~Chapter 24~
Trespass
(original posting starting on August 12, 2009)
Part 2
September
6, 1999
Indian Lake, New York was nestled in the foothills of the Adirondacks, far from any cities of significance—Albany being the closest, about two hours away. In the summer, the town’s population—somewhere in the vicinity of 1,500—swelled as city dwellers fled their metropolitan lives and flocked to the idyllic wilderness. Here, they promptly took up residence for a long weekend, a week, a month, all summer, in modernized cabins with air conditioning, satellite television, hot tubs, microwaves, and wireless Internet access.
Hallie supposed the hiking and canoeing, or perhaps simply the view of the lake and the mountains outside their windows, was enough to make them think they were getting away from it all, rather than bringing it all with them.
Champion Creek, Idaho, on the other hand, had a population of around 100—depending on who had been born or who had died that month.
But it was more than thousands of miles and several hundred residents that separated her hometown from Indian Lake. Whereas Indian Lake gladly welcomed tourists and showcased the beauty of its scenic vistas, the striking splendor of Champion Creek’s untouched wilderness was Idaho’s best-kept secret. Tourists flocked to Sun Valley for skiing and to Snake River for whitewater rafting. They didn’t flock to Champion Creek, and the townsfolk preferred it that way. Champion Creek’s livelihood came not from tourism, but from the mines. The people who lived there lived in the mines, for the mines, and by the mines. Silver, not blood, flowed through their veins, and the less the outside world knew about it, the better. Strangers were regarded with the same suspicion that claim jumpers were some two hundred years ago.
In Champion Creek, her future had been predetermined. She was King Harold’s princess daughter, the daughter her mother always thought she wanted—before promptly shoving her off onto nannies, governesses, tutors, and of all things, the housekeeper. As the only daughter, whose two older brothers had gently but firmly shunned the family business in favor of “green living”, she had been expected to attend expensive private schools, travel overseas, and marry well—preferably a man willing and able to follow in the Belden silver mining tradition, for certainly she wasn’t expected to be able to run the business all by herself. She wasn’t sure why that chauvinistic attitude irritated her so much since, like her brothers, she had no real desire to take over her father’s business.
But here in Indian Lake there were no restrictive boundaries, no preconceived notions of who she should be. She wasn’t anybody’s daughter or heir or wife, and the townspeople had welcomed her with open arms just as she was, without expecting her to be somebody else. Here, she had successfully dissected herself from her past, started anew, and tried to recover a part of who she used to be before Europe, before Julian, before—
“Hallie!”
So lost was she in introspective that she started badly when she felt Caroline Foster’s hand on her arm.
“I’ve called your name three times, sweetie,” the kindly woman said. “Where were you?”
Taking a deep breath and smiling back at her, Hallie said, “Conjugating French verbs.”
Caroline laughed gaily and threaded her arm through Hallie’s. “School doesn’t start until tomorrow. Today is your first Founder’s Day. It’s a day to relax and enjoy the festivities.”
“I was here for Labor Day last year,” Hallie reminded her.
“Founder’s Day,” Caroline corrected cheerfully. “And that doesn’t count. You were holed up in that tiny apartment over our garage, painting and cleaning and unpacking. You didn’t know anybody and nobody knew you. This year, you’re family.”
It was astonishing how one word could convey such a sense of warmth and happiness, and at the same time fill her with such tension and heartbreak. Shying away from the uncomfortable topic, she said, “Thanks for the hassle-free parking at your place, Caroline.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. At least not for anybody who doesn’t mind walking the four or five blocks to get here,” Caroline responded with a wink. She and Hallie proceeded to meander through the crowd on Main Street, stopping at every booth to browse, visit, and occasionally make a purchase.
Hallie bought an ashtray carved from elk antlers for her father. He didn’t smoke, but it was just the kind of frivolous knickknack he would love to display in his office. He’d point it out to everybody who came in and proudly declare that his daughter had given it to him, as if it were some rare artifact she had scoured the earth to find just for him.
For her mother she bought decorative hand soaps, knowing they would probably end up in the guest bathroom where her mother wouldn’t have to look at them again. She’d send an elegant and dismissive thank you note to her daughter—or have her personal assistant write one for her. Hallie was frankly surprised she hadn’t sent a substitute Harold and Lydia to Trixie and Dan’s wedding when they were unable to reschedule a business meeting in Vancouver.
