Chapter 8
A nita stepped onto the sidewalk outside of Pete’s Bistro on New Year’s Eve day, her carryout order of a club sandwich and chips secured in a carrier bag.
She’d eat half of it now for lunch and save the rest for dinner.
She and Gordon Mortimer had agreed to have their New Year’s Eve dinner together—on FaceTime.
He, of course, would be in New York City, and she would be here.
The thought of celebrating with him—even virtually—brought a warm flush to her cheeks despite the frigid temperatures.
She stepped away from the door, set her parcel at her feet, and pulled her scarf close under her chin.
Two familiar figures huddled in conversation two doors down. The woman caught sight of her and swung her hand over her head in greeting.
Anita headed in their direction. “What are you two doing out here on this frigid afternoon?”
Tim glanced at the pink bakery box he was holding. “Nancy’s birthday is tomorrow, and I picked up her favorite cake for her. I was heading into Celebrations to buy a card. I’ve also got a gift certificate for a monthly massage.”
“I’d give you an A+ on your efforts,” Anita said. “I’m sure Nancy will be thrilled.”
“I’ve always felt sorry for people with birthdays on major holidays.
They seem to get shortchanged,” said Tim.
“When I married Nancy, I promised myself I’d never let that happen to her.
This cake isn’t even on the menu at Laura’s.
It’s a lemon poppyseed pound cake with lemon drizzle icing.
Laura makes it using Nancy’s grandmother’s recipe. ”
“You’re too good to be true,” Judy teased him.
“And why are you on the sidewalk outside Celebrations?” Anita asked Judy.
“I removed my front window display this morning,” Judy said. “I give the space a thorough cleaning whenever I reset my window. Then I stand here and look at the space while I think about what I’m going to display.”
“It’s your version of a painter looking at a blank canvas,” Anita said. “Your window displays are fabulous. I draw a lot of inspiration for mine from yours.”
“That’s a nice thing to say,” Judy said.
“Arranging a display is creative. When this space is clean and empty, I come out here and look at it from every angle. Then I go back into my store and cull through what I’ve got on the shelves or boxed up in the back that I’d like to feature.
I let all of that percolate in my subconscious for a day or two before I fill the space. ”
“I agree with Anita,” Tim said. “You’re a real artist.”
“Maybe you can help me with my displays at the sewing machine museum I’m going to build,” Anita said. “I’d be happy to pay you for your expertise.”
“I’d love to and you’re not paying me,” Judy said. “I’ve already been thinking about it, to tell you the truth.”
“What’s this about a sewing machine museum?” Tim asked. “I haven’t heard about that.”
Anita bit her lip.
“It’s a terrific idea,” Judy said. “Tell him.”
“I’ve got a basement full of old sewing machines that my mother and grandmother used in our shop.
I thought they were so pretty and began collecting them.
Well, you know how it goes—one purchase leads to another, and pretty soon you have dozens and dozens of them packed away in a basement.
I asked Gordon to appraise them for me recently,” she said. “Have you met him?”
“I have. He’s the man from New York who helped Maggie and John sell the valuable silver they found in Rosemont’s attic.”
“That’s the one. Gordon told me my collection isn’t worth a lot of money.
He said the machines I have are beautiful and should be out where people can see them.
He encouraged me to start a museum with them.
Gordon even took me to tour a small appliance museum not far from here.
Anyway, I decided he was right and that I’d open a sewing machine museum right here in Westbury. ”
“Congratulations, Anita. I think that’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard. Nancy loves to sew—I’m sure we’ll be lined up to get in on opening day.”
“Thank you, Tim. It’s early days, yet. I’ve been making list upon list of things I need to do. The first item is finding a place I can afford to buy or rent. There’s not enough space in Archer’s Bridal.”
Tim spun around, facing the square. “I think it should be located here,” he said. “On the square. This is the area we want to enhance to attract tourists to Westbury.”
“Spoken like a member of the town council,” Judy said. “I think you’re right, though. I’d love it to be located on the square. You’d get foot traffic into the museum, too. The square is a busy place.”
“It would be convenient for me if it were located close to Archer’s Bridal,” Anita said. “I plan for the museum to be open on Saturday and Sunday, and by appointment during the week. It would be easy for me to nip over and unlock it if it was on the square.”
