“Here,” Hassie said, stepping out from behind the counter and reaching for an aspirin bottle. “Take two of these and call me in the morning.”
After one last sip of the rich chocolate soda, Lindsay headed home, stopping at the small post office on her way. Inside her mail box was a thick letter from Maddy, which she read right there, hungry for news of home.
Monte had written her twice so far, his first letter asking bluntly if she’d changed her mind yet and was she ready to move back to Savannah? Lindsay had read the letter and tossed it. His second had arrived ten days later, and in it he expressed his annoyance at not having heard from her. That letter ended up in the same place as the first. As far as she was concerned, everything had already been said.
That night, after a quick salad for dinner and with the dogs at her feet, Lindsay sat down and wrote a long reply to her friend, telling Maddy about her first day as a teacher, about Calla Stern and the Loomis twins. She wrote about the people she’d met since arriving—without going into detail about Gage—and how her first day in the classroom had shattered her illusions.
Her frustration with the fireplace didn’t help, although she didn’t tell Maddy about that. Lindsay had done everything other than dismantle the entire structure and all to no avail. Somewhere in this fireplace was a hollow brick, and inside it was something her grandmother had placed there all those years ago. She might have only been ten at the time, but she knew what she’d seen. Now, what had started as mere curiosity had turned into a mission. Lindsay was determined to find that brick, or tear down the house trying.
Once she’d poured out her feelings to her best friend, Lindsay felt much better. It’d only been her first day of teaching. Things were bound to get better. This was a period of adjustment for them all, she told herself, teacher as well as students.
The phone rang just as she’d finished sealing the envelope. Lindsay stared at it—almost afraid to answer in case it was a parent who disapproved of the way she’d handled her class. If so, Lindsay wasn’t sure she’d disagree.
“Hello,” she said, trying to sound professional and confident.
“It’s Gage.”
He was the last person she’d expected to hear from. “Oh—I’m glad you phoned.”
“You are?”
“Hassie saw you kissing me,” she blurted out. She was still unfamiliar with life in a small town and she had an uncomfortable suspicion that the news was all over Buffalo Valley by now. She could count on Hassie to be discreet, but there might well have been others….
His soft laughter annoyed her. “If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”
“As a matter of fact, it does bother me,” she said curtly. Leave it to a man to make light of the situation. She had no interest in being the subject of gossip, especially this soon after her arrival.
“You don’t need to worry. Hassie isn’t one to talk out of turn.”
Figuring he’d only be amused, she didn’t mention her fear that the incident might have been noticed by others. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“What? Kissing you?”
What else did he think she was talking about? “Yes.”
“You liked it that much?”
Lindsay fumed silently. After the day she’d had, she was in no mood to deal with the likes of Gage Sinclair. “I suppose there’s a reason you phoned me?”
“Two reasons, actually,” Gage answered.
Lindsay could hear the smug cheerfulness in his voice, and it irritated her all the more.
“I’ll come and talk to the high-school class about honeybees, if you want.”
Gratitude cooled her irritation. “That would be wonderful. Does two weeks from Friday work for you?”
“October would be better.”
“Great. I’ll put you down for the first Friday in October.” They chatted a bit about what she was looking for in the way of a science lesson—and then Gage broached the second reason for his call.
“I was wondering if you’d like to have a beer with me Saturday night at Buffalo Bob’s.”
Lindsay hesitated, weighing the decision. She was tempted to say yes. The man’s kisses could buckle her knees. But she’d just met him and they were already the subject of local gossip. “Um, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
His own pause was lengthy. “What I said about you getting over someone back in Savannah—that’s right, isn’t it?”
She hesitated again, then admitted the truth. “Yes.” It was best to be aboveboard with Gage. “I…I’m giving myself a year to heal. It isn’t you, Gage, it’s me. I don’t want to leap from one relationship into another….”
“I asked you out for a beer. It wasn’t a marriage proposal.”
“I know, but I thought…you know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I won’t ask you again.”
A man and his pride were a frightful combination. “That’s probably for the best.”
“The way I see it,” Gage told her, “you’ll have to ask me the next time around.”
Rachel Fischer knew good pizza when she tasted it. And her own, baked with a thin homemade crust and topped with sauce made from the tomatoes grown in her garden, was excellent. Now that she had the small pizza oven, she was in business.
The past four years had been difficult, and she was only now beginning to feel optimistic about the future. First her husband, Ken, had died after a long bout with leukemia. By the time of his death, the farm had been mortgaged to the hilt and two weeks after the funeral, the bank in Fargo had repossessed the land and the equipment and even their pick-up truck.
Not long after she’d buried Ken, her parents, who owned the Morningside Café, decided to close the restaurant and move south. Her mother had urged Rachel to join them. Buffalo Valley was dying and there was little to keep her there.
The decision had been wrenching, but in the end, she’d felt that Mark had already endured enough upheaval in his life. Then the job driving the school bus had become available and she’d accepted that. She moved into her parents’ old house and had managed to hold on, like everyone else in town.