She didn’t buy anything for Cap or Knut, because they were brothers and didn’t understand gifts that came when it wasn’t Christmas or their birthday. She did buy hand-carved puzzles for each of their children—Knut’s three girls, Sierra, Fern, and Willow, and Cap’s eight-month-old son, Ansel. Yes, her brothers did indeed love their nature.
She left Caroline chatting with one of the regular summer visitors and continued down Main Street until she reached the volunteer fire department, which marked the end of the street fair. She bought a bag of white cheddar cheese popcorn that the firemen’s wives were selling to support the department, and turned back to browse through the booths on the opposite side of the street.
She was looking at jewelry, and trying to remember whether or not her sisters-in-law had pierced ears, when a hand that was not her own dug into her popcorn bag and a deep, rich voice behind her ear sent a rush of emotion—if only she could interpret what emotion that was—racing down her spine. “I think the carnelian and onyx necklace would look stunning on you.”
She spun around so fast that Simon Drake had to take a step back so she wouldn‘t slam into him. She still managed to jostle his arm with her bags and make him drop most of his handful of popcorn. Yet he still looked completely unflappable.
Damn, that was annoying.
With a relaxed grin, he tossed the few remaining kernels into his mouth.
“That’s
my popcorn,” she said and inwardly cringed.
What an absurdly childish thing to
say.
With a calculated glance at the ground, then back up at her, he said, “I believe it’s the birds’ popcorn now.”
“What’re you doing here?” Her voice was flat, telling him plainly she didn’t really care.
“Visiting my family. Perhaps you know them? Drake?” His blue eyes were sparkling devilishly at her.
Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. She couldn’t think of a suitable comeback. It would have to be really good and really scathing in order to jar his composure.
Before she could come up with anything, he turned his attention to the woman behind the table, raising her hand to his lips and kissing each of her many rings teasingly. “Hello, Tabitha. How are you this fine fall morning?”
“Charming as always, I see, Dr. Drake. Would you be interested in some jewelry for your girlfriend?”
I am not his girlfiend, Hallie thought, biting her tongue fiercely to keep the words from spilling out.
“And how do you know I have a girlfriend?” Simon asked, grinning wolfishly at Tabitha, completely ignoring Hallie in the process.
“You always do,” Tabitha replied, not at all sarcastically, her brown eyes warm and laughing.
Simon rubbed his knuckles under his chin, as if in deep thought. Finally, he said, “I’m sure there must have been some span of time in which I didn’t have a girlfriend. I just can’t think when that was at the moment.”
Hallie rolled her eyes and turned to go.
“Ma’am, were you interested in those earrings?” Tabitha called after her.
Turning back reluctantly, Hallie forced a pleasant smile to her face, keeping her focus on Tabitha, and replied, “I haven’t decided yet.”
“These earrings?” Simon asked, not of Hallie, but of Tabitha. “Jade and turquoise don’t really suit her, wouldn’t you agree? I still say the carnelian and onyx. Do you have earrings that match this necklace, Tabby, my sweet?”
“Don’t bother, Tabitha,” Hallie quickly interjected before the artist could disappear behind the booth and search her inventory. “The earrings aren’t for me—they’re gifts. Do you have a business card so I can reach you when I make up my mind?”
“Oh, I’ll be here until dark,” Tabitha answered, waving her bejeweled hand lightly through the air. “I wouldn’t miss the Founder’s Day fireworks for anything. And if you miss me then, I’m in the book. I just live over in North Creek.”
“I wouldn’t miss the fireworks, either,” Simon agreed. He turned around and leaned his elbows casually on the display table, fixing his electrifying gaze directly on Hallie. “And I’m sure Ms. Belden wouldn’t either. She likes fireworks, explosions…”
Hallie smirked at him and with her head held high, turned to go. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible, as quickly as possible, but she forced herself to remain casual, stopping at the next booth to look at hand-woven baskets, and the next booth to look at the fire-glazed pottery.
She kept walking, curbing the temptation to look back, until her eyes finally focused on a flash of color in front of her. Her savior! She knew that shock of sunset could only be—
“Jim!” she shouted, widening her smile as he turned to face her. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” he agreed immediately.
“It’s
kind of a big favor.” And
kind of a stupid, juvenile, petty one, too.