Tim pointed to the middle of the block on the far side of the square. “What about that building?” he asked. The wordsCandy Alleyon a blue and white sign, faded by the sun and ravaged by the rain, were visible through the bare branches of trees on the square.
“You mean Charlotte’s old business?” Judy asked. “The candy store has been vacant since she passed away four years ago. Is it on the market? I don’t see a For Sale sign.”
“No, it’s not listed,” Tim said. “Someone inherited it from her, and it’s clear they don’t intend to run a candy store—or any other business, for that matter—out of the space. It’s not unusual for properties that are owned by a person’s estate to remain vacant for years while the heirs decide?—”
“Or fight over,” Judy interrupted.
Tim chuckled. “Or fight over—what to do with it.”
“That location would be ideal,” Anita said. “I’ve been in and out of that store since I was a child. If memory serves me, it’s plenty big enough to house my museum. But if the property isn’t on the market, I don’t know what good that does me.”
Tim turned to face Anita, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Would you like me to make inquiries on your behalf?” he asked.
“I won’t mention you’re interested in buying it or what you’d like to use it for.
I’ll find out who owns the property and contact them.
Sometimes people get so overwhelmed with managing an estate that they’re gridlocked and grateful to receive an expression of interest.”
“It sounds like a lot of work with potentially no reward,” Anita said.
“If we can’t get that property, I’d be delighted to help you find something else,” Tim said. “At any rate, I’m curious about Candy Alley and its future use. As a realtor, I’d like to know what the current owners plan to do with it.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d make some calls, if you really don’t mind,” Anita said.
“Would you be interested in seeing it, if I can arrange a showing?”
“Definitely,” Anita said. “I have nothing on my calendar for the foreseeable future that I can’t move. Set up a time and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll do my best,” Tim said. “And now I'd better get that card and be on my way.”
“Happy New Year to both of you,” Anita said, as Tim and Judy entered Celebrations.
Anita carried her takeout lunch through the deserted workroom to the break room at the rear of the bridal shop. Her workroom supervisor and the two seamstresses sat together at a round table in the center of the room.
She smiled at the women who, after over three decades at Archer’s Bridal, were more like family than employees.
“We’re caught up, aren’t we?” Anita asked. “Every dress that was promised for next week is ready?”
“Yes. And the following week too,” the supervisor said. “After months of being behind, we’re finally up to date.”
“It’s slow this time of year,” Anita said. “Valentine’s Day always brings a surge of engagements, so we’ll be plenty busy in a couple of months.” She faced her employees. “You can go home now and get ready for your evening plans.”
One seamstress chuckled. “That would mean putting on my PJs and ordering a pizza.”
“Sounds like the perfect New Year’s Eve to me,” the other woman said.
“Well, you can get an early start on things.”
“Thank you, Anita,” the two seamstresses replied in unison. They replaced their empty plastic containers into lunch boxes and headed to their lockers along the opposite wall to retrieve their coats.
“The sign I posted on the door earlier in the week says we’ll be open until 3:00 p.m.,” the supervisor said. “I’ll stay until then.”
“You don’t need to,” Anita replied. “I doubt anybody’s going to come in. If they do, I’ll handle them. I appreciate the offer, but there’s no reason for both of us to hang around with nothing to do.”
“If you’re sure?” the supervisor’s voice ended on a question as she rose from her chair.
“Absolutely.” Anita placed her Styrofoam container with her sandwich on the counter and took a can of diet soda from the refrigerator. “I’ll eat my lunch while I focus on year-end paperwork. An uninterrupted afternoon is exactly what I need to get started on the books.”
“Okay,” the supervisor said. “Promise me you’ll close at 3:00 and head home. New Year’s Eve is not a night to get caught up in your bookkeeping.”
“Heh—I only did that once, and it was years ago,” Anita said defensively. “Believe me, I don’t want to be out on the roads tonight. I’ll lock up at 3:01 and be home by 3:10.”
“See you next year,” the supervisor said as she put on her coat and headed out the door.
Anita pulled out a chair, popped the top on her soda, and began eating her sandwich.
Her mind drifted to the former Candy Alley building.
It would be the perfect location for her museum.
A seed of excitement formed in her chest as she contemplated the possibility.
It grew and blossomed the more she imagined the museum’s potential home.