Milton Matthews Lays an Egg and Alpaca Goes Fishing

Miss Mayhern hadn’t given any more thought to Milton until she entered the tearoom and saw him sitting at “her” table. Her already straight backbone stiffened even straighter. What was Mrs. Little thinking, giving this stranger her table? Mayrose decided she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of reacting as Mrs. Little escorted her to a table to the right of the alcove. 

She took a chair that allowed her to turn her back to Milton, which really annoyed her because now she was looking at the kitchen passthrough where the food orders were served up, instead of the soothing décor of the tearoom. As she gave her order to Mrs. Little through clenched teeth, she thought about not ordering the bran muffin and thereby shortening her time in the tearoom, but she was not going to play his ridiculous game. She would not change her routine, not one iota. 

As Mrs. Little passed by Milton on her way back to the front counter, she shot him a look. He raised his eyebrows and hunched his shoulders as if to say, what did I do? She had warned him not to take that table but he insisted, saying it would be a funny little joke and he would give it up when she came in. Mrs. Little tried to tell Milton that as far as she could determine Mayrose Mayhern had no noticeable sense of humor and that he should just leave well enough alone. And if he thought he could trick Mayrose into paying attention to him, then he was about three bricks shy of a chimney.  

Milton realized that Mrs. Little was right, so he went over to Mayrose’ table with the intent of apologizing to her and assuring her that he would never play that trick on her again. But she was mid-ritual and would not be interrupted. Mayrose would soon find out that Milton could be just as determined as she was. He stood there, motionless, patient, while she drank her tea and finished her muffin in exactly twenty bites. She wiped each corner of her mouth, folded her napkin in a perfect triangle, laid it beside her teacup and looked up at him, her eyes, bright blue flint, challenging him to say something sincere that would make his breach of etiquette all right with her. If Miss Mayhern were prone to the vernacular, she would be thinking, “fat chance”. Milton walked away, realizing this was a battle he would not be winning.

When Milton left the tearoom, he did not notice the smartly dressed figure of Alpaca Finn following him around the corner. He was on his way to Williams’ Brothers Stationery and Haberdashery to look at their selection of typewriters. Milton loved everything about the stationery side of the store. He was also in search of a new pen, always in search of the perfect pen. A few weeks ago he had bought the new Eversharp Skyline and found it way less than perfect. It wrote in fits and starts and was not at all dependable. Milton was lost in a display of pens when he heard someone clear her throat several times. He finally looked up and there stood Alpaca on the other side of the display counter. He nodded and went back to looking at all of the lovely pens, but Alpaca was never one who could suffer being ignored. She came around to Milton’s side of the display and lightly touched his arm. Milton took a step back and Alpaca removed her gloved hand from his arm. 

“I’m Miss Alpaca Finn, sister of the late Reverend Trout Finn. Your sister-in-law, Celia, pointed you out to me one day when we were in Steele’s Hardware. You were busy, so I told Celia I could meet you another time. It’s good to meet someone else new to Chanceville," said Alpaca. She was 5’ 11 1/2” and enjoyed being able to actually look up into someone’s eyes and Milton’s were a warm brown. She imagined that the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but right now he just seemed to be puzzled by her presence. 

“Um, nice to meet you, too," Milton finally managed to mumble as he went back to looking at pens. He wasn’t seeing anything new that caught his fancy (in more ways than one) and was ready to move on to the typewriter displays. 

“Excuse me, " he said as he tried to move past Alpaca, but she was playing defense and blocked the aisle.

Eighty-five –year-old Mr. Williams, The Younger, came over and asked Alpaca if he could help her. He knew Milton could find his way around the store.  

“No, thank you," said Alpaca. “I was looking for a specific brand of notecards that I don’t believe you carry," Alpaca sniffed.

“If you’ll just tell me the name of the company, I’m sure we could order them for you," said Mr. Williams. 

“Oh, is that the time?” Alpaca said, looking at her watch. “I need to talk to Mr. Matthews for just a minute and then be on my way to an appointment. Could you please excuse us?”

