Chapter 5. Pitches and Pitchforks
PITCHES AND PITCHFORKS
WHITNEY
As I washed my face the following Monday morning, I noticed my nose felt tender. I leaned in to take a closer look in the mirror. An angry red pimple had erupted on the end of my nose during the night. Oh, the joys of hormones.
As if the zit wasn’t bad enough, I’d also been battling my calluses, trying to get rid of them for the baby’s sake.
I’d been using Compound W but, while the chemical agent had managed to burn through a few layers of skin, it wasn’t working fast enough.
I rounded up a piece of coarse sandpaper and was rubbing it against my fingertips when Collin rapped on the frame of the open door. “Okay if I come in and shave?”
“Sure.”
He glanced down at my hands as he entered. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to soften my hands. I don’t want our baby to feel my callouses and think their mom isn’t a real woman.”
Collin reached over and gently took my hand in his. “Leave them. You’ll teach our child that real women don’t have to be soft. They can be strong.” He lifted my hand and planted a warm kiss on my knuckles before releasing it.
I nearly swooned. “For a guy who makes his living with a badge and a gun, you sure have a way with words.” I wadded up the sandpaper and tossed it into the trash. “Bathroom’s all yours.”
I decided to head over to Leipers Fork early so I could grab a smoothie at the Victory Garden and check out the bookstore before heading to the barn to meet with Gail and Tyler.
I donned my coveralls and steel-toed boots, slid my sketches into a file folder, and picked Sawdust up from the floor to plant a goodbye kiss on the top of his head.
He looked into my eyes and issued a questioning mew?
I could tell he was asking to go to work with me.
I sometimes took him along and let him explore the buildings we were remodeling, but only when it was safe to do so.
With the barn door ready to fall from its hinges at any time, as well as all of the sharp and rusty farming implements scattered about, there were too many dangers.
“I promise I’ll show you the barn once we’re further along and it’s safe, okay? ”
He issued a soft kitty sigh of disappointment, but accepted my decision.
I gave him a second peck for good measure and placed him on the top tier of the cat tree in the front window.
The morning was gray, dreary, and drizzly.
With the calendar having flipped from March to April just a couple of days prior, the showers had promptly arrived.
So had the pollen. The bright yellow dust seemed to cover every outdoor surface, and hung in the air like a cloud of mustard gas. Hopefully, the rain would wash it away.
The skies opened up on my drive down to Leipers Fork. The heavy rain pelting my windshield like buckshot made it difficult to hear the Yee Spills the Tea podcast I’d cued up. A distant thunderclap told me I’d been right to leave Sawdust home today.
I was nearly to the restaurant when a large white truck passed me.
It was a bucket truck with a cherry picker on the back and the logo for the Middle Tennessee Electric cooperative, or MTE, on the side.
There must be a power outage nearby. I turned in to the Victory Garden to find the parking lot half-full, impressive for a restaurant at half past nine on a stormy weekday. Fortunately, their power was still on.
I rounded up my umbrella from the back seat and opened it just outside my door.
A strong gust of wind slammed into me, nearly blowing me off my feet and turning my umbrella inside out.
Thwop! I scurried up onto the restaurant’s front porch, wrangled the umbrella back into submission, and stepped inside.
Many of the tables were occupied by people enjoying pancakes, waffles, or biscuits smothered in creamy pepper gravy, and the line at the smoothie bar was three people deep.
The animal cameras were on, but the feeds showed little activity.
The Holsteins hunkered in their three-sided cowshed, while the chickens roosted in their dry coop.
The pigs lounged inside their shelter. The Collie Cam showed only unfinished wood, presumably the inside of a doghouse where Ruby had taken cover from the rain.
Dressed in another calico dress and accessorized with her feather-adorned French comb, Deborah flitted about the restaurant, waiting on those seated at the tables, while one of her sisters stood behind the counter, preparing the smoothies.
Presumably, the third sister was in the kitchen, taking care of the cooking.
I read over the menu as the sister working the smoothie station dropped a banana and other fresh fruit into a high-powered blender to make a drink for the customer at the counter.