His eyebrows knit together in question, but he shrugged in compliance.
“Kiss me. And not on the cheek, either. Kiss me like you mean it.”
The one eyebrow in the middle of his forehead became two again as they separated and shot upward in surprise. Before he could think to question her—or heaven forbid, refuse her—Hallie put her free hand up around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.
The brain must go on autopilot when it’s engaged in a kiss. Or maybe that was just her brain. She couldn’t believe the thoughts racing through her mind, as if half her brain was having a manic episode and the sane half was watching helplessly.
First, she thought that even though she had to draw Jim down to meet her lips, she believed she’d have to draw Simon down even more. That meant he was what? Six foot three or four? Jim was just a little over six feet, and Simon was definitely taller than he was. Next, she came to the realization that Trixie was right. Jim really was a good kisser, which was an odd observation for her to make, considering his hands were clutching her arms as if he wanted to push her away and she could feel the back of his neck growing warm with embarrassment. Finally, she fleetingly considered the fact that she and her cousin had now kissed not one, but two of the same men, and that Trixie had a much better idea of who the better kisser was, since the one and only time Hallie had kissed Dan had been awkward and uncomfortable.
Not unlike what was happening at this exact moment.
She broke away, mumbled something resembling an apology, then asked, “Is he watching us?”
“Is who watching us?” Jim stammered, his face red, obviously flummoxed by her shocking and unexpected behavior.
“Simon Drake.”
“Drake? Sally’s brother?”
“Do you know him?”
Jim shrugged slightly. “Sort of. He was at Dan’s bachelor party.”
“So, is he watching us? Four or five booths up, the jewelry.”
Jim’s green eyes flickered that way, but he shook his head. “I don’t see him. Why?” The way her shoulders slumped must have told him exactly why and with a grimace, he asked, “This isn’t some junior high make-him-jealous game, is it?”
“No,” Hallie replied immediately. “No … no … no.”
Those ginger-colored eyebrows inched up toward his hairline again. If it had been Mart, she surely would have heard something about “the lady doth protest too much”, or whatever Hamlet had said. Macbeth? Who had said that line, anyway?
“No,” she said again, seemingly unable to stop the leaky faucet of her mouth. “No.”
One corner of Jim’s mouth curled up in wry amusement. Hallie could feel her face growing warm. She desperately wanted to turn around, scan the area, and figure out where that damnable Drake had disappeared to, but she was so mortified by her behavior that she could only stand there, staring dumbly at Jim and silently begging him to just forget the past few minutes ever happened.
She breathed a sigh of relief when Jim finally said, “Well ... I’m heading up to The Barn to meet Mart and Sally for lunch in a little bit. Would you like to join us?”
The Barn was just that, a huge barn on the far edge of town that had been converted into a barbeque restaurant and bar. They literally opened their doors wide during the Founder’s Day festival and turned the sit-down restaurant into a beer garden, complete with several local variations of chili, ribs and burgers, in addition to a variety of beers from microbreweries across the state.
Hallie had been looking forward to it. Her stomach was growling.
And she couldn’t think of any place she’d less rather be at the moment.
What had she been thinking, kissing Jim in the middle of Main Street on the town’s busiest day of the year? Who had seen? Who had been watching? She had been so intent on proving to Simon Drake that he meant nothing to her that she hadn’t bothered to stop and consider the consequences of her ridiculously childish actions.
“Hallie?”
“Yeah, sure,” she lied. “Umm ... I’m going to go put these bags in my car first. You go on ahead.”
She hurried off in the opposite direction, staring straight ahead, not wanting to look at any of her neighbors as she quickly retreated from the street fair. She turned left on Chestnut and headed away from the festive atmosphere. With her head down and her mind in a whirl, she walked up three blocks and turned automatically onto Lark Street, going to the end of the block to the Fosters’ home.
Why did she let this man she barely knew get under her skin? And why did he have to constantly egg her on? He knew she’d get upset. He did it on purpose. He was the one who was immature, not her.
She had worked up a fairly indignant head of steam by the time she turned into the Fosters’ driveway. All she wanted to do was throw her bags and herself into the car and retreat to the sanctuary of her cozy little cottage behind the school. She let out a loud groan of utter frustration when she saw that generous Caroline had offered her driveway to several other friends, leaving Hallie’s car buried four or five deep with no way out.
The anger she had been trying so hard to hold in erupted. “Dammit to hell!” she yelled, throwing her purse at the nearest vehicle, while at least maintaining enough self-control not to throw her bags with the breakable gifts in them. Setting them down on the lawn, she stalked to the innocent sedan and kicked a tire. What the hell, it’s not like anybody was around. No, they were all at the Founder’s Day festival, probably gossiping already about her and Jim ... and Renee.
God, could it get any worse? Renee and Jim had just broken up a week ago. Now she was Hallie the Homewrecker. Tilting her head back, she screamed her rage at the cloudless blue sky, “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”
“Fireworks are starting early this year.”
She spun around, her long thick braid whipping angrily behind her, to see Simon Drake at the end of the drive, leaning back cockily against his car. “Are you following me?” she snapped.
The sneering set of his mouth said, “You wish,” but the eager gleam in his eyes said, “What do you plan to do about it if I am?” He nonchalantly stuffed his hands in his pockets and asked, “What has you so riled up, Ms. Belden? For once, it isn’t me.” He looked at the collection of cars behind her and guessed, “You blocked in?”
She crossed her arms across her chest defensively and shrugged. Why couldn’t she think of anything witty or intelligent to say in his presence? And why did she have the sudden urge to sock him in his smug mouth? And why, oh why, was she so focused on punching him in the mouth that she suddenly wondered what his lips felt like?
“You driving that cute little convertible?”
“No,” she said shortly.
“Then I’d say you’re in trouble. That looks like the only car that I could possibly squeeze out of this driveway. It also means you’re driving a car just as unsuited to you as those jade earrings would be.”
Her dark eyes narrowed, focusing her aim on his right ear. At least she wasn’t looking at his beautiful mouth anymore, or those brilliantly blue eyes, or his strong, square jaw. The ear was safe.
God, but it was a nice ear.
“How do you know which car is mine?” she asked icily.
“Process of elimination. The silver Caddy belongs to Charlie and Margaret Traynor. Not only will they definitely stay for the fireworks but they’ll likely stay the night because they live quite a ways from here. The pick-up belongs to Brent Reed. He’s a good friend of the Fosters’ oldest boy, Adam. Unless he brought a date, he’ll be staying the night too, because he’ll probably drink himself stupid at the beer garden. And according to my mother, he doesn’t have a date, because he finally rid himself of that trailer trash he’s been seeing all summer.”
Hallie glared at him and he put his hands up, palms out, in defense. “Her words, not mine. I haven’t even met her.”
Continuing with his deduction, Simon said, “I’m not sure who owns the Explorer, but it’s right in front here, and you wouldn’t have any problem getting it out once I moved my car. The cherry Miata belongs to the Traynors’ daughter Leah, so that leaves the...” He took a step to the side and squinted at her pale yellow car, crammed up against the garage, boxed in by the bigger and fancier vehicles. “...is that a Plymouth Horizon? Ouch.”
“You knew the convertible wasn’t mine?”
He grinned lazily and said, “It’s a sweet ride.”
The car or Leah Traynor? she thought uncharitably.
“So ... I’ve gotta swing by my parents’ and get some extra lawn chairs, but I can take you back to town after that, if you want.”
“I’m not going back to town.”
One blond eyebrow arched up curiously. “Well, you’re not going anywhere else for quite a few hours. Surely, you’re not planning on walking back to the school in that get-up?”
The school was five miles outside of town and she had been thinking about walking back, but Simon was right—unfortunately. She wasn’t dressed for hiking in her knee-high stiletto boots and flimsy wrap skirt. “I’ll read,” she replied casually. She didn’t actually have a book with her, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Come on,” he said, his voice kind and persuasive. “I’ll never hear the end of it if Caroline Foster finds out I let you leave the Founder’s Day festival at noon. Let me give you a lift back to town.”
She felt a small flutter in her heart, like ice cubes subtly shifting as they melted in a glass. But before she could respond, a voice behind her drew her attention and her glacial defenses were fortified.
“Hallie?”
She stared in horror as Jim came striding briskly up the street and exchanged a polite greeting with Simon. What would happen now? Would Simon question Jim about the kiss in the middle of Main Street? How would Jim react? Would he play along with her? Would he laughingly brush it off and change the subject to keep himself from lying? Or would he be—as Trixie always used to say—“honorable all over the place” and tell the honest truth?
