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Shelly Donahue sat at the white plastic table on a white plastic chair outside the Excelo Bakery shop on Water Street. She was eating a "wicked" sandwich -- so designated on a hand-lettered placard -- consisting of sprouts,... See more » Shelly Donahue sat at the white plastic table on a white plastic chair outside the Excelo Bakery shop on Water Street. She was eating a "wicked" sandwich -- so designated on a hand-lettered placard -- consisting of sprouts, tomato, avocado, two kinds of cheese, and Green Goddess dressing on herb-flavored foccacio bread baked on the premises. Her own designation of it was "messy but interesting;" as in, "Will you make me one of those messy but interesting veggie sandwiches?" Shelly would not add a sandwich to a list including murder and child abuse. She also had a cup of cranberry juice, not further designated. She was feeling frazzled, and looking a trifle frazzled as well; her hair was coming out of its bun and tendrils of it were lifted up here and there by a cool, vagrant breeze. An all-day pre-school session was underway, and there were new laws and regulations to master, new textbooks (one with several errors of fact) to study, and a new principal full of new ideas. And retirement was twenty years away. But the morning's harsh edge was being smoothed away by a bit of friendly gossip. She was sharing her table with Irene Potter, a fellow needleworker, who was not drinking her coffee and was pulling fragments off a poppy seed muffin with her lean, nimble fingers in lieu of eating it. Irene's shining dark eyes encouraged Shelly to go on with what she was saying. So, "You know, you'd hardly think they were sisters at all," Shelly continued. "Margot's such a dainty little thing, so sweet and ... and ... oh, I know the word's not considered nice anymore, but she's a lady. A real lady. Betsy's nice too, don't get me wrong. But it's not just that they don't look very much alike; I mean, that sort of thing happens in any family that doesn't marry one another's cousins. But Betsy's ... " She paused to think of the right words. "She's ... more so," she said with an air of having at last put her finger on it. "You should have seen her lighting up for Hudson Earlie Saturday night. And Hud was putting the move on her -- you know Hud -- but Margot couldn't say anything right there in front of him." "Yes, we all know Hud," said Irene, waggling her eyebrows. "But did you know Margot hired Betsy to work in the store?" "She did?" Irene had worked a few hours in Crewel World, and wanted to work more. "And Betsy doesn't know anything about running a store, or all that much about needlework, for that matter. She asked the dumbest questions." "No!" said Irene, gratified. "Yes. But she's trying really hard to pick up on things. And she's fun to have around, she really seems to like talking with the customers. She sold a whole lot of yarn to this woman by asking her questions about knitting, it was so funny to watch." Irene chose to ignore that good news. "I hear she used to live in San Francisco." Her expressive voice turned the name into a synonym for depravity. Shelly shrugged eloquently. "Yes, she mentioned that. And London, and New York. As if none of us ever go anywhere. She's been married a few times, too. But no children." Her face was disapproving of both those facts, though she herself was divorced -- once -- and had no children. Irene said, "Of course, Margot never had children, either. Though I always understood it was Aaron's fault." They shared a slightly different expression this time, then smiled to show it was all just in fun. Shelly glanced at her watch, made an exclamation. She stood and began gathering the remnants of her meal. "Lunch break's about over. I have to get back." "Yes, you only get forty-five minutes, don't you?" said Irene, also rising. Her job as supervisor in the shipping department of a local manufacturer wasn't as prestigious as Shelly's, but they gave her an hour for lunch. "So," she went on, walking Shelly to the trash barrel, her voice hopeful, "if Betsy doesn't know much, it seems Margot will still be in the market for a part-timer to help out in the shop?" Irene Potter's ultimate goal in life was to own a needlework shop, and meanwhile to gain full time employment in Margot's. Shelly's news about See less »

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Chapter Four

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