Mr. Williams, The Younger, stroked his pencil thin mustache, nodded, and walked away. He hadn’t worked with the public since he was a boy without learning to read people. He knew when he was being dismissed. 

Alpaca, resisting a sigh, looked up at Milton and tried gazing deeply in his eyes, but he was looking at something over her shoulder. She started to lay her hand on his arm again and thought better of it. 

“Excuse me," Miss Trout, it was nice meeting you, but I would really like to go over and look at the typewriters.” 

“It’s Miss Finn," she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Are you a writer? That’s very exciting,” she said before he could answer.  

At this point, Milton was only seeing her as an obstacle and just wanted her to move. As he had demonstrated earlier in the tearoom, he was normally a man of great patience, but this was starting to wear thin. He bobbed to his left and she shifted to her right. He bobbed to his right and she shifted to her left. He was actually thinking of picking her up and moving her, when she finally came to the point. 

“I was wondering if you would like to come to my house for dinner one evening soon,” she asked. 

“I’m afraid I’m busy that night," said Milton, thinking of pivoting and doing an end around the pen display. 

“I didn’t say WHICH night.” 

“Oh,” Milton said softly. “It’s just that I’m working on a big project and won’t be available for quite some time. I do appreciate the invite though.”  

The bell over the door tinkled and Alpaca was distracted just long enough for Milton to make a beeline for the typewriters. Alpaca followed him and told him that she wished him luck with his project and left it at that. 

“Uh, huh," Milton said, clearly distracted by the beautiful new Underwoods and Remingtons. 

Alpaca exited the store, but by no means was she close to exiting Mr. Milton Matthews’s life. Oh, no, not by a long shot. 

Milton Makes Notes

CelebrationsAtHomeBlog.com

Miss Mayhern always managed to pull her chair out without making that scraping sound against the big black and white tiles on the floor. Mayrose then set her handbag directly in front of her on the far side of the little round table, always with the muted gold clasp facing her. As soon as she sat down she took her gloves off, starting by pulling up on the left hand pinkie finger and progressing along that hand until finishing with the thumb and pulling the glove completely off. She then held that glove in her left hand and proceeded in the exact same manner to remove her right glove. Then Mayrose fit both gloves together, finger matching finger, thumb matching thumb, laid them in her lap (in order not to soil them on the table) smoothed them out bottom to top exactly three times and then carefully draped them across the top of her handbag, with the cuffs facing her. She wore a dainty garnet ring set in rose gold on the ring finger of her right hand. As soon as her gloves were removed she adjusted this ring so that the garnet was squarely in the center of her finger.

By this time Mrs. Little was on her way over to take her order. Even though Mayrose always ordered the same thing, Mrs. Little always took her order with the doomed hope that some day, some bright and shining day, Miss Mayrose Mayhern would order Something Different, something other than a pot of Earl Grey tea, no lemon, milk, no sugar and a bran muffin, no raisins.

After the tea service was brought to the table, Mayrose would always rearrange things to her liking. The teapot was on her upper right, with the handle and the spout on a parallel line with her handbag, teacup and saucer on her left, dessert plate with muffin to the right of the teacup, etc. etc.  Once everything was squared away to her liking (sometimes these things were only moved a quarter of an inch) she would place the tea strainer on her teacup and pour her tea. She added a small amount of milk, stirred the tea carefully, and took a tiny sip. Then she alternated sips of tea with delicate bites of muffin, wiping her mouth at the corners after each bite of muffin with the pale pink linen napkin. This routine never varied. No matter how many times Milton observed this ritual he never once saw any variation. He even started counting the bites that it took her to finish the muffin. It was always twenty, and for the life of him, he could not figure out how she managed that.  

Signs from Amazon

One Thursday morning in May just as the tulips were fading and the peonies were opening up to their full beauty Milton arrived at the tearoom a little before ten and greeted Mrs. Little.

"Good morning, dear lady."

"Good morning, Milton. Isn't it a lovely day?"

"Not as lovely as you, Sweet Pea."

