A Dollhouse to Die For(82)

            “This is great!” My mind was whirling with possibilities. “Hey, these would be fun projects to do with Claire. I must have tons of stuff at the store that I can use—buttons, thimbles, ribbons, and other odds and ends.”

            “That’s great, but don’t overdo it. The art of miniaturizing is to use only what’s needed to complete the setting.” Ardine tapped on the side of one house. “This family doesn’t get along with the family in the Vermont country house next door. It all started when Mr. Murphy cut down Mrs. Johnston’s hollyhocks by accident.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “Mrs. Murphy would like to make up, but her husband wouldn’t approve.”

            Thankfully, I managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

            “Here’s a new dinner service that Jeanne gave me for the last room design,” she said, showing me a Staffordshire china set. “I think I’ll give it to the Johnstons to make up for the hollyhocks. You know, then maybe Mrs. Johnston might invite the neighbors over for dinner. This could be a new start for everyone.”

            Suddenly I saw how real this had become to her. As a teacher, I knew that playing with dolls was a way for children to be in charge. But what did it say about a grown woman? It seemed a bit weird for someone her age, and then I pictured me playing with Claire and making up stories. But that was different.

            Oh, yeah? How’s that?

            “Ardine, you really know your stuff. Have you ever thought about teaching?”

            There was that brief, bright smile. Like a student that glowed under just a little attention and positive reinforcement.

            “I mean it. I think you’d be great. You have so much knowledge to share.”

            “Oh, Daisy, you’re so nice. Your friends are so nice, too,” she said. “I’m so glad I met you.”





Chapter Thirteen





When I got home, Joe was still down in the basement. I called hello, and he answered, but he didn’t come upstairs, so I grabbed Jasper’s leash and headed out for a walk with the dog.

            I found myself going down to the south end of Millbury and past the Browns’ house. Sam was sitting out in a rocking chair on the porch, and he jumped up and waved to me.

            “Come on in, Daisy. Come and see Georgia.”

            Jasper and I went through the gate, and we walked over to where the pumpkin sat in all her peach-colored glory, swelled to the bursting point and glowing in the moonlight. Like a fairy princess who’d sunk to the ground with her ball gown puffed up around her.

            I held Jasper back while Sam hovered over her like an expectant father. “You know, you get real attached to them,” he said, stroking her skin. “Like a child or a pet. From starting the seed to the final weigh-in at Doylestown, it’s a nine-to-ten-month process.”

            Like a pregnancy. I thought of Bettina growing larger by the day with Birch’s baby.

            “Until the day comes that you have to cut the vine to take it to the show. You hold your breath until you get the punkin on the truck. It’s like cutting the umbilical cord. It won’t grow any more after that. In fact it starts losing weight.”

            “But how do you know how much it weighs before you go?” I asked.

            “You don’t. You just have to estimate by measurements, but it’s not exact, and you don’t know what’s going on inside.” He rubbed a hand across his weathered face. “I had one that went down last year. Damn squash borers got to it and ate a hole through the side. I cried like a baby.”

            I swallowed. Somehow I’d developed an attachment to the giant fruit, too. I prayed that this one would make it.

            “Then there’s the woodchucks. Don’t even get me started on those. I seen one creeping round here the other night. I’m ready for him though. Got me a twenty-two rifle. I’ll get the little bastard.”