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Chapel Springs Revival

By Ane Mulligan

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Claire Bennett couldn't remember when the tradition began—meeting her friends at the bakery, Dee's 'n' Doughs, before the workday started. It must have been after their nests had emptied, since none of them had any tag-alongs velcroed to their ankles. Whatever the cause, stopping for a chat and a hot cup of coffee got her creative juices flowing. Okay, maybe that was the caffeine and sugar, but she couldn't imagine life without her girlfriends.
She wished she could share her deepest heart with Joel. They used to talk, sort of, but something changed between diapers and soccer. It was around the time she started going to church without him. She shuffled through a pile of leaves on the sidewalk. The dry crunch reminded her of their conversations. He wasn't much of a talker and never had been, but he'd become noticeably quieter lately.
A spring breeze played with the edge of her shirttails as she stepped up onto the boardwalk along Sandy Shores Drive. She paused and with her hand, shaded her eyes against the rising sun and welcomed the tremolos and wails of the loons floating up with the mist lifting off Chapel Lake. She searched the reeds along the shoreline for their distinctive black and white neckbands. Like Yankees, they'd soon migrate back to the north. She'd miss their plaintive cries. Time and time again, she'd tried to capture the emotion in her pottery, but so far she hadn't found a way to translate sound into form.
Not seeing the loons, she scanned the width of Moonrise Cove for Joel's boat. Near its center, a lone fisherman—not her hubby—had anchored his dinghy in the fog. Joel was probably angling off Henderson Island. But that lone boat in the foggy Cove would make a melancholy painting. Maybe she'd suggest it to Patsy. With the image in mind, she hurried on to the bakery.
Soft light poured through the picture window of Dee's 'n' Doughs. As she pulled open the glass door, the brass bells attached to a quirky wrought iron hook shaped like a loon, announced her arrival. She paused on the threshold for a moment, closed her eyes, and let the heavenly aroma of yeast, vanilla, and almonds entice her. That indulgence alone would probably add another inch to her waistline. When she opened her eyes, her studio/gallery partner, Patsy Kowalski, was chuckling at her.
Claire dropped her black tote on a chair. Today, all the tablecloths were printed with woodland creatures. The ones yesterday had been fishermen. "Morning. We the first?"
"Aren't we always?" As Patsy sipped her morning French roast, a tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Hurry up and get your coffee. I've got something to tell you."
With intuition borne of being best friends since kindergarten, Claire sensed disquiet in Patsy's tone. It was probably one of the kids. Even though they were grown, worrying about them never failed to make that crease materialize, and between Patsy's three and Claire's five, they had plenty to worry about.
She scurried over to the row of insulated airpots, selected the breakfast blend, and added a shot of cream. When she reached for a packet of sugar, a pan of warm, gooey cinnamon buns Dee had left out for them, leered at her. She squeezed her eyes to slits and tried to focus on the coffee, weighing those size ten jeans against the taste of golden brown pastry laden with butter, cinnamon and rich, gooey icing.
No good. Those buns tempted her beyond reason. If only she had more self discipline—like her friends. She bit her thumbnail. If she skipped the sugar in her coffee ... she snatched the clamoring pastry onto a plate, sucked the frosting off her fingers, and grabbed a packet of sugar substitute.
Clutching a napkin between her fingers, she slipped into the chair next to Patsy, ready for a good natter. "So what's up? You're worried about something. Is it the kids?" She pinched off a piece of the bun and popped it into her mouth. Yummy. Dee and her doughs should be on the Food Network. Either that or arrested for assault on Claire's backside, which was exactly where this bun would end up.
Patsy's hazel eyes warmed, crinkling the skin around the edges. "No, kids are fine." Her expression changed, the light extinguished. "It's—"
The door opened, its bell jingle-jangling. Lacey Dawson strolled in, followed by her sister, the new widow who moved into town just a few months ago and was about to open a health spa. Claire zeroed in on the newcomer's flawless skin and svelte figure. Hmm, that spa might be worth exploring if she could shed those extra pounds hugging her hips and get her skin looking as young and fresh as the widow's. Then, maybe Joel might regain interest.
She smiled at their newest resident. What was her name? People referred to her as the widow on the hill, because she bought the old Wexler house atop the hill behind Warm Springs Park. Wracking her brain brought up nothing but dead space. She quirked her brows at Patsy, who obliged by patting the chair on her other side.
"Lydia, sit here so we can get to know you."
Lydia—that was it. Lydia Smith, the widow on the hill. She even looked like a Lydia. Chestnut-brown hair in a jaw-length bob framed an open and friendly face. Claire fingered the ends of her hair and repeated Lydia's name silently three times. Then once more out loud for good luck. "Lydia, are you settled in yet?"
Her shiny hair swayed against her cheeks as she nodded. "Pretty much. A few boxes got shoved into the mudroom. I'm fixin' to get to them later this week."
Claire scooted her chair over, giving them more room. "Where're you from, Lydia? Your accent sounds like south Georgia." The woman added extra syllables to every vowel and dropped so many word endings she could be fined for littering. North Georgia accents were a teeny bit more civilized.
"Close. Alabama. Mobile, actually. But tell me about you. I understand you're a potter?"
Claire blinked. Lydia moved the conversation away from herself pretty fast. "That's me. Patsy and I share the gallery, The Painted Loon, two doors down. She's an accomplished artist. Works in oils and acrylic."
"That's wonderful. I could use some pieces to dress up the spa." She paused and smiled. "I'm glad Lacey invited me. This is the first time I've had a chance to sit down and get to know y'all. She's been tellin' me that all y'all were raised right here in Chapel Springs. I think y'all are lucky, to live where you got your raisin'." Lydia stopped and looked around the still-empty bakery. "I thought there were more ladies in this group, though."
"There are," Claire said, "but we're the early birds. Dee's in the back, baking, and the others'll be along directly, if they're coming today." They never were sure how many would show up on any given day. "The waitress starts at nine. Those of us who come in this early have to help ourselves."
"I wondered about that. Doesn't she worry about someone leavin' without payin'?"
Claire shot an amused glance at Patsy. Obviously, Lydia wasn't used to life in a small town. "Not Dee and not this early in Chapel Springs. Only residents and ducks are up before the sun here. She has a box under the counter for us to drop in money or an I.O.U."
Lacey appeared with two coffee mugs, a bagel with cream cheese on the side and a cinnamon bun. Ignoring the cream cheese, Lydia chose the bagel as her sister sat beside her.
Claire rolled her eyes. "You have more willpower than me." And a smaller waistline.
"Oh, I wavered, sugah, but with openin' a health spa, I have to be careful. I'm my own walkin' advertisement."
And quite the ad she was, too. By her designer warm-ups, it was clear Lydia's thighs were firmer than Claire's. Would Joel think she looked better than her in jeans?
Then Lydia's mouth turned down in remorse as she eyed the leftover pastry on Claire's plate.
"That I can understand." Claire grabbed a shaker, poured salt over the remainder of her bun, then pushed the plate out of both their reach. She brushed the excess from the racooned tablecloth.
Lydia stared at the plate, tilting her head. "Now, why did you do that?"
"To keep us both safe, girlfriend."
Lydia tilted her head. "I'm missing something."
Claire grinned. "When I need to lose weight, instead of a fixed diet, I cut my intake in half." She eyed the leftover bun. "All right, I ate more than half, but if I put salt on sweet things or sugar on salty things, it ruins them." She raised her hands, palms up, and grinned. "Voila! Diet success."
Patsy, who hadn't gained weight since high school, shook her head. Claire scowled at her. "If it weren't uncharitable I'd ask God to zap ten pounds on you."
Her BFF fingered some crumbs from Claire's abandoned plate into her smirking mouth.
Brat.
Patsy braced her elbows on the table. "Lydia, what do you think of Chapel Springs?"
"I love it. It's exactly what I needed." She opened a container, shook out a breath mint and popped it in her mouth. "After Sam died, I rattled around in that big house. When Lacey got my daughter a job at the bank, she moved here. I decided I should too. I haven't regretted it for a minute."
Claire shook her head at the offer of a mint. Why ruin the lingering taste of cinnamon? "How's the spa coming along? Are you ready to open yet?"
"Almost, I'm waiting for monogrammed towels, and I want some custom lotions, but ...."
The hesitation in her voice tweaked Claire's emotions. She wanted to help and met her new friend's gaze. "But what?" If she helped, maybe Lydia would give her a discount.
Her new friend bit one corner of her lip and glanced at her sister, who shrugged. "Well, I don't want to turn your morning coffee time into a business discussion."
"That's okay," Claire said. "Don't stop now. You've got me curious. Did the mayor hold your business license ransom for more taxes?" He'd tried that on her, but only once.
Lydia twisted her napkin and bit her lip, glancing between Claire and Patsy. "No, I've got that. It's the marketing I'm worried about. I planned to advertise on the Internet, using photos of the town to show off its peaceful beauty and play up the healthful benefits of the warm springs." She hesitated. "Look, I don't want to be seen as an upstart newcomer, but the town is a tad ... well ... drab."
"Drab?"
Hiding her smile at the way Lydia pronounced it "dray-ub", Claire took a mental journey down Sandy Shores Drive, which didn't take long. From the "Welcome to" sign to the one declaring "You're now leaving," it was one-and-a-half miles. Some people thought the tiny mountain hamlet was too small, but not her. The fact she could walk everywhere added to its charm, not to mention its clean air. But Lydia was right. Their picturesque village lacked sparkle.
Claire wrinkled her nose. "It is dray-ub." Patsy kicked her under the table. Had she said that out loud? "I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. I—"
Lydia waved her apology away and grinned. "And dreary. Why, the paint's peeling on a few of the buildings. Another one has a broken sign. Mostly, they just need some color. And flowers." She leaned forward, her eyes bright. "Definitely flowers, maybe window boxes."
There was a good idea. "We used to have hanging flower pots. When Felix Riley campaigned for mayor, he walked around town, waving at everyone." Claire did a mock queen's wave. "Well, one day he wasn't paying attention and walked smack-dab into a lamppost. One of the flowerpots was loose where its holder had cracked. It wobbled and fell, landing on his foot. As soon as he got into office, he had them all removed."