Should I get the I’m Flaxy and I Know It, with blackberries and flaxseeds for omega-3s?
Or should I get the Respect Your Elders smoothie that includes elderberries?
Hmm … I decided to go with the former today.
Deborah’s sister greeted me with a smile as I stepped up to the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Kitchen Sink Breakfast Cookie and a large I’m Flaxy and I Know It smoothie to go.”
“Coming right up.” She scooped up a cup of blackberries and dropped them into the blender along with a small banana, a heaping spoonful of protein powder, a tablespoon of flaxseed, flax milk, and a scoop of ice.
She blended the ingredients for about fifteen seconds then poured it into a cardboard cup, adding a paper straw.
“That’ll be ten dollars and fifty cents. ”
I inserted my debit card into the reader, added a tip, and picked up the cookie and the cup, raising them in gratitude. “Thanks.”
“Stay dry!” she called after me by way of goodbye. “It’s a wet one out there!”
The door opened just before I reached it, and I stood aside as a group of fortysomething women entered, chatting and chittering.
All wore the glow that came with a vigorous workout, as well as high-end exercise gear, some in spandex yoga pants and tops, others in knit joggers and long-sleeved nylon shirts.
Their hair, makeup, and jewelry also spelled money.
My guess was they lived in the exclusive town of Franklin or one of the new upscale neighborhoods nearby, and had come here from an exercise class.
Several of them carried colorful gift bags filled with tissue paper.
One bag was printed with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
The first to enter stopped at the unattended hostess stand. Deborah called to them from across the room. “Welcome back, ladies! I’ll be right with you.”
Once the last of the women passed me, I stepped out onto the porch. I took a small sip of the cold smoothie, careful not to set off a brain freeze, and moaned in bliss. Mmm.
I rushed back to my car, climbed in, and stowed the smoothie in the cupholder. The breakfast cookie lived up to its name, including virtually every ingredient except the kitchen sink. Oatmeal. Coconut. Dried cranberries. Raisins. Walnuts. Pepitas. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Wheat germ. Maple syrup.
I drove over to Stories & Such, glad to see the sign in the glass pane on the door had been turned to OPEN.
With Easter on its way, the window display included plush rabbits, hand baskets filled with fake grass and colorful plastic eggs, and children’s books featuring the famous bunny who brought candy to kids.
Once again, I made a mad dash to get inside before being drenched by the torrential downpour.
“Hi, there!” called a male clerk from behind the sales counter. His pale skin and dark Van Dyke–style goatee made him appear mildly vampiric. “Wet enough for you?”
“Sure is.” I stashed my umbrella in a plastic bin that had been placed by the door for that purpose.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
I glanced around. The gift section was at the front of the shop, the books to the rear. “Any chance you’ve got a copy of Eenie Meenie Miney Mine?”
“You’re in luck.” He circled around the counter.
“A new shipment just came in. We can hardly keep that book in stock. I assume you heard what happened at that book club in Murfreesboro? Everyone wants to read the book worth fighting about.” He led me to a display of the novel.
For fun, they’d included a pair of boxing gloves.
He took a copy off the top of the stack and handed it to me, leaning in to whisper, “For what it’s worth, I think she should pick the veterinarian. ”
An intense flash of lightning lit up the front window of the store, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it shook the building.
The lights went off, and the shop filled with darkness and silence as the usual background buzz of electronics ceased for a beat.
The storm seemed to be centered right over us now.
Before we could even remark on it, the lights flickered back on and a beep sounded as the computerized cash register rebooted.
“Phew!” the clerk said, miming the act of wiping his brow. “That was a close one.”
I browsed around for the next half hour, choosing a humorous thriller, a women’s fiction book, and a couple of cozy mysteries with cats on the cover.
My to-be-read pile included a dozen books already, but one can never have too much reading material, can one?
I also grabbed two copies of a bunny board book, one for my baby and one for Buck’s daughter, Mari.
The clerk tucked my books into a paper shopping bag, and added a bookmark with their store’s logo on it. “Happy reading!”