She blinked away the tears, trying her darndest to honor his request. It didn’t always work, but today it did.
Maybe Ollie Perkins would get two loaves this week. It was Ollie who’d given her the starter for the bread years ago. His macular degeneration didn’t allow him to bake anymore, so he got a loaf from Stella every week.
She was the only one who still made the bread in their small community of Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky. Sure, the bread was a bit of a hassle; the starter needed to be fed, and the large bowl took up space in the refrigerator. And then, of course, the bread had to be made—six loaves every week.
It was a commitment most people didn’t want to make. But Stella looked at the bread as a small way of giving back to the community that had given her so much.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. Even Lester Briggs, the silly old coot. She’d give him a loaf this week—and give Sue Marsden, The Mouth of Taylor’s Grove, something to talk about.
Stella went back outside, hopes running high that the mower had cooled enough to start. The kids were coming tomorrow, and she wanted everything to look nice. Her flower garden had enough blooms open to cut some large bouquets for Isaiah, yet it would still be pretty from the street. And she’d be able to send some daisies home with Bree. Gil wouldn’t care about the flowers, but he’d be thrilled with the extra apple dumplings, which Bree wouldn’t touch.
Her children—so much alike and yet so totally different. The thought brought a smile, and she chose to direct the positive attitude onto the mower. “Okay!” She clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
She climbed on and turned the switch.
The mower stuck out its tongue. Click-click.
“Oooo!” She fumed and got off. Maybe Bobo Hudson would come take a look at it. The retired mechanic sometimes did odd jobs around the place for her, although he’d been down from his back lately. She’d stop by his house on her way home from town.
“Just don’t go thinking I won’t replace you.” She wagged a warning finger at the mower and closed the back door before it had time to snort in response.
Well, this had certainly gotten her morning off to the wrong start.
Everything happens for a reason, Stell. She’d heard that statement every day of her life with Isaiah. It was the philosophy he lived by. And she’d tried hard to live by it, too.
But, for the life of her, in ten years she’d never been able to come up with a good reason for his death.
She grabbed her purse and her basket of bread and headed for town.
Taylor’s Grove Park sat at the very center of town, physically and socially. It was there that North and South Main and East and West Walnut streets intersected Yager Circle, and it was there that the people of Taylor’s Grove spent their time when they weren’t at home, church or school. If you found yourself alone and in need of company anytime between seven in the morning and nine at night—although the summer evening hours dwindled to seven-thirtyish in the winter—you only needed to go to the park to find someone to pass the time with. The gazebo offered shelter from the sun or the rain, and someone always had a bag of cookies or a sandwich to share.
As Stella approached the park this morning, she saw a small crowd gathered near the gazebo, and she could hear the distinct voice of Sue Marsden, loud and obviously angry about something—what else was new?
“We don’t like your kind,” Sue screeched. “And we don’t want you hanging around here. Sheriff Blaine will be here any minute.”
By now, Stella could see the person Sue was railing at—a scruffy, weather-beaten old man with a handmade sign that read: I CAN FIX ANYTHING BUT A BROKEN HEART.
A bum, maybe, but one with a sense of humor.
Stella liked him immediately.
“I don’t think there’s any law against looking for honest work, ma’am,” the man drawled. His voice sounded younger than the lines etched into his face implied.
“There are laws against vagrancy,” Sue snapped.
“Not a vagrant. Able to work and I got my home with me right there. But maybe you didn’t notice it, seeing as it’s done up in camouflage.”
The man pointed to an old pickup with what looked like a homemade camper built over the top and the bed. The whole thing had been splotched with black, drab green, yellow and orange paint.
When a chuckle went through the crowd, Sue’s face turned a vivid red. “You just get yourself back in your dilapidated truck and move on now, you hear?”
Sue’s tone irritated Stella even more than usual. There was no love lost between the two women. They tolerated each other, but kept their distance as much as possible in a town the size of Taylor’s Grove where nothing was too far from anything else. And Sue had never been on the receiving end of one of Stella’s loaves of bread.
So maybe it was Stella’s frustration with the mower or maybe it was just her always-present desire to see Sue Marsden get her comeuppance that spurred her forward.
“Can you fix a lawn mower?” Stella called from the back of the group.
The crowd turned in unison and parted to let her approach the stranger.
“Yes, ma’am. Small engines happen to be a specialty of mine.” He smiled, and despite the missing teeth, something about the look in his eyes made Stella believe he was telling the truth...and that he was hungry.
“I’ve got a mower that won’t run this morning.” She eyed him carefully. If he had alcohol or drug problems, she didn’t want to give him cash. “If you can get it going, I’ll feed you a nice lunch and send you off with the leftovers.”
“I’d be much obliged for that, ma’am.” He took his cap off and ran his hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “But I have food. It’s gas money I’m in need of.”
“You can’t be serious,” Sue interjected with a sneer.
Stella gave the woman a dismissive glance. “This doesn’t concern you, Sue. This is between me and Mr...?”
“Cyree, ma’am. Ray Cyree.” He started to offer his hand, then seemed to think better of it and pulled it back, clutching his cap tighter.
Stella was relieved. He didn’t appear to have bathed in several days...or weeks. “Well, Mr. Cyree. Seeing as how you should first know what you’re getting into, maybe it would be better to negotiate the terms after you’ve examined the mower?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Sue protested. “He could be an ax murderer, and you’re going to let him into your house?”
“I can stop by and check on you, Stella,” Tank Wallis promised, and a couple of others chimed in with “Me, too.”
“Thanks. There’ll be apple dumplings with ice cream waiting for anyone who wants to drop by this afternoon,” Stella announced, feeling assured that she and Mr. Cyree wouldn’t be alone for very long. “Shall we, Mr. Cyree?”
The stranger nodded. “Please, call me Ray. And, yeah, I’d like to get started.”
“Good. I’ll meet you there.” Stella pointed from the direction she’d come. “Down that street. Brick house at the corner of Walnut and Third. Lots of flowers.”
The two of them excused themselves, he headed to his truck, she to make the short walk home. Stella paused, wondering whether to disperse the loaves of friendship bread she carried, but decided against it.
The friend she’d just made looked as if he could use all six of them.