All Roads Lead Home (Bellingwood)
Read All Roads Lead Home (Bellingwood) Online
Authors: Diane Greenwood Muir
Published by
Nammynools
Publications
Copyright
2013 Diane Greenwood Muir
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which
have been used without permission. The publi
cation
/ use of these trademark
s is not
authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote
brief passages in a review.
Cover Design
Photography by Maxim M. Muir
My deepest gratitude goes out to friends and family who have given me
time to hide away and write and have encouraged me to be more than I ever
dreamed. Thank you!
of Contents
One
"
Hallooo
!
Is anyone here?"
Polly nearly
fell
off the ladder hearing a
voice com
e
from the main
level, then muttered, "I'm going to have to get a dog." She brushed
her hand across her face, pushing her hair back and madly looked around for a
place to prop her paintbrush. Things had been quiet
and s
he
hadn’t
expected anyone to show
up. Her heart racing, s
he glanced around,
trying to think, and then saw the paint can on the floor. Well, that was
obvious, where was her head? Skittering down the ladder, she
placed
the brush
across the top of the can and headed for the main stairwell, arriving in time
to see four women ready to mount the staircase.
"Hi there!" she said.
"Are you Polly Giller?" said one of the
women, stepping up on the first step.
"Yes, I am. Can I help you with something?"
"We're here to welcome you to Bellingwood. We
figured you might need a few m
eals, so we
brought enough for
the next few
days." The women each had their hands filled with grocery bags and
casserole dishes wrapped in brightly colored slings.
"I'm Lydia Merritt," said the woman,
"and this is Sylvie Donovan, Andy Saner and Beryl Watson
. We're the welcoming committee
!"
Polly walked down toward the women and
stopped a few steps from the bottom.
"Wow!" she said, "I wasn't expecting
this. Thank you!" She motioned around the
stairway
to the back of the hall.
"The kitchen is back here. Let me show you."
Polly stepped in bet
ween two of the women and
led the
way. Renovation of the
old sch
ool kitchen was nearly complete
since it was the first room she’d
attacked
. The
back wall
,
filled with windows and
painted
a soft yellow,
looked out onto the old playground.
A counter which was currently being used to store
small appliances followed the back wall to a
n
eight-foot pine trestle table
which sat
next to the door
. The window and counter
at the front of the kitchen
remained
in place
from
the days of serving students
. On the left
as
they
entered,
was a wall filled with pantry cupboards
trimmed in dark walnut
around glass doors.
On the
right
were two stainless steel refrigerator / coolers and a separate freezer.
A large cast iron commercial stove and oven stood on
the
far right
wall. Deep sinks were on both sides of the kitchen
and an industrial dishwasher stood under the
counter, which
wrapped around to
the right wall. A
massive preparation space
with
a sink on
each
end
and
storage
space
beneath filled the center of the room
.
"I'm sorry this is the only
livable
room
right now," Polly said. "There is so much to do yet."
"Don't worry, Polly," said the
petite woman
identified
as Andy Saner. "
No one in town can
believe you are taking on such a big project. You
know, we all went to school here."
Polly spun around. "Of course you did!” she
exclaimed. “I would love to hear stories you have about the building when it
was filled with kids."
A rumbling chuckle came from Beryl Watson. "Do
you want stories that are clean or stories that are true?" she said, her
voice filled with mirth.
"Stop it, you,"
teased
Lydia.
"You don't need to start telling
tall
tales before the
poor
girl gets
to know us."
The women bustled in and filled
the center
of
the prep table with the items they’d carried in.
"We can leave this here for you, but we'd be glad
to put it away if you don't mind us opening your cupboards." This came
from the last to be heard from, Sylvie Donovan. She looked to be about
eight
years
older than Polly. Her eyes were bright
,
if a little sad
. Her blue corduroy jacket
covered a green plaid flannel shirt and loose fitting jeans. She wore
old
tennies
on her feet
and
her
long, brown hair
was
pulled back with a loosely tied,
crocheted hair ribbon
.
"Oh," said Polly, "I can do it. This is
so amazing; I don't know what to say."
"Really,
Polly,"
assured
Sylvie, "We're going to be in your way while we bother you for a few
minutes, we might as well
take care of
it."
"Alright," Polly responded. "I’ll
turn the coffeepot on. Would you like some?"
"Now you're on the right track," said Lydia.
"We're
all
coffee drinkers, aren't
we?
" She looked around at
the other
three who
nodded in agreement while opening pantry doors
and unpacking bags.
"Coffee would be great," said Beryl. “Now,
Andy, did you bring your label maker? I can’t imagine you will let us stuff
things in here willy-nilly, will you?”
The petite woman chuckled and said, “Don’t you think
it would be appropriate for the owner of the pantry to establish her territory
before I start labeling everything? She might not like my methods of
organization.”