“Do you mean a new grandchild?” asked Alice as she hung up the dishtowel and poured herself a cup of tea. “Although her daughter is probably old enough to be a grandmother herself.”
“Audrey Horn, a grandmother?” asked Jane. “Why, she’s a year younger than I am.”
Alice laughed. “That’s still old enough to be a grandmother.”
Jane frowned. “Thanks a lot.”
“It’s nothing personal, but if you do the math, you can see—”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Ethel. “I was trying to tell you about Clara Horn’s baby.”
“Clara Horn’s baby?” echoed Louise as she came into the kitchen. “What on earth are you talking about, Auntie? Clara is almost as old as you—”
“Older,” snapped Ethel. “I’m trying to tell you girls the latest news and I can hardly get a word in edgewise.”
“Excuse me,” said Jane as she hung up her apron. “Louise, did you give the Winstons directions to the local antique shops? They had mentioned wanting to find something special to commemorate their anniversary.”
Louise nodded as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I did. And I told Mrs. Miller about Sylvia Songer’s shop since she is an avid quilter. And I told Mrs. Bauchman about Time for Tea after she complimented us on the tea.”
“Well, the Chamber should give you a special award, Louise.” Jane poured the last of the coffee into her brightly colored mug and finally sat down at the table. “All right, Auntie, go ahead and spill the beans. You’ve got a captive audience now.”
Ethel looked slightly miffed. “I’ve got a mind just to leave without saying another word.”
Jane laughed. “I’d have to see it to believe it.”
“Jane,” said Louise in a slightly scolding tone.
“Go ahead,” encouraged Alice. “Tell us about Clara Horn’s mysterious baby.”
“Yes,” agreed Jane. “Did Clara find a basket on her porch? Or perhaps it was hidden under a cabbage leaf in her garden?”
Ethel smiled slyly. “Well, I suppose her baby would enjoy a cabbage leaf in her garden. For that matter, you better watch out for your own garden, Jane.”
“What kind of baby are we talking about?” asked Louise.
“A pig!” exclaimed Ethel. “Clara Horn has gone out and gotten herself a pig.”
“A pig?” Louise blinked. “What could Clara Horn possibly want with a pig? Why, her backyard is no bigger than a postage stamp.”
“Exactly,” said Ethel, tapping the side of her head with her index finger. “We’re beginning to think that Clara may need to get her head examined by a professional.”
“Do you mean a pet pig?” asked Alice.
“Like a potbellied pig?” added Jane.
“I think she called it something like that,” said Ethel. “But, good grief, what pig doesn’t have a potbelly? Your Uncle Bob raised pigs on our farm for a few years, and that’s the whole point: You fatten them up for slaughter in the fall. They all have potbellies.”
“But she probably got a Vietnamese potbellied pig,” said Jane.
“Who cares where she got it,” said Ethel. “The problem is, it’s a pig. And Clara does not live on a farm.”
“Lots of people in California got potbellied pigs for pets during the nineties,” said Jane. “It was quite the fad.”
“Well, maybe in California,” said Ethel. “Everyone knows that those people out there are all half-crazy anyway.”
Jane just rolled her eyes.
“Where does Clara intend to keep her pet?” asked Louise.
“That’s just it,” declared Ethel. “She keeps the nasty thing in her house. I’ve heard that it actually sleeps in her bed.” She shook her head in utter disgust. “The woman is clearly losing her marbles.”
“Oh, come on,” said Alice. “Maybe she’s just lonely. It hasn’t been that long since she lost her husband.”
“Well, I remember what it’s like to bury a husband,” said Ethel. “And you didn’t find me sleeping with a dirty old pig.”
This pronouncement sent the three sisters into sidesplitting laughter. Ethel just sat there, staring at them as if they were no saner than Clara Horn. “Well,” she finally said as she reached for her oversized purse, “I never.”
Alice was the first to recover. “Sorry, Aunt Ethel. We’re not laughing at you. It’s just so funny—about the pig and all.”
“Yes,” agreed Louise, placing her hand on Ethel’s arm as she used her lace trimmed handkerchief to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. “I must agree with you, dear, I never would have considered sleeping with a pig after I buried my husband either—”
Jane lost it all over again, and Alice was not far behind her. Louise, still stifling her own giggles, kindly took Ethel by the arm and walked with her out the back door.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” said Jane, wiping her wet eyes with a tissue. “That was just so funny.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, and you know how laughter’s contagious. As soon as you got started, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Jane rose from her chair and went to the back door. “Well, it’s also good medicine. I needed a laugh.”
“I just hope we didn’t offend Aunt Ethel.”
“Not to worry, it looks like Louise is smoothing it all over.” Jane pointed out to the garden where the two older women stood talking amidst the roses.
“So, do you think it’s really true about Clara?” asked Alice as she rinsed her teacup and set it in the dishwasher.
“You mean that she sleeps with a pig?”
“Please,” begged Alice. “Don’t get me going again.”
“Why not?” said Jane as she walked to the cupboard and reached for her big mixing bowl. “I’ve heard they make nice pets. Very intelligent. Only one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“They start out cute and small, but they can grow up to be enormous. They can weigh hundreds of pounds.”
“Goodness. I can’t imagine Clara Horn caring for something like that.”
Jane was sifting flour into the bowl. “I thought I’d whip up some sugar cookies. They’re not fancy, but I just got a yen for them this morning. Maybe it’s all this down-home talk about pigs.” Jane laughed.
“Sugar cookies sound delicious to me,” said Alice. “Are you using Mother’s old recipe? She used to make the best ones. Bigger than my hand with the fingers widespread. Of course, my hands were a lot smaller then.”
“I probably won’t make them that big. They might not look very dainty for our guests.”
“Perhaps I could take a few to Vera,” said Alice. “She wasn’t feeling well yesterday.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Jane. “I’ll set aside a special plate for her and Fred.”
Alice took Vera her cookies later in the afternoon, but on her way, she saw Clara Horn wheeling an old-fashioned baby buggy down the street toward her. Alice paused to say hello. “And who’s in the baby carriage?” asked Alice, but she was afraid she already knew.
“Why, this is my baby,” said Clara with a twinkle in her eye. “Her name is Daisy.” Then she held her forefinger over her lips. “I think she’s still asleep.”
Alice peeked into the baby buggy to see a pair of dark beady eyes and a black snout poking out of a white baby bonnet. “Well, hello there, Daisy,” said Alice.
“Oh, Daisy,” said Clara, bending over to see. “Did you wake up already? I thought you were still taking your afternoon nap.”
Alice was not sure what to say next. It would feel disingenuous to say, “What a pretty baby.”
“How old is she?” she finally asked. “She seems quite small.”
“Daisy just turned seven weeks,” said Clara proudly. “Barely old enough to be weaned from her mother. She still drinks from a bottle sometimes. Really, isn’t she just the sweetest thing you ever saw?”
“I’ve never seen anything like her,” said Alice honestly. She studied the dark face and bega
n to think that the pig was rather cute, in a piggy sort of way. Then she reached out and patted the small animal on the head. The pig gave a soft grunt and Alice smiled. “She’s really quite nice,” said Alice.
Clara nodded. “Yes, she’s a darling.”
“Have a good day,” said Alice and continued her walk toward Vera’s house. Alice smiled to herself. Not only did she have freshly made sugar cookies for Vera, but she also had an interesting story to share.
The two friends sat on the sofa in Vera’s living room and laughed over Daisy.
“A real live pig?” asked Vera.
“Yes. I saw it with my own eyes,” said Alice. “Her name is Daisy and she’s actually sort of cute. She’s much smaller than I expected. Although Jane says they can grow to be hundreds of pounds.”
“My word!” Vera laughed again and shook her head. “Well, your visit is making me feel better, Alice. I was feeling pretty blue before you got here.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Vera. People often get a little depressed when they’re ill. Believe me, I see it every day at the hospital. I’m sure you’ll be back to yourself in no time.”
“I hope so. I’ve already missed three days of school. That’s more than I’ve missed in the last three years. And here we are only starting the term.” Vera shook her head. “It’s hard on the kids having a substitute this soon.”
“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that. Try not to think about it and just take it easy.”
“That’s about all I can do,” said Vera. She held up a book. “Fred brought me this new novel that I’ve been wanting to read, but I barely make it through a single page before I fall asleep again.”
Alice patted Vera’s hand. “Resting may be your best medicine right now. And for that reason, I’m going to leave you to it. May I get you anything first?”
“You already got me juice and tea, Alice. I think I’ll be perfectly fine until Fred gets home.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Vera,” promised Alice.
“Thanks.” Vera looked up with sad eyes. “I appreciate it.”
Walking toward home, Alice prayed for her dear friend. She asked God to comfort her and give her rest and help her to get well. When she got home, she found her sisters and several of the guests gathered on the front porch, enjoying tea or lemonade and sugar cookies.
“Come join us,” called Jane.
“I met Clara Horn’s baby,” announced Alice as Jane poured her a cup of tea.
Jane began giggling, and Louise quickly explained to the guests what was so amusing about this little bit of news.
“Tell us about it,” urged Mrs. Miller.
“Well, the piglet’s name is Daisy. She’s about seven weeks old, drinks from a baby bottle and wears a baby bonnet. Oh yes, and she was being transported in a baby carriage. It was really rather sweet.”
“It will not be so sweet when the piglet grows up into a great big hog,” said Louise.
“I saw a special about those pigs on TV once,” said Mrs. Miller. “They were having a hard time finding homes for them when they grew too big to be house pets.”
“Poor Clara,” said Alice. “She really seems to love Daisy.”
“I hope she does not get too attached,” said Louise. “According to Aunt Ethel, Mayor Tynan will be looking into the town ordinances before long.”
“Oh, you people and your small-town politics,” said Mr. Miller. “Something like this wouldn’t cause anyone to even bat an eyelash where we live.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Mrs. Miller. “How would you like it if our neighbors had a three-hundred-pound pig? I’ll bet you wouldn’t waste a minute before you’d be calling the authorities and complaining.”
“Only if it became a nuisance,” he defended himself. “I say, live and let live.”
Jane chuckled. “That’s not how it works in a small town. People really get involved in other people’s business here. You should’ve seen what we went through just to renovate our family home into this inn.”
“Really?” Mrs. Miller looked surprised. “This is such a lovely place. I can’t imagine how anyone could’ve protested.”
Jane launched into stories of some of the crazy battles that the sisters had to fight just to get the townspeople on board.
“But the town came through for us in the end,” Alice said. “When it looked impossible to get our roof fixed, everyone in town pitched in and helped out. We wouldn’t be open today if they hadn’t. You see, the people here are really very generous and good-hearted. It’s just that they can be a hard sell sometimes, but when they’re convinced, then you couldn’t ask for better neighbors.”
“Well, we can’t always say that about where we live,” said Mr. Miller. “Fact of the matter is we don’t even know most of our neighbors.”
“We used to,” said Mrs. Miller sadly. “Then old friends started moving out and new folks moved in. Well, it just got hard to keep track.”
“I suppose we quit trying,” added her husband.
“Maybe we should give it another shot,” said Mrs. Miller. “I noticed that the new folks on the right have a new baby. And the woman was hanging what looked like a handmade quilt on the clothesline.”
“You said how you love to quilt,” said Louise, pointing to the bag of fabric that Mrs. Miller had purchased at Sylvia’s Buttons that day.
“Yes, mentioning the quilt would be a perfect way to start a conversation,” said Mrs. Miller. She smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, I think that’s just what I’ll do when I get back home. You ladies and your friendly little community have inspired me.”
Alice smiled. “That’s one of my prayers for each of our guests.”
Then Mr. Miller pointed toward the plaque that hung by the front door. “We liked what your sign says.” Then he proceeded to read it aloud. “A place where one can be refreshed and encouraged. A place of hope and healing. A place where God is at home.”
“That’s nice,” said Mrs. Miller. “By the way, we noticed that the little church over there has the same name as your inn. Why is that?”
Louise told them a bit about their father and the church, and Alice invited them to join them for the next day’s worship service.
“We haven’t been to church since the children were small,” admitted Mrs. Miller. “I’d like to go tomorrow.” She glanced at her husband and he was nodding.
Chapter Five
All was quiet at the inn when Louise, Jane and Alice met in the library to continue reading from their father’s journal. Alice had brewed a pot of orange pekoe tea and had arranged pot and cups on a large silver tray on their father’s old mahogany desk.
“Do you want me to continue reading?” asked Alice. “Just because I found the journal doesn’t mean that I should be the only one to read. We could take turns.”
“I think you have a fine reading voice,” said Louise. “If Jane has no objections, I would like you to be the official reader.”
“So would I,” said Jane. “That is, if you don’t mind, Alice.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. I love reading Father’s words.”
Jane pulled out the big leather chair and smiled. “Well, if you’re doing the honors, it seems only fitting that you sit in his chair.”
Alice was self-conscious about being the center of attention. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she sat down and put on her reading glasses. “Okay, I think this is where we left off, right after the part about occasionally imbibing bootleg liquor.” She cleared her throat and began to read.
… Although I am not certain that this latter habit is common knowledge throughout our small community. For if it were, I am sure my father would be fined for breaking the laws of prohibition, or more likely, thrown in jail since he has no money to pay fines. Would I feel bad if my father were locked up in jail? I am not sure how to answer that question honestly. I realize that my father does provide for us in what I would describe as a random manner. He does put in his crops and, weather permi
tting, harvests them, but if it were not for my mother’s gardening and canning abilities, my fishing skills and the kindness of neighbors, I know we would go hungry more than we do. I should not complain about eating since it is really much better now that all my older siblings have moved on, although I know my father misses the extra farmhands. I miss them too, but not so much for their sturdy backs as for their companionship. I wish they would come back home to visit occasionally, although I know they probably will not, since they have not done so yet. I think I miss my sister Alice most of—
“I had almost forgotten about Aunt Alice,” said Louise as she poured each of them a cup of hot tea. “Do you remember meeting her, Alice, back when we were little girls? She and her husband came to visit for a few days one summer.”
Alice nodded. “Yes. She seemed quite old at the time, but I think it was only because she’d had a hard life. If memory serves, she was only a few years older than Father.”
“That is right.” Louise handed Alice a cup of tea. “There were four others who were older than Aunt Alice.”
“I know that Father came from a large farm family,” said Jane. “But I never really thought much about his siblings, since I never met any of them—except for Aunt Ethel.”
“Aunt Alice, Father and Aunt Ethel were the youngest,” said Alice. “There were three other brothers and one sister. Of course, all but Aunt Ethel passed on long ago. Let’s see, as I recall, John was the oldest, and I think he lived in Michigan. Then came Martha, who died of typhoid as a child. Then there was Charles. He moved somewhere down south where his wife’s family lived—South Carolina, I think. And, of course, there was Dad’s favorite brother, Adam.”
“Was he the one who died in World War I?” asked Jane. “I remember Father mentioning him in sermons a few times.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, that was Adam, the brother who taught Father to fish. Father loved him dearly.”
“Alice, I officially nominate you to be family historian,” said Louise. “I cannot believe you got all those names and the birth order straight. Will you write that down somewhere so we can keep track of it?”
Hidden History Page 4