In Rachel’s view the tide had begun to turn when Hassie found a replacement for the high-school teacher. The fact that Lindsay Snyder had signed a one-year contract was exactly what the town needed. Everyone seemed more hopeful. If ever there was a time to start her business, Rachel sensed it was now.
An offhand comment from her son was what had suggested the idea. He’d gone to Grand Forks with a friend for a birthday party at a pizza parlor, and returned to tell her she made much better pizza. When Mark’s birthday came around, she invited the same set of friends to the house and served her own pizza. Mark’s friends agreed with him. She made the best pizza of anyone.
Rachel thought so, too.
“Mom. Mom!” Ten-year-old Mark raced into the restaurant Friday night, the first official day of business. He was as excited about this venture as Rachel was. “I delivered the flyers to everyone in town. When will the orders start coming?”
“I’m ready any time,” Calla told her, following Mark inside.
Rachel had an arrangement with the girl. Since she couldn’t afford to actually pay Calla wages to deliver the pizza—not yet, anyway—the teenager had agreed to take on the job for any tips she might collect, plus a free pizza for every night worked. Rachel had talked over the terms of employment with Sarah, Calla’s mother, who’d given the project her approval.
Soon, Rachel sincerely hoped, she’d be running a profitable enterprise. She knew how to make good pizza, but she was only now learning what it meant to be a good business person. Starting small was essential. Her pizza service was open only on weekends. If it grew the way she hoped it would, she could expand later. As it was now, other than for pick-up, the restaurant wasn’t officially open. When she’d paid off the pizza oven, she’d save for new tables and chairs and other equipment she needed. Eventually she hoped to add to the menu and
open the restaurant full-time.
“What are we going to do if no one orders any pizza?” Mark asked.
Calla had slouched down in a chair to read a magazine. She glanced up at Mark’s question.
“People will order,” Rachel said with all the confidence she could muster. She was determined to make a go of this venture. Driving the school bus paid barely enough for them to live on and kept her employed only nine months of the year. Hassie had her do the weekly bookkeeping for the pharmacy and that helped some, but not enough.
The pizza business was her dream, and she’d invested far more than her tomato crop in this venture. She’d invested her heart.
“Mom,” Mark said, interrupting her thoughts. “Remember when we were in Grand Forks last summer at the big grocery store?”
“Yes.” She replied absently as she reread the flyer she’d had printed. It was expensive, but the flyers, along with a large cardboard sign in the window, were the fastest way she could think of to get word out in the community. Every kid on the school bus had gotten the bright yellow sheet that week, and Mark had delivered the rest to everyone who lived in town.
“A lady in the store was handing out cookie samples, remember?”
Rachel nodded.
“Couldn’t we hand out samples, too?”
Rachel stared at her son. He didn’t look like a marketing genius, but that was exactly what he was.
“That’s a fabulous idea!”
Her son beamed her a proud smile. “Bake a pepperoni pizza, Mom, that’s your best.”
She nodded. It was good, but then anything she baked tasted worlds better than the frozen variety Buffalo Bob served, and he charged two dollars more than she did.
“Do you want me to help?” Mark asked as he followed her into the kitchen.
“You and Calla can take orders,” Rachel instructed, pointing to the old-fashioned black telephone on the counter.
“Okay.” His eagerness to be a part of the business was a real blessing, although Rachel often worried that he was growing up too fast.
The pepperoni pizza was hot from the oven. She sliced it into small squares, loaded them in a cardboard container and handed it to Mark. “This was your idea, so I think you should be the one to do the honors.”
“Me?” Mark’s eyes grew huge with delight.
“I want you and Calla to walk up and down Main Street and offer a sample to everyone you see.” It was five o’clock, and there would still be light for hours.
Calla tossed aside the magazine and trotted out the door with Mark.
Rachel didn’t need to wait long for her first customer, although his identity surprised her. Heath Quantrill wasn’t exactly her favorite person. She didn’t know what to think of him. Naturally she’d heard the rumors about his exploits around the globe. The majority of them couldn’t possibly be true, she figured, but all the speculation concerning Heath Quantrill certainly made life interesting. He was handsome and she couldn’t help wondering if he was involved with someone; she suspected he was. Women didn’t let a man that good-looking slip through their fingers. But mostly he intimidated Rachel.
He’d turned down her loan the first time, and then apparently had a change of heart. She wasn’t sure why and didn’t ask. Fearing he might change his mind again, she’d ordered the pizza oven the same day he approved her loan.
“Hello, Rachel.” He paused, glancing around at the stark furnishings. “I see you’re open for business.”
“I am.” She set the cheese grater aside before she sliced her finger. His coming into the restaurant flustered her and she tried to hide her nervousness.
“I was just given a sample of your pizza,” Heath told her. “It’s damn good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She smiled to take the sting from her words.