"Oh, go on with you, you big old teddy bear."

"Fine, how about a bear hug then?"

"Just go to your table and drink your tea."

She smiled and shook her head as she watched him take a seat at a table in the back next to the table where Mayrose always sat. Just as soon as he sat down Mayrose came in the door. As she neared her table Milton stood up, bowed and said, “Good morning.”

Mayrose stopped in her tracks, looked at Milton, nodded primly, and sat down with her back to him. He picked up his paper and rather noisily folded it so he could work on the crossword puzzle. He noticed that if he rattled the paper quite loudly Miss Mayhern’s shoulders hunched slightly. Milton finished his tea and decided to go sit on a bench at the park and finish the crossword puzzle. He might make a few notes of his observations of Miss Mayhern's tea ritual. It was a too nice a day to sit inside and breathe walled in air. He passed Mayrose without acknowledging her, deciding that he'd pestered her enough for one day.

Mayrose watched as that annoying man, whoever he was, left the tearoom. Good riddance to him and his rattling paper she thought to herself. Still, there was something familiar about him, something strong and comforting from a long ago memory. When he first started coming in to the tearoom, she had noticed his interactions with Mrs. Little and the patrons of the White Jasmine. People seemed to be drawn to the warmth of his company like the comfort of a soft old sweater. 

 At any rate, he wasn’t born in Chanceville like she was and probably was just here for that huge waste of time, golf. Mayrose couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to drag a heavy bag of clubs around all afternoon hitting and following a tiny little golf ball. Maybe it was for the reward of a drink in the clubhouse at the end of the round, but she didn’t believe in drinking either so her disapproval was complete. That Annoying Man was probably a drinker, which would explain why he was so everlastingly cheerful. 

Milton Discovers Mayrose

After she retired from 38 years of teaching first grade Miss Mayrose Mayhern went to tea every Thursday morning at ten o'clock at the White Jasmine Tea Room. As she neared retirement age Mayrose had thought more and more about the quiet congeniality of the tearoom. She loved teaching first grade, but these last few years the children seemed to take more energy from her than she could renew overnight.

Mrs. Little, who owned the tearoom, soon realized that Mayrose ran her life with military-like precision. Every Thursday morning Mayrose always arrived promptly at ten, not a minute before or after, and she was always dressed up. Her attire consisted of a two- piece wool or linen suit, depending on the season, her jewelry consisted of a single strand of pearls with matching earrings, stockings with arrow straight seams to compliment her two inch pumps, a tasteful hat and of course, sparkling white gloves. When the weather allowed, she would walk the eight blocks from her home to the tearoom downtown on the square. If the weather was inclement or the forecast chancy, she would take her 1945 five-year-old mint condition Chevrolet sedan out of the garage and drive to the tearoom. She was proud that she could drive. Her mother had never learned to drive and after Mayrose’s father died, she drove her mother wherever she needed to go. It was then that Mayrose's mother, Margaret, had to admit that she was glad her husband, Maynard, had taught their daughter how to drive even though she had been dead set against it at the time. It was one of the few times that Maynard had gone against Margaret’s wishes; he didn't want his daughter to be dependent and grasping like Margaret.    

It was a freshly washed April morning the first time Mr. Milton Matthews laid eyes on Mayrose. He looked up from his paper when he heard the bell tinkle over the door of the tearoom. Mayrose was wearing an oat colored linen suit with a powder blue blouse and matching powder blue hat with two ivory silk rosebuds wrapped in a tasteful amount of netting on the brim. Her shoes, of course, were the same oat color as her suit. And she carried a matching handbag. Her hat was perched firmly atop her carefully coiffed silver-blonde hair.  Now, Mr. Matthews, being a man, did not notice these exact details, but he certainly appreciated the overall picture. He stared unabashedly as Miss Mayrose Mayhern said good morning to Mrs. Little and several of the other customers on her way to her favorite table in an alcove near the back. Mayrose did not bring a book or a magazine to read as many of the other customers did. Nor did she like sitting by the big bay window where she could observe passersby. She so enjoyed the ritual of the tea service that she did not want any distractions. And besides, Mayrose believed it was rude to read in restaurants. Reading was for libraries.

Mr. Matthews was new to Chanceville. His brother and sister-in-law had retired there because of the excellent golf course and they persuaded Milton to retire there also. He liked Chanceville, the golf course and the company of James and Celia, but he soon discovered that he was not totally ready for retirement. He took a part-time job at Steele’s Hardware just to be able to interact with people everyday. He had never married and was used to living alone, but he didn't want to spend all of his time alone. He loved talking to people and had a knack for teasing their stories out of them. Milton had the habit of jotting down notes and stuffing them in his pockets. Someday he would organize his jumble of notes and write a book filled with the rich stories people had shared with him. He had shoebox after shoebox stuffed with notes. The boxes were stacked to the ceiling in the closet of his den. After he finished his tea, he just might stop by Williams Brother's Stationery and Haberdashery and take a look at their typewriters.

Milton was the only man in the tearoom that April morning, but that didn't bother him. Milton and James's late mother was English and she always made tea for her boys. He never had a taste for coffee. They kept a coffee pot going in the break room for the employees at the hardware store, but Milton brought his own electric kettle and tea bags. 

On his days off he enjoyed the hominess of the tearoom and the cheery clink of porcelain cups and saucers coming together. Some days he liked to sit in the back and read his daily paper and other days he sat by the window and watched people as they walked by and went about their daily lives. Milton could make up stories about people without ever talking to them. He believed that what people let you see on the surface most often had little to do with who they really were. That's why Miss Mayhern so intrigued him. She was quite particular about how she presented herself to the world. He could see that at first glance. Milton would just pop in to the tearoom whenever the fancy struck him and so it took him a while to realize that she was always there on Thursdays at ten o'clock. As he began observing Mayrose on a regular basis he would sometimes jot down notes on backs of old receipts or slightly used napkins; and other times he would wait until he got home to write down his observations. He noted that Mayrose always took a seat at the same table in the back of the White Jasmine Tea Room.

Alpaca Makes a Decision

Silver Spoons

ll heads turned as Alpaca entered the back room of Mother Mary’s with Ned and Tarsal trailing behind. Just as those two gentlemen had, everyone else on the board expected a female version of Reverend Finn, short and quite round. However, Alpaca was the exact opposite of her blond blue-eyed brother. She was almost six feet tall with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck; her huge brown eyes were so dark they appeared to be black, her full lips served to soften the harshness of her hairstyle. With her penetrating obsidian stare she was quite a striking figure.

Every one to a man automatically stood up and nervously smoothed his hair, if he had any. All appeared to stand at attention. That was the kind of respect Alpaca demanded without ever uttering a word. And, of course, every board member was a man, because, after all, it was 1950 and most women had their place, which was not on a church board overtly making decisions and running things. Alpaca knew her place and that place was wherever she decided would be most advantageous to her needs. 

With a slight not to Tarsal, Alpaca indicated that she was ready to be seated. He pulled out her chair for her and after she was seated, Ned and Tarsal took their places at the table as everyone sat down on the edges of their seats, avidly awaiting the words Alpaca would speak to settle, at least part, of their current quagmire. 

“Gentlemen, thank you very much for convening so promptly after my arrival today. I don’t believe in wasting time. And I feel quite certain that Dear Brother would not want his untimely demise to add further conflict your dilemma. I was afforded ample time to think while on my train journey from Minnesota to your lovely state and I have made a decision that I believe will be satisfactory to both factions. I know from personal conversations with my late brother that he wished to be buried here and not back in our hometown, Saints of the Lakes, of which he had no particularly fond memories. (That was putting it mildly.) I paid a call on Mr. Hendricks at the funeral parlor this afternoon. He advised me that due to Dear Brother’s rather large, um, girth that a suitable casket might come at an extra expense even with the discount that Hal, Mr. Hendricks, would apply in light of his fondness for the reverend. I am a woman of limited means, but I do not want to accept charity. The reverend’s funeral is not the church’s expense and he could only afford an extremely modest burial policy,” she said as she watched each board member squirm in his seat. Alpaca was attempting to be as diplomatic as possible, but tactfulness was not a place where she comfortably lived. 

