Chapter 31
D alia’s Saturday started when she awoke to early morning light streaming in through her open bedroom window, accompanied by a gentle cool breeze that announced the coming of a sunny day that would turn warm.
She threw back the covers and stretched lazily, luxuriating in the memory of making love with Brody. His kiss, his touch, his…
A hungry “baa” rose up from the barn. Her menagerie of animals wasn’t the least bit interested in her love life. She rolled out of the sack and quickly cleaned up and hurried downstairs to start her farm chores.
Rover showed up, too. Early in the morning like this, the herder would leave his girl’s side long enough to herd the sheep, a task he’d been born to do.
“Good morning, my loves!” Dalia hollered at her sheep as she flung open the barn door.
“Come on!” Rover went to work, running to the back of the flock and spurring them on.
They ran out of the barn, across a patch of grass, and through the open gate that led to their pasture.
“Get in there, Sheba,” Dalia prodded as she shoved a hefty ewe past the gate.
It’d become a morning ritual for Sheba to hang back, waiting for special attention from their shepherdess.
Rover wasn’t having it and used her snout to tap Sheba’s back legs to get her in.
“Hi Barney,” Dalia greeted the barn cat that darted up and scampered ahead of her. Barney liked this morning ritual.
Rover guarded the open gate, lest someone try to escape, while Dalia strode to the side of the pasture to check on the spring-fed pond that provided the flock’s water.
She didn’t know why she always checked the pond; it never disappeared in the eighteen years she’d lived on the farm.
But it became a peaceful morning practice that helped calm her world at the start of the day.
In the wintertime the pond never completely froze over because of being fed by an underground spring.
Still, when it became bitterly cold at the height of the ice-and-snow-laden season, Dalia would sequester her darlings in the barn and haul food and water to them.
The sheep, including Sheba, settled down and munched on grass. Dalia went through the gate and latched it, satisfied her flock was set for the day. Rover’s job done, he went back to the house to lie down by the door, waiting for his girl to show up.
For Dalia, the chickens came next. She went back to the barn to fill a bucket with chicken feed.
In the expansive outdoor section of the coop, a frenzy of clucking ensued as she randomly tossed the feed onto the ground.
Barney enjoyed sitting on a fencepost observing the goings on.
Sometimes Dalia entertained herself by shelling it out in a circle, heart, or infinity sign to watch her fowl friends create formations.
Rose often joined her to make her own chicken patterns.
Her bucket empty, she gathered eggs by opening the outdoor flaps that allowed her to reach into the backs of their nests, which were in the clapboard sheltered house where they slept and laid. Careful not to break any, she collected eighteen eggs, a good batch.
The coop door stayed open when she left so her babes could roam the yard during the day.
Advertisers were starting to make a big deal out of eggs from “Free Range” chickens.
Dalia had never known any other way to do it.
At dusk, the chickens would willingly come back to the coop for their supper and while they ate Dalia would close the door to keep them safe for the night.
Every now and again she’d have to chase after a rowdy stray who wanted to galavant around, but it was usually an easy task.
Happy with her harvest, she started for the house when Rose came skipping out the door. “Mommy! I saw that cake you made already. It’s pink! My favorite color. It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Dalia kissed the top of her daughter’s tangled-hair head. “It’s for a wedding. A couple are getting married this morning.”
They walked as they talked, with Rover at Rose’s side.
“Is it Miss Kenyon?” Rose asked.
“Why, no. What makes you ask if it’s her?”
“You know. She has the dress.”
“Oh, I see. Well, there’s more to getting married than having a wedding dress.”
“Huh. Is her mommy gonna come read to me again?”
“Mrs. O’Brien? I don’t know. We could ask her, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. Please. I like her.”
“Yes, that’s nice.” Dalia didn’t divulge her true feelings about Kenyon’s mom.
She wondered about the striking woman, famous in Michigan because she was the most admired and longest-running newscaster on the most watched news show in the state.
There had been countless The Detroit News and even national magazine articles touting her as a do-gooder for the community.
In some ways, Llayne O’Brien seemed too good to be true.
In fact, the whole family seemed too good to be true.
Dalia swept the unkind thoughts from her mind as petty insouciance because she couldn’t imagine being in such a white-bread family. Her family might be unconventional, what with the mixed races, lack of official adoption, and unwed motherhood, but she couldn’t ask for anything better.
“She’s the best storyteller ever.”
Rose recaptured her mother’s attention. “You mean Mrs. O’Brien?”
“Yeah.” Rose paused, thinking. “I mean, ‘cept for you. And Grammy.” The child struggled to make sure she didn’t offend the women she loved.
Dalia opened the door to the kitchen and let Rose and Rover go in first. “That’s good to know, sweetheart. Now, did you feed Rover yet?”
“Not yet. We saw you outside and wanted to see you first.”
“I appreciate that. Now feed your dog.”
Rose had been feeding her pet herself for a year, ever since she became tall enough to reach into the bucket of kibble and ladle out the proper amount. The women kept the boy’s water bowl full from the kitchen sink, which Rose couldn’t reach.
Mamie swept into the room and their day began to swirl.
After a hearty breakfast, Dalia changed from her farm chore duds into a nice summer dress and clean bib apron that had “Mama Mamie’s Bakery” embroidered on it.
Mamie put on her matching apron; Rose was cleaned up and decked out in her matching little-girl-sized apron; they packed the truck; and away they went anticipating a Saturday filled with a lot of fun and a lot of work at the Farmers’ Market.
But the day didn’t go as Dalia expected. They delivered the pink wedding cake without a hitch. They arrived at their market kiosk in plenty of time to get it nicely set up. The weather was perfect, which lured in a horde of shoppers as soon as they opened.
Regulars like their benefactor Vic Van Natter, president of the bank, mayor, and Mamie’s lifelong friend, were the first to arrive, which seemed like a welcoming start to the day.
Feverishly working away, having reached the groove of smiling, trying not to chat too long so customers wouldn’t have to wait in line, and restocking from the truck as often as necessary, Dalia ran back and forth all morning.
But then none other than Chad Damon showed up.
At first Dalia was confused at his appearance, as she didn’t know the guy except for two instances, first at the gentleman’s club and then at Kenyon’s wedding-funeral.
She felt certain he didn’t recognize her from Babette’s, and he hadn’t noticed her in the church for the wedding, either, with the all the ruckus.
For some reason she couldn’t understand, he seemed mad at her.
“I need to talk to you.” It was a demand, not a request.
Pissed off at his tone and terrified he somehow did recognize her from the club, she said, “Well, I don’t need to talk to you unless you’re buying a loaf of bread.” She held up a loaf and stuck it in his face.
He flinched. “I don’t need any damned bread.”
“Then I don’t need to talk to you.”
“Fine. Give me the damned bread.” He pulled some bills out of his pocket and threw three ones onto the table.
“It’s five.”
“It says three dollars right here.” Indignant, he pointed at the sign.
“That’s just for bread. You want talk, too.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
She glanced over to make sure her mama, daughter, and customers weren’t within ear shot. They were busy at the other table. “So I’ve been told,” Dalia retorted as cattily as she could manage.
Chad threw down two more ones. “I’ve heard that you and my fiancée…”
“Ah, ah, ah. Former fiancée.”
The tips of his ears reddened with anger, which Dalia found funny.
“You and Kenyon have become friends.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Everybody in town knows that. There are no secrets in Farmdale. I was told Kenyon had a new friend at the wedding and was given your name. When I asked around, I heard you were here. I need you to tell that bitch to stop ruining my billboards. I’ll sue her if I must. Tell her to lay off!”
“Why don’t you tell her yourself?”
“Oh, believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve called their house a dozen times. No matter who answers, they hang up on me. I’ve tried to catch her away from home, but she keeps alluding me. Tell her to decease and desist!” He spun around to leave.
“Hey, Chad, you forgot your bread.” She held it up.
“Keep your damned bread.” He left in a huff.
A customer stepped up, took the loaf of bread, handed her three bucks, and left. More buyers flooded the kiosk. Dalia fell into automation mode until a charming deputy took a turn and stood in front of her, his out-of-town work apparently done.
“Deputy McIntyre, what can I do for you?” She delighted in her little joke. The two of them knew good and well what they could do for one another.
He glanced back at the people in line behind him, threw her a cockeyed grin, and said, “I’d like one of your tasty cream-filled eclairs, please.” His lowered chin and raised eyebrows revealed his not-so-hidden code.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Her body tingling from head to toe, she went to the back table where the individual goodies were kept and scooped the plumpest éclair onto a napkin. When she handed it to him, their fingers touched, sending a shock wave through her.
“Thank you. It looks delicious.” He never looked at the éclair, staring only at her.
He walked away and she had to force herself to calm down.
It wasn’t as if she could make love to him right there and then.
Her inner talk scolded her for her lascivious thoughts, and she forced herself to turn her mind back to the business at hand.
It wasn’t until then she realized he’d left a five-dollar bill on the table.
A single éclair was only two dollars. She also had the extra cash from Chad.
So, when two little kids stepped up asking how much a cupcake cost, they each got one for free.
They went away deliriously happy and that made Dalia happy.
The day proceeded without anything else out of the ordinary until late afternoon when Kenyon O’Brien showed up. Dalia had never seen her at market before. They greeted each other warmly and Rose ran up to her with outstretched arms for a hug.
“Where’s your dress?” Rose wanted to know. “The pretty one for getting married.”
“Oh. Um, it’s back home in my bedroom. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to wear it to Farmers’ Market.”
“It is! It’s a very good idea.”
“Okay. Well, we’ll see if maybe next time.” Kenyon grimaced at Dalia and Mamie over the girl’s head, signaling she didn’t know how to get out of this. Mother and grandmother were getting a kick out of it, not willing to step in to save Rose’s new idol.
“You could go get it if you want to,” Rose insisted, not willing to give up easily.
“Right now?”
“Sure. We’ll wait. Hey, how come you didn’t get married in your wedding dress?”
That did it. Dalia stepped in to get Kenyon off the hook. “Rose, honey, you know what?” Rose’s expression belied her annoyance. She’d been having a perfectly good conversation with her new friend and her mother interrupted. “Grammy needs some help restocking. Would you please help her?”
Rose’s little head riveted from woman to woman. This was a ruse, and she knew it. It was Grammy’s glare and her hands on her hips that told the child she’d better obey. Her Grammy took her hand and led her away.
Dispensing with a preamble, Kenyon spilled her announcement excitedly. “I’m going back to see Nellie Franklin again, but this time I have backup. It’s a law professor from the college who’s investigated that Amberton case. We’re going tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?”
Stunned, Dalia agreed to go. She didn’t know why. Nothing would come of it. But something inside her, something so deep she couldn’t get ahold of it, impelled her to say yes.
“Oh, by the way,” Dalia said as Kenyon started to leave, “Chad Damon was here earlier. He’s not a farm market kind of guy, is he? He told me to tell you to lay off his signs.”
“You’re kidding me. That jerk. Why’d he come here and tell you?”
“He said nobody at your house will talk to him. He can’t get through to you.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Gee. I’ll have to pass that message along and see how it goes. It’s possible it’ll only encourage a couple of hooligans to do even more. Tootle-oo.” She waved and left Dalia shaking her head in amusement.