But before Simon could say anything—if indeed, he was planning to, just to further annoy her—Jim was directing the conversation toward her.
“You seemed to be taking a long time and I was worried. I didn’t know you had parked all the way out here, too,” he said to her.
“It’s easy to miss her car when it’s buried at the far end of the driveway, even with its lovely lemon color,” Simon said playfully.
Ignoring him, Hallie asked Jim, “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed your car? As you can see, I can’t get mine out. I have a headache and thought I’d go home and lie down.”
“You okay?”
Forcing a smile, Hallie said, “Of course. I think it’s the boots.” Jim glanced down at what Diana called her “totally magalicious” footwear as Hallie reassured him, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take a couple aspirin and nap for a few hours, change into more sensible shoes and be back in time for dinner. You and Mart and Sally feel like eating at the The Barn two meals in a row?”
With a grin, Jim dug into his pocket and handed over his car keys. “I think Mart may just park himself there for the rest of the afternoon.”
“You need a lift back to the fair, Frayne?” Simon asked congenially.
“No, he doesn’t,” Hallie interjected sharply. “I’ll drive him back. You have to go to your parents’ house, remember?”
Before he could respond, Hallie ended the potentially dangerous conversation by scrambling into the driver’s seat of Jim’s forest green Explorer and starting the engine. Jim said a hasty goodbye to Simon and hopped into the passenger seat.
In the sideview mirror, Hallie could see Simon give her a long, cool stare before he got back into his car and pulled away from the curb, leaving Hallie free to pull out and quickly speed away in the opposite direction.
To his credit, Jim didn’t utter a peep on the way back to town, though from the corner of her eye Hallie could see him studying her curiously. She tightened her jaw and stared straight ahead, praying he’d remain silent.
Instead of dropping him off at the end of Main Street—which in retrospect would’ve been the smart thing to do—Hallie took Jim all the way to The Barn and after dropping him off without comment, ended up getting ensnared in the heavy foot and vehicle traffic on the borders of the street fair. Getting trapped at the final traffic light in town, while seemingly hundreds of fire engines crawled past her in the multi-county volunteer fire department parade, certainly didn’t serve to soothe her already frazzled nerves.
By the time she had parked at the school and was trudging her way across the back lawn to her cottage, she was ready to call it a day and forego both dinner and the fireworks. Surely Jim could get a ride back to school with Mart, and she’d apologize to him in the morning.
The resident teachers lived in a half dozen housing units of varying sizes at the back of the school’s property. An as-yet-unnamed access road ran past them (Mart was taking bets on the future name of the road, with “Wheeler Way” leading the pool), but it was not yet paved and unless one’s car had excellent shock absorbers (which Hallie’s did not), it was a spine-jarring, teeth-rattling trip to drive the short distance from the main road down the rutted dirt road to the houses. Hallie’s cottage, naturally, was the farthest one from the main road.
Usually, she didn’t mind the walk—and Jim had promised the road would be finished before bad weather set in—but today, as she glared down at her new boots and wondered again why she always let Diana talk her into footwear that was stylish but completely torturous to wear for more than ten minutes, Hallie thought her little English cottage might as well have been in England for as far away as it seemed at the moment.
But when she stepped into the back garden, the colorful blossoms that surrounded her provided instant tranquility. She took deep, relaxing breaths as she refilled the birdbath with the garden hose and checked to make sure the squirrels hadn’t yet invaded the birdfeeder before letting herself in the back door that opened into the breakfast nook.
She did this every day and her motions were completely automatic as she allowed her mind to click off and fall into the routine. She dropped her purse on the dinette table, sat down and yanked the boots from hell off her feet, tossing them in the corner by the back door. She turned into the kitchen and picked up the teakettle off the stove with her left hand, took three steps to the sink and turned on the faucet with her right hand.
She stared out the back window as the kettle filled, watching a pair of chirping sparrows enjoy the refreshed bath, and slowly undid her tight braid, shaking her fingers through her hair until it flowed freely down her back. She gave a silent prayer of gratitude that she was home again.
Once the kettle was on the stove and heating up, she laid out a tray for tea. She had absorbed the tradition into her lifestyle from her years in England and cherished the quaint ritual. On the wooden tray, she put the bright blue porcelain teapot her parents had bought on one of their visits to see her in Europe. She spooned in the loose Darjeeling tea leaves and returned the container to the tea chest.