Patsy sighed. "I miss those. They did a lot to brighten the town. You're right, Lydia, we need some sprucing up. And now that you mention it, we've had fewer customers in the gallery. I doubt Claire noticed. When she's busy creating new inventory, she doesn't see or hear."
"Oh, for the love o' Van Gogh. I notice things. I remember taking note of Happy's Hobby sign looking downright pitiful. I know our income's gone down, too. I had to get creative paying last months bills." She scrunched her eyes and pictured the village again. "The more I think on it, there are a lot of places we could set large urns of flowers. And maybe even some colorful awnings." Visualizing them sent her creative juices into hyper drive.
Lydia chewed her bottom lip. "Please don't think I'm being overly critical. I love Chapel Springs. It's such a warm, inviting town and I want the spa—all of us—to be successful."
"You've made a big investment," Patsy said. "It's understandable."
"I love your idea about advertising." Claire leaned forward. "We can't afford to lose the tourist trade." She rose. "I need more caffeine. Anyone else?" She was ready to dive in. If this revival idea worked and business picked up, she could shed the stress of paying for multiple kids in college.
Three mugs thrust toward her. Laughing, she slipped her fingers through the handles then crossed the room to fill them. "Hey, Patsy, grab a pad to take notes. Dee's got to have one around here somewhere. Try behind the counter. We need to do something besides just talk."
Patsy went through the swinging door into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a notepad and pen. Claire handed the refilled coffee cups back to their owners and took her seat. Pulling the pad closer, she picked up the pen and listed the names of the shops on Sandy Shores Drive then stopped, the pen wiggling in her fingers. This wasn't enough. Sitting only made her antsy.
"Let's move this outside—take a good look at the village to see what has to be done." She wanted to see the object of her intended work. "I'm so glad you moved to Chapel Springs, Lydia. You've lit a fire under us, one that needed lighting." Not to mention the one she lit under Claire to lose the extra pounds. "You can bring business ideas like this to our coffee klatch any day." She pushed her chair back and stood. "Come on, ladies, let's go."
"Wait a minute." Patsy's hand shot out, grabbing Claire's arm and pulled her back down. "Wouldn't it be better for each of us to take one or two places instead of all of us descending on the same one, so nobody feels—"
"Besieged. Brilliant, Pat-a-cake." Claire yanked the pen from behind her ear and started divvying up the list. "We'll start at the south end with Front Row Seat." She glanced at Lydia. "That's the video store." Best give that and Felix to someone other than herself. He'd be sure to pitch a hissy fit if she approached him.
"We need to get some other people on board as well," Patsy said. "We'll most likely meet some resistance."
"You're right, again." Claire nibbled the end of her pen. "We can count on Felix and Warren to lead it, too."
"I don't believe I've met them," Lydia said.
"Our illustrious mayor owns the ice cream shop, Flavors, and figures as long as it's clean inside, that's the end of his responsibility. Warren Jenkins owns Front Row Seat, and like a sheep, he'll follow whatever Felix does. Those two are a right royal heinie pain." She peered over the tops of her readers at Patsy, who folded her arms across her chest. Uh-oh. Claire knew that look. It meant she'd stuck her foot in her mouth, again.
Patsy wagged her finger. "Don't color Lydia's impressions. That's not fair."
"Oh come on, Patsy. Felix and Warren would have us all still back in the fifties if the good Lord would have listened to them. I'm sure they tried to bend his ear on more than one occasion regarding that. Hey, that gives me an idea." Claire jotted another note and shot her best "I'll fix their wagon" look across the table at Patsy. "We'll give those two to JoAnn." The pastor's wife was one of her biggest encouragers and Claire adored her.
"That's the pretty redhead, right?" Lydia asked. "Why her?"
Claire nodded. "She's powerfully persuasive. If anyone can influence that old atheist, it'd be JoAnn. You'll learn all about her, after you've lived here a while."
Patsy rolled her eyes. "It's time for you to open the gallery." She slid her handbag strap over her shoulder. "I've got to go to Pineridge to see my framer. I'll be back later. See y'all."
After dropping her money in the box, Claire stuck her head through the kitchen door and shouted good-bye to Dee, then held the front door open for Lydia and Patsy. When she started to pull it shut, a hand grasped it.
Spinning around, Claire splayed her fingers against her chest. "Oh, my word! I'm sorry, Lacey. You were so quiet, I forgot you were here." She gave the young woman's shoulders a squeeze, waved good-bye, and turned toward the antique store, Halls of Time, next to the bakery. A brighter color around the windows would frame its displays, making them pop.
She hummed a lively tune and continued along the boardwalk to her gallery-slash-studio. She'd heard the term "curb appeal" on HGTV, and that's exactly what Chapel Springs needed—some fresh curb appeal.
Arriving at the gallery, her keys jangled as she pushed one into the lock but stopped mid-turn realizing that she and Patsy never finished their conversation at the bakery. Claire twisted the key, opening the door and dug her cell phone from the depths of her tote. With one hand, she punched Patsy's speed dial number but it rolled to voice mail. Her BFF was out of range.

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