“The price on this flyer is correct?” He held up the yellow sheet.
“Yes.” She’d specifically chosen a low price to attract customers away from Buffalo Bob’s. Her pizza was better and cheaper.
“You aren’t charging enough.”
“It’s two dollars a pizza less than Bob’s.” She didn’t like Quantrill’s attitude. He’d had money all his life and didn’t understand that this business venture was everything to her.
“You’re not allowing yourself a large enough profit margin.”
Rachel frowned. She’d given this some serious consideration and charging less than Buffalo Bob was the best strategy she could think of.
“If you’d like to come into the bank one day next week, I’d be happy to show you how to figure out a price that’s competitive but will allow you a reasonable profit margin.”
“I can’t do that now. I’ve already got the flyers printed.”
“Tell them that was an introductory price and you’ll honor it this time.”
“I can do that?”
“Of course, and once they taste your pizza they’ll order again.”
He was sincere, she realized, about liking her pizza.
“I will,” she said, grateful for his advice. “Thank you.”
“Good.” He set the flyer on the counter. “Now, I’d like to order a pepperoni pizza, and I’d like the introductory price.”
Seven
School had been in session about a month and Lindsay was beginning to feel her way as a teacher. Each day was better. It wasn’t easy instructing all four years of high school at one time, but she’d made contacts with other teachers in the area and she had help from the community. Most everyone was eager to get to know her and to assist where they could. Thus far, it seemed the community remained pretty evenly split when it came to their expectations of her. Still, everyone seemed grateful she’d agreed to take the teaching job and Lindsay supposed their reserve was only natural. After all, this was a small, rural community, one that was not only conservative and probably resistant to change but experiencing hard times.
She did feel disappointed that she hadn’t made more friends by now. Hassie was her confidant and mentor, but she’d barely exchanged more than a few words with Sarah Stern or Rachel Fischer. She wasn’t sure about Sarah, but Rachel seemed friendly enough, just preoccupied with her pizza business. Lindsay suspected that given time, things would take care of themselves. She was still new, untried. And Hassie told her that she herself had encountered a similar reception when she’d arrived in Buffalo Valley as a young bride shortly after World War II.
More important, she’d struck a truce with her students. Once the ground rules had been established, she’d discovered they were eager to learn. She was new, young, and the kids considered her “cool.” They were all impressed by what they saw as her urban sophistication, especially when she asked to be called Ms. Snyder. No one used “Ms.” though, no matter how many times she mentioned it. After a while, Lindsay simply gave up. She’d never thought of herself as sophisticated, but to her students she seemed to represent big-city excitement. Lindsay cashed in on their goodwill and reintroduced programs that had long been abandoned from lack of funds, often using her own savings, meager as they were.
She brought in her camera when she learned they didn’t have a yearbook and soon had a staff willing to put one together. Jessica and Calla volunteered to write a town newspaper; soon the entire class was involved.
One afternoon, quite by accident, she found Kevin Betts’s sketching tablet and discovered that Gage’s brother was an undeniably talented artist. He was shy about letting others see his work. After some cajoling, he’d volunteered, along with Joe and Mark Lammermann, to paint a mural on one wall of the classroom.
The guest speakers from the community added a whole new dimension to their Friday afternoons. She had a number of volunteers already and was drumming up more. Several times she’d run up against that small-town reserve, that reluctance. She didn’t push, didn’t pressure.
Joshua McKenna had been the first volunteer, and Lindsay was grateful. His family had settled in North Dakota in 1888, a year before it achieved
statehood. He’d brought in the original homestead papers his great-grandfather had been given, as well as stories that had been handed down through the years. Stories of grasshopper infestations, drought and tornados. The session, for which Lindsay had scheduled an hour, went three, and her students talked about it for days afterward, adding tidbits of their own families’ histories in the area. She felt their pride and strong sense of family, and encouraged both. In doing so, she experienced a surge of longing to know more about her own grandparents and what their lives had been like on the farm. Unfortunately she’d been too young to remember anything about the old homestead. By the time she was six, her grandparents had sold the land and moved into town. There was no one she could ask, since all the relatives on both sides had either died or moved away. Her own father had left right after high school, and she’d already heard all his stories about prairie storms and family gatherings.
Lindsay was just beginning to feel good about the way classroom life was developing when she experienced a new sort of crisis. It was a Thursday morning, the last week of September. Kevin walked silently into the classroom with an equally taciturn Jessica. Both slipped into their seats, looking sullen and uncommunicative.
At first, Lindsay thought they’d had a lovers’ spat, but then the normally boisterous Loomis twins arrived, their demeanor just as serious. Calla frowned and slumped onto her desk, holding it with both arms as if she defied anyone to pry her loose.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Lindsay asked, wondering at the strange mood. “Everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the world.”
“You don’t know?” Kevin asked, looking surprised.
She shook her head.
“You didn’t listen to the farm report this morning?” Calla challenged, as if it were understood that everyone did.