The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society

Many people helped shape the book you are holding in your hands. I offer a full and grateful heart to: Libby McGuire, Linda Marrow, Jane von Mehren, Gina Wachtel, Sharon Propson, Penelope Haynes, Dana Isaacson, Junessa Viloria, and Angela Pica, plus the hardworking editorial, production, marketing, public relations, and sales teams at Ballantine Books. My agent, Dorian Karchmar, at William Morris Endeavor not only helps craft my books but also my career. Thanks to Simone Blaser, Tracy Fisher, Raffaella De Angelis, Laura Bonner, Annemarie Blumenhagen, and Covey Crolius along with their respective co-agents from around the world.

I have great appreciation for my foreign editors and publishers: Patrick Gallagher, Annette Barlow, Kate Hyde, and Kate Butler at Allen and Unwin in Australia; Pedro Almeida at Leya in Brazil; Laetitia Amar at Michel Lafon in France; Laura Casonato at Edizioni Piemme in Italy; Juliette Van Wersch at A. W. Bruna in the Netherlands; Nicola Bartels at Blanvalet in Germany; Lynn Chen and Patrick Jia at China Times in Taiwan; Katarzyna Rudzka at Proszynski in Poland; and the team at Beyaz Belina in Turkey. Also thanks to Orli Moscowitz at Random House Audio.

To my husband, Darrin, and our three children: Maya, Eric, and
Luke. Thank you for your support, love, and humor. Remember that everything begins with our relationship with ourselves. Never stop learning and growing, and keep seeking new experiences. Happiness and joy are your trump cards; make them your priority.

Always joining me and my pages of possibilities are Nancy Sue Martin and Patricia Wood, friends who ask the hard questions, make themselves available at odd hours, and love the work of writing and life as much as I do. Susan Buetow helped me keep the Friendship Bread Kitchen (
www.​friendship​bread​kitchen.​com
) open for those who love books with a slice of Amish Friendship Bread on the side.

Thank you all.

Chapter One
 

The goat was Connie’s idea.

“I’m not so sure about this,” Madeline Davis says, frowning. At seventy-five she’s trying to make her life simpler, not the other way around. Then again, running a tea salon isn’t what most people her age are doing these days. Madeline’s days are busy, yes, but she goes to sleep each night happily content, her heart full. And for the past year she’s had Connie Colls, her tea salon manager, an unexpected godsend with black spiky hair who has also become her friend and housemate.

Now Connie is tearfully looking at her and Madeline feels herself wavering. Connie has never asked for anything before and seeing this young woman about to cry is more than Madeline can bear.

“Well …” she says reluctantly. “Maybe for a couple of days until you can find a more suitable home.” She watches as the goat sniffs its way around the garden, then starts chewing on a patch of orange nasturtiums.

“Oh!” Connie wipes her eyes and hurries toward the goat. She waves her hands over the flowers in an attempt to shoo the goat away, but the animal ignores her.

Lord, Madeline knows how this is going to go. She watches as
Connie tugs unsuccessfully on the goat’s makeshift collar, a frayed rope with a tail that has been chewed through. Well, the good news is that the goat belongs to someone. They just have to find out who.

“I’m going inside,” she tells Connie, who’s trying to drag the goat into the shade of a walnut tree.

“Thank you, Madeline,” Connie says, forcing a bright smile. “She won’t be any trouble at all, I promise.”

“Hmm. Well, I think she’s eating my Double Delights.”

Connie turns, stricken.
“No! No roses! Bad goat!”

Madeline just shakes her head and walks through the back door of the house into the kitchen.

The morning light streams in behind her, a generous sliver of sunshine falling onto the farmer’s table that rests in the middle of the kitchen. Fresh loaves of Amish Friendship Bread, scones, and muffins are cooling on wire racks. Two arugula-and-bacon quiches are in the oven. Her kitchen is fragrant and inviting, and Madeline knows that her customers find these smells a reassuring comfort. They come to Madeline’s Tea Salon for that very reason—the promise of good food and an encouraging smile. A kind word and possibly a joke or two, depending on her mood.

If they’re lucky they may get more, like an impromptu performance by Hannah Wang, the young cellist who used to play with the New York Philharmonic and who now resides in Avalon. There’s Bettie Shelton, too, with her mobile scrapbooking business. She comes in under the pretense of ordering a pot of Darjeeling tea while she indiscreetly sets up her wares at an adjoining table. On the days Bettie is here even the least crafty Avalonian or unsuspecting tourist is sure to leave with a packet of patterned paper and random embellishments. Madeline remembers what happened last month when a group of men had lunch at the salon, hunched over a table as they ate, speaking in low whispers. It was clear by their body language that they didn’t want to be disturbed. Bettie, however, had marched up to them undaunted. Less than a minute later the men found their table littered with colorful ribbons and glittery sequins. Two men bought scrapbooking
starter kits, dazed looks on their faces as they handed their money to Bettie. As quickly as she had arrived, Bettie was gone, leaving everyone to wonder what happened while Madeline cleared her table with a chuckle.

The small brass bell over the front door tinkles. A pair of women walk in, smile at Madeline, and choose a table by the window. Madeline knows it’s only a matter of time before the tea salon will be bustling with people and laughter.

She selects several tins of the chamomile and rooibos tea blend from the large antique armoire that graces the dining room. She’s not sure what came first—discovering so many wonderful finds at garage sales and antiques stores and then pondering what to put in them, or knowing that she wanted to sell her own tea blends and looking for an artful way to display them. It was a small thing to help pass the time in those early months when business was slow, but now it’s taken on a life of its own. Connie wants them to open an online store but that’s more than Madeline is willing to take on right now. At the moment this balance feels just right, however hectic it may be.

In the kitchen, Connie is at the sink, scrubbing her hands. “Serena took off into the neighbor’s yard but she’s back now,” she says, a look of apologetic guilt on her face when Madeline walks in. “She, uh, kind of ate a few heads of lettuce from their garden.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow. “Kind of?”

Connie fakes a cough. “Well, she ate them, but then she threw them back up.” Connie wipes her hands on a dishtowel, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll call the vet later to see if there’s anything special we should be feeding her. Maybe Serena has a delicate stomach.”

Goodness. Madeline isn’t sure what’s more concerning, that Connie has named the goat or that the goat has found its way into Walter Lassiter’s vegetable garden. His wife, Dolores, doesn’t mind the steady traffic of the tea salon but Walter is always looking for something to complain about. Madeline has a feeling that a stray goat may push him over the edge.

“I’m sure Serena’s stomach is fine,” she says, handing Connie the
tea. “Do you mind wrapping these? Dora Ponce is putting together a gift basket for the Rotary Club auction and I told her we’d make a donation.”

“Sure.” Connie drapes an apron over her head. “I’ll use that pretty paper I picked up at the farmer’s market last week. Ruth Pavord is selling her whole stock—she’s going to start making birdhouses instead.” Connie is about to say more when there’s a holler from the dining room. It’s followed by the unmistakable sound of porcelain breaking.