And the mystery continued.
I walked back to the manor, interest piqued, and filled my mug with fresh coffee.
I was in the market for a new hobby, so I headed to the study. I’d incorporated journaling, reading, writing poetry, baking, and gardening into my days. It seemed like the right time to further embrace the era, especially since I couldn’t manage to embrace the solitude.
A set of books outlining life in the late 1800s, specifically for women of Emily’s social status, caught my eye. So I pulled one from the shelf then settled onto the window seat. I nearly laughed at the first few suggestions for female hobbies. I couldn’t sing, paint, or draw, so I immediately dismissed those possibilities and also skipped the sections on playing the piano or violin. Croquet had grown in popularity during Emily’s lifetime, but I couldn’t exactly invite a bunch of modern-day women over for croquet without seeming mad.
I skimmed onward several chapters, then paused to read aloud.
“Women frequently held salons, or small gatherings of friends and acquaintances of particular note in society. Participants traded storiesand gossip while enjoying tea or hors d’oeuvres.” A salon sounded nice, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to host anything. Emily wouldn’t have, especially by the time she reached my age. In fact, she sometimes spoke to people through a crack in the door. And she’d only attended her father’s funeral by leaving her bedroom door open and listening to callers and the pastor from the second floor.
I sighed and made a note to circle back to salons if necessary.
The pages on embroidery seemed promising. I was sure I could buy everything I needed at a craft store in town. I made a list for reference and moved on.
When I made it to the chapter on crafting with human hair, I closed the book. “Embroidery for the win, then.”
The next day, I met Daisy and Kate at the coffee shop on Elm and Vine. Kate told us about a new set of condos going in a few blocks from downtown. The land developer planned to raze a pair of historic farmhouses and their respective barns to clear the way.
“Those buildings have been standing there longer than the colleges,” Kate said. “Why not make the land into parks or living museums? Why not designate the homes as historic and use federal grant money to restore them?”
Daisy patted her mouth with a paper napkin. “Davis Sommers tried.”
My ears perked. “What did Davis do?” I asked.
“Everything he could,” Daisy said. “That’s what I heard, anyway. My roommate’s boyfriend works in the history department at the college, and I guess Davis was there all last month, working with a professor to apply for grants. When that wasn’t going to happen fast enough, and without guarantees, he talked to someone in the law school about possible legal actions he could take to slow the land developer long enough to acquire the grants.”
“The land developer is his dad,” Kate said.
My jaw dropped. “No.” I thought of Michael and Grace saying the Sommers men were a big deal in town and how different their goals were. I couldn’t help wondering what that meant to their relationship. My parents and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’d never have to consult legal counsel to settle a disagreement.
“Mr. Sommers has saved a lot of small businesses, but I think he’d trade every historic property in town for something with ten floors and fifty potential rental units,” Kate said. “I don’t know how many people realize his kindness has a price. He offers help that leaves folks feeling indebted to him. Like making big donations to little league teams, dance schools, and community projects. Then no one wants to step on his toes because he helped them. That’s how he ends up getting his way on the big things like this.”
I frowned. “That sounds incredibly manipulative.”
Daisy gave me a pointed stare, and Kate nodded.
My phone began to buzz in my pocket, drawing my attention to a series of notifications from IBOOM. A quick peek revealed a GIF and snark war happening in real time between Historically_Bookish and a part-time clerk in Salem we often teased for being too uptight.
I gave my friends a polite lift of one finger to let them know I needed a second; then I scrolled through the comments to see what all the commotion was about.
Witch_Please_1692 worked a couple of days a week at a mystic-themed shop, and only responded to posts when they wanted to complain. This time they’d taken issue with theOutlanderdisplay post made days prior.
Witch_Please_1692: Not sure what’s worse, that joke or the display itself. No one’s reading that series anymore. I suppose being stuck in the past is typical for anyone in Amherst.
Historically_Bookish: You realize you have 1692 right in your handle, yeah? Who’s obsessed with the past?
Historically_Bookish: Also, Outlander books are literally timeless
Historically_Bookish:
Witch_Please_1692:
Historically_Bookish: You just don’t understand time travel. I made a similar joke tomorrow, but you didn’t get it then either
Witch_Please_1692: (GIF of a child wearing a painfully bland expression)
Witch_Please_1692: Defending yourself today? No @ED_Fan to rescue you? Surprised the two of you aren’t attached at the hip with them in your town