From the cupboard, she pulled out one cup and saucer and laid them next to the teapot. The cup was white with broad bands of cotton candy pink that made her think of a circus tent. Gold filigree edged the rim and trailed off in ragged vines and leaves down the sides of the cup. It was actually rather ugly, clashing badly with her elegant teapot, but the cups and saucers had belonged to Grandma Belden, and Hallie treasured them.
Unfailingly, the process of making tea would bring to mind the many times her overly optimistic grandmother had tried to interest her only two granddaughters—both tomboys—in dress-up tea parties, bless her heart. Hallie and Trixie both had a hard time sitting still through the ladylike affair, but Grandma Belden always sang “I’m A Little Teapot” with them, complete with all the motions. That alone made sitting quietly through teatime worth it.
After Grandma Belden died, the cups and saucers came to Hallie, filled with those poignant childhood memories, and she wouldn’t have given them up for anything more expensive or more perfectly matched to her expensive Royal Worcester teapot.
The teakettle’s whistling grew gradually louder and Hallie reached out to take it off the burner, quietly singing the childhood song, even tilting her body to one side, free hand on her hip, as she poured the boiling water into the teapot with a girlishly cheerful, “Then tip me over and pour me out.” From another cabinet, she drew out a small plate and after her tea had steeped for a few minutes, she poured a cup for herself. The first sip was pure heaven. Tea, some snickerdoodles, and a good book, while curled up in her oversized armchair would be just what she needed to put this morning behind her. Cup in hand, she turned to the counter behind her to grab the cookie jar.
The serenity of the cottage was broken with the shattering of china on the floor and Hallie’s ear-piercing scream.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES
Part
2 (4,769 words)
Indian Lake’s population was 1,471 in the 2000
census. Having written for and
procured some information on the area, I can attest to the numerous vacation
cabins for rent in the area. The
rest (including the Founder’s Day festival, and date, street names and The
Barn restaurant) are from my imagination.
There is no actual “town” of Champion Creek,
Idaho, but one of the tiny towns (yep, population 100 in 2000 census) in the
vicinity of the actual creek is Stanley, Idaho, located in central Idaho, about
three hours from Boise and four hours from Pocatello.
When your parents give you names like Capelton and
Knutson and (in my uni) Haralda, chances are you might inflict the same
punishment on your children. *g* Cap
and Knut both seemed to me the type to “go green”, so I looked online for
nature-inspired names for their children. Ansel
is for noted nature photographer Ansel Adams.
Thanks to, I think it was Mal, who suggested
carnelian as a nice red/orange gemstone for my story. I know next to nothing about jewelry, but found several
lovely carnelian and onyx pieces that I thought would look “stunning” on an
Indian princess like Hallie.
“The lady doth protest too much” is from Hamlet,
but is actually spoken by his mother, Queen Gertrude. It’s probably a common mistake, as well as the misquote,
which usually puts the “methinks” at the beginning of that sentence instead
of the end.
My first car was a yellow (not even a pretty bright
yellow, but a bland, pale yellow) Plymouth Horizon. Simon was right on to make a snarky comment about it. *g*
Trixie called Jim “honorable all over the
place” in #3-The Gatehouse Mystery.
I think I picked up “magalicious” from the In
Death series by J.D. Robb. It
sounds like something Diana would say (and I think she might enjoy reading those
books too).
Ahh...getting caught behind the multi-county
volunteer fire department parade. Actual
experience for me, although I wasn’t in a sour mood like Hallie was.
This happened to me on my way up to Frankenmuth in 2007 for my
brother’s wedding. In fact, at one point I was *in* the parade, because I got
tired of waiting for every fire engine in the state to go by me.
This is the floor plan I chose for Hallie's cottage, procured from Dream Home Source.
My friend Judy, the tea fanatic, helped me out with Hallie’s little tea preparation scene and suggested Darjeeling as her tea of choice after a stressful day. The snickerdoodles (cinnamon and sugar cookies) were my choice. *g* The teacups are based on a set I was given by my grandmother, that were previously owned by her mother. I don’t drink tea or coffee and I think the set is quite ugly, but I can’t bring myself to part with them.
Ford Explorer, Plymouth Horizon, Cadillac (Caddy), Miata, all trademarked names. No permission, no profit, no shame.