 cup coconut

  Melt butter, sugar, and cocoa in the top of a double boiler. Add egg and stir to cook and thicken. Remove from heat. Stir in crumbs, coconut, and nuts. Press firmly into an ungreased 8” x 8” pan.

  Second Layer

  ½ cup unsalted butter

  3 Tbsp. almond milk or 2 tsp. cream

  2 Tbsp. vanilla custard powder

  2 cups icing sugar

  Cream butter, cream, custard powder, and icing sugar together well. Beat until light and fluffy. Spread over bottom layer.

  Third Layer

  4 squares semisweet chocolate (1 oz. each)

  2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

  Melt chocolate and butter over low heat. Cool.

  Once cool, but still liquid, pour over second layer. Chill in refrigerator until chocolate is set (ten minutes to a half hour).. Cut into squares.

  Chocolate Meringues

  2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, broken into pieces for melting,

  2 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

  ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

  Pinch salt

  1 tablespoon white vinegar or lemon juice

  4 large egg whites

  1 cup granulated sugar

  ½ cup finely chopped walnuts (if desired)

  Melt the 2 ounces of bittersweet chocolate pieces in a microwave-safe dish or over a gently simmering double boiler. Let cool but not harden. Add the vanilla.

  Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Line three baking sheets with parchment paper.

  Use a paper towel to wipe off any possible grease or dust in bowl for a standing mixer. Then use a paper towel to wipe the blades of the whisk attachment as well. Do not rinse. This procedure will ensure that the egg whites will whip to their full potential.

  Place the salt and vinegar (or lemon juice) in the clean mixer bowl.

  Add egg whites to salt and vinegar in mixer bowl. Beat the egg whites/salt/vinegar mixture on medium speed until foamy, about 1 minute. Increase the speed to high. Slowly add the sugar in a steady stream and continue beating until stiff peaks form, 4 to 5 minutes. (The bowl can be turned upside down without the meringue falling out.) Add a third of the meringue to the melted chocolate and mix well until glossy peaks form. (another minute, but best to use your eye to judge). Gently but thoroughly fold the melted chocolate into the meringue, and then fold in the remaining two ounces chopped semisweet chocolate. Add chopped walnuts, if desired.

  Using a pastry bag, pipe the meringue into 1½-inch rounds, 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets.

  Immediately place in the oven and bake about 10 minutes. The cookies will develop a shiny crust but will be soft inside.

  Let rest on the baking sheets for 10 minutes before removing to a rack to cool completely.

  Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas

  If you enjoyed Tiny House on the Hill, be sure not to miss Celia Bonaduce’s Fat Chance, Texas series, including

  Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas

  For champion professional knitter Dymphna Pearl, inheriting part of a sun-blasted ghost town in the Texas hill country isn’t just unexpected, it’s a little daunting. To earn a cash bequest that could change her life, she’ll have to leave California to live in tiny, run-down Fat Chance for six months—with seven strangers. Impossible! Or is it?

  Trading her sandals for cowboy boots, Dymphna dives into her new life with equal parts anxiety and excitement. After all, she’s never felt quite at home in Santa Monica anyway. Maybe Fat Chance will be her second chance. But making it habitable is going take more than a lasso and Wild West spirit. With an opinionated buzzard overlooking the proceedings and mismatched strangers learning to become friends, Dymphna wonders if unlocking the secrets of her own heart is the way to strike real gold….

  Keep reading for a special look!

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

  Chapter 1

  “Please don’t talk to anyone at the yoga stand,” Erinn Wolf said.

  “Those people are dead to us.”

  “That’s a bit harsh,” Dymphna Pearl said.

  “They threw down the gauntlet,” Erinn replied. “Not us.”


  “I just don’t want there to be any hurt feelings,” Dymphna said, as she loaded two of her Angora rabbits into the hatchback of the car. Erinn, who was her best friend, landlady, and business partner, filled the backseat with knitwear—hats, scarves, bags, and gloves. When Erinn was upset, it was as if she lived in some medieval melodrama—or at least with the New York Mafia.

  “Yes,” Dymphna said, as she buckled herself into the passenger side of the car. “But we won. We have to see those people every Sunday. Don’t you think it would be nicer to offer an olive branch?”

  “By ‘olive branch’ I take it you mean ‘carrot cake’?” Erinn asked as she pulled out of the driveway.

  Dymphna winced. “How did you know?” she asked, eyes downcast.

  “I could smell it as soon as I woke up!” Erinn said. “I could smell it before I woke up. I dreamt the gingerbread man was chasing me— until I realized it was the cinnamon and cloves coming from the guesthouse. I knew to what you were up.”

  Even when Erinn was in scolding mode, her grammar was perfect.

  “I just think we could take the high road,” Dymphna said. “I don’t want to have enemies at the farmers’ market.”

  “As Franklin Roosevelt once said, ‘I ask you to judge me by the enemies I have made,’” Erinn said.

  Dymphna thought that Erinn might want to rethink that particular philosophy. Did she really want to be judged by these enemies—people offering peace and spinal alignment?

  Erinn drove down a deserted Ocean Avenue toward the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market on Main Street, where Dymphna had a booth called Knit and Pearl. Dymphna was a bit of a celebrity, since she was the host of a video podcast—produced by Erinn—also called Knit and Pearl. The show fueled sales at the farmers’ market and the clientele at the farmers’ market created new viewers. Erinn, who knew what it took to get attention, insisted that a giant Angora rabbit would trump any display of yoga pants on the aisle, so Dymphna always brought at least two of her six angora yarn–producing rabbits. It seemed like a straightforward business plan, until the owners of the Midnight at the Mirage yoga stand complained the animals were disrupting the quiet zone that was imperative to the success of their business. Dymphna could see their point—people often came to her booth just to pet the fluffy fur of the animals that looked like an explosion in a cotton factory. It was anything but calm.

  But Erinn would have none of it. She told the farmers’ market board that Dymphna was using the rabbits as educational tools— teaching the public about the proper care of Angora rabbits and their fur. Knit and Pearl was every bit as enlightening as a chakra massage. Erinn won, but Dymphna got a stomachache every time the owners of Midnight at the Mirage looked over at a family squealing with delight over one of her rabbits. Dymphna didn’t want to stir up Erinn’s wrath, which was formidable no matter what the issue, but she thought maybe she’d sneak the carrot cake over to the yoga instructors when Erinn wasn’t looking.

  Dymphna understood all too well that sinking feeling when you thought your business was threatened. One of her greatest regrets was that she had never made a go of her shepherding business. She had tried to raise a small herd of sheep in Malibu, but when the land she was renting got sold out from under her it just proved to be too expensive. So she traded in her sheep for six Angora rabbits and moved out of the hills. Sometimes she felt guilty about trying to raise rabbits in Santa Monica. Dymphna wasn’t sure city life was healthy for rabbits.

  Erinn stopped the car near their allotted space and started to unload the collapsible tables and the knitted accessories, while Dymphna tended to Snow D’Winter and Spot, the two giant Angoras chosen to represent the show at the stall.

  By midmorning, the farmers’ market was humming. Once the booth was set up and everything was running smoothly, Erinn usually headed off to shop for produce. She offered to go shopping for Dymphna, who was stuck at the booth all day, but Dymphna could never gather up all her various scraps of paper on which she’d written reminders of what she needed. At one point, Erinn tried to relieve Dymphna at the booth so she could do her own shopping, but the customers all wanted to talk to Dymphna Pearl, designer of the knit creations, or they wanted to ask questions about the rabbits—questions to which only Dymphna had answers. Dymphna was perfectly content buying her groceries at an actual grocery store, but she knew better than to share that with Erinn.

  Erinn started to gather her shopping bags and her detailed list.

  She turned to Dymphna and held out her palm. “Let me have it.” “Have what?” Dymphna asked.

  “The carrot cake. I don’t want you to have a weak moment.”

  Dymphna handed over the carrot cake and watched Erinn stride purposefully into the crowd. On one hand, Erinn could be exasperating, but on the other you had to hand it to her—she had amazing instincts.

  Dymphna gave Spot and Snow D’Winter some fresh water. When she turned back toward the front of the booth, a tense-looking woman was standing in front of a display of knitted scarves. She didn’t appear to be all that interested in them, though. Instead she was staring intently at Dymphna.

  “May I help you?” Dymphna inquired.

  The woman seemed startled that Dymphna was talking to her. Nothing about this woman suggested she resided in a casual beach neighborhood. Dymphna guessed the woman to be in her midfifties, her salon-highlighted hair glinting expensively in the sun. She extended a long French-manicured talon and snatched up a creamand rust-colored scarf.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I want to buy this.” She thrust the scarf at Dymphna.

  “Great!” Dymphna said, taking a charge card from the woman and sliding it through a contraption on her smartphone. She held her breath. She couldn’t believe her phone could actually ring up sales.

  Dymphna handed the card back to the shopper. The name on the credit card was C. J. Primb.

  “Thank you, Ms. Primb,” Dymphna said. “Would you like me to e-mail you a receipt?”

  Ms. Primb looked startled. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not!”

  “All right,” Dymphna said, handing over the knitwear. “I hope you’ll enjoy the scarf.”

  As the woman took the scarf, Dymphna noticed a small gold band on C. J. Primb’s left hand. It was sitting on the index finger, between the first and second knuckle joints. Such odd placement, Dymphna thought. She herself would never be able to get any real work done without losing a ring so precariously placed.

  Perhaps that’s the point.

  Dymphna was happy to turn her attention to another shopper, who was scanning the hats. Ms. Primb was making her nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was just something about the woman that made her very uncomfortable.

  The shopper wandered over to the booth and caressed a green and blue beret. She saluted Dymphna with her biodegradable cup of chai tea, purchased from a stall across the asphalt. “I love your TV show,” she said.

  “Podcast,” Dymphna said in a breathy whisper. “It’s just on the web. It isn’t a real TV show.”

  The shopper held the hat up to the Southern California sky. The yarns sparkled, changing colors like a prism. She then expertly popped it on her head at a jaunty angle, studying herself in the mirror. “Video, podcast, TV show, I don’t care, I just love it all,” the woman said, handing the hat to Dymphna with a smile. “This beret is just fabulous.”

  Dymphna stared down at the beret. Did the woman want to purchase it? Or was she just handing it back? There were more compliments than sales at the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market. It was times like these when she wished she were a little more like Erinn—assertive and self-assured. Erinn would just come right out and ask the customer if she wanted to buy the hat. But Dymphna could never bring herself to be so blunt. She would just wait it out, until the woman made whatever decision she was going to make.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you going to buy tha
t hat or not?” Dymphna looked up. Sometimes people could get pushy and she was not one for conflict. It was Ms. Primb. Why was she still here? What did she want?

  “So,” Ms. Primb said again to the shopper and pointed an accusing finger at the hat in Dymphna’s hand. “Are you buying that or not? We don’t have all day.”

  We?

  “Yes,” said the woman, handing over her charge card to Dymphna and blinking aggressively at C. J. Primb. “I am.”

  Dymphna hurriedly rang up the sale and started to put the hat in a paper bag. Whatever weirdness was going on with Ms. Primb, Dymphna didn’t want to distress one of her customers.

  The woman took her charge card back and put her fingertips on Dymphna’s arm. “That’s OK, sweetie,” she said. “I don’t need a bag. No need to kill a forest on my behalf.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Dymphna said.

  “Pardon me?” the woman said as she adjusted her new hat in the mirror. “You wouldn’t what?”

  “I wouldn’t kill a forest on your behalf.”

  The woman nodded quickly, first to Dymphna and then to C. J. Primb. Dymphna watched her as she drifted down the aisle to the vintage jewelry. Dymphna suddenly realized C. J. Primb was still studying the merchandise—or was she studying Dymphna? Their eyes met. Ms. Primb made no attempt to leave.

  “May I show you anything else?” Dymphna asked.

  “Not really. I just wanted to get a good look at you.”

  Dymphna tried not to show her surprise. Many people watched the show and felt as if they knew her—and could say anything they wanted.

  “Well, feel free to look around,” Dymphna said cautiously while looking around herself—mostly for something to do. She wished Erinn would come back. She started arranging embellished half gloves on a smooth manzanita branch that she used as a display rack. She tried to ignore the woman, who just stood, rooted, in front of her booth.

  “Let me ask you something,” Ms. Primb said.