“Oh, dear,” someone murmured.
“He’sfast.”
“Faster than the reporters, at any rate.”
“Look at him go!”
“Since when are authors so athletic?”
“Oh, they’re not,” Hettie Mae assured her. “Most authors are quite sluggish.”
Penny smiled —Hettie was right about that —and cleared her throat. “Okay, folks, time to turn our attention away from the author and toward his book.”
She waited for everyone to settle into their seats. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming to the bookstore this morning to take part in our monthly book discussion.” She held up the book. “Gathering Pointby Daniel Bedford. A best-seller from the moment it came out two years ago. A contender for a slew of awards, including the Pulitzer and National Book Award. Most importantly from my perspective, a favorite of customers at The Tattered Page.”
She looked around. “There’s a lot to discuss in this book —about family, community, New England, hardship, war, and more — and I know you’re eager to dive in. Who wants to start?”
CHAPTER 3
Ninety-eight minutes later, as the spirited discussion came to a close, Penny thanked the group for participating and turned her attention to folding up and stacking the chairs. The meeting had run a bit long but otherwise had gone well, with everyone contributing, everyone listening politely without fidgeting, no one talking too much, and no one leaving upset. As expected, Hettie Mae had initiated a lively discussion about the role of women a century ago, and Donald, who was something of a history buff, had weighed in with a sprinkling of relevant facts about the era.
As she stacked the last of the chairs, Penny heard her name and turned to see her friend Holly, the owner of the Heartsprings Valley Cafe, smiling at her. An attractive woman a few years older than her with shoulder-length brown hair and a warm smile, Holly was carrying something very familiar and very welcome: a small cardboard box imprinted with her cafe’s logo.
“Hey,” Penny said. “My favorite baker. What brings you here?”
Holly handed her the box. “For you and your team.”
“For us? For real?” Penny opened the lid and smiled at the sight of the four muffins —blueberry, apple, cranberry, and chocolate —within. Leaning closer, she breathed in the amazing aromas.
“I know you and your team are working hard,” Holly said. “So I thought….”
“This is wonderful,” Penny said as she inhaled again. Two unexpected gifts on the same day —was the universe attempting to make amends for the leaky roof? “You shouldn’t have.”
“I caught the tail end of the book discussion —sounds like a great group.”
“They’re a good bunch.”
“Was the book you were talking about written by Daniel Bedford?”
“That’s right. Have you read his books?”
“Not his latest, but I read his first one and thought it was great.”
Penny shut the box lid and eyed her friend curiously. At this time of day, almost without fail, Holly was found in her cafe across the square, either behind the counter serving customers or in her kitchen whipping up yet another batch of her signature scones. Her patterns were like clockwork —regular, steady, reliably fixed. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“How’s little Joshua?”
Holly’s face lit up —her two-year-old son was her pride and joy. “Perfect as always. Spending the day with his grandparents.”
“And Gabe?” Penny asked, referring to Holly’s husband, who owned an apple orchard on the outskirts of town.
“Good, especially now that the harvest season is over.”
“I heard someone say it was a great growing year.”
“It was. He’s really pleased.”