“I’ve come to the practical conclusion that he should be cremated, the ashes divided evenly and given to each faction to bury in your respective, but now separate graveyards.”

“But..”

“Keep quite, Tarsal,” said Ned. 

Alpaca cleared her throat and continued, “Hal, Mr. Hendricks, tells me he can have the, um, preparations completed in time for a memorial service here at Mother Mary’s on Saturday morning, if that’s agreeable with everyone. Mr. Cochran and Mr. Henley will each be given a container with half the remains of my brother and each group can conduct their own graveside rite. 

Ned could see that Tarsal was about to object so he said, “It’s a sensible solution. There’s been enough squabbling and it is this good lady’s decision to make. With that settled, let’s address the matter of Miss Finn’s accommodations. Miss Finn has mentioned to Tarsal and me that she would like to make Chanceville her home. I make a motion that will allow her to remain in the parsonage until the board can dispose of it and divide the proceeds. There is no mortgage and Miss Finn has agreed to pay the light and water bills. “Well, maybe you’d just like to buy it yourself, Miss Finn, at a reasonable price of course,” said Tarsal. All heard turned toward Alpaca.

“Thank you so much for your kind offer. But the house is in a rather sad state and I cannot afford the cost of repairs and a mortgage. This will give me time to find an inexpensive apartment or a room in a boarding house. My needs are specific, but quite simple.”

Nine hands shot straight toward heaven to approve the motion. Ned looked at Tarsal who was examining his cuticles. 

“We have a majority, so we don’t need Tarsal Henley’s vote. Motion approved. Let’s go home,” said Ned. Ned and Tarsal bumped into each other trying to approach Alpaca. 

“I guess we’ll both walk you home,” said Tarsal, as they escorted her out the door. The rest of the board members shuffled out wishing this hadn’t been a church board meeting because a cold beer at Mother Mary’s bar sounded real good about now. 

Saturday morning dawned clear on the town of Chanceville and by 10:00 am was bright, white-hot. Alpaca was hoping the services would be short and sweet. Oh, of course, her late brother, the basically unlamented Reverend Trout Finn, deserved a decent burial, but one also had to be practical. Simple graveside rites then on to the Mother Mary’s for cool lemonade and finger sandwiches made by the ladies of the church would do just fine. And this would also give her the opportunity to invite the ladies to tea next week. 

She was hoping the women of the church would think that fighting over dogs going to heaven was too ridiculous to even acknowledge so that she wouldn’t have to have two separate teas and thus doubling her work and expense. She just wanted to get established in Chanceville society, such as it may be, and then acquire a husband, if all went according to the plan she was working on. 

Both halves of Reverend Finn Trout were laid to rest in the newly divided cemeteries with what could be diplomatically termed quiet respect. An outside observer might have interpreted it as a “let’s get it over with” attitude. Nevertheless, the duty was completed. The hot, sweaty and about to turn cranky bifurcated congregation trooped into the back room of Mother Mary’s Pool Hall for some of Oblivia Young’s watered down version of lemonade. Well, at least the drink was cold The ladies of the church had spared quite a bit of expense and made finger sandwiches with cucumbers and tomatoes from their very own gardens. After all, it wasn’t Godly to be ostentatious. If the Reverend Finn had been watching from his perch in heaven, he would have thought it was slim pickings, indeed. 

A Taste of Home

Now that everyone was cooled down and their appetites were somewhat sated, Alpaca decided it was time to put her plan into action. She couldn’t just move into town and go after the men folk. No. She had to sidle up to it; make it look like it was one of the church lady’s ideas. After going into the ladies powder room and making sure her face was adjusted into proper Grieving Sister demeanor, she approached Oblivia whom she had heard from her brother was the self-appointed leader of polite society in Chanceville. 

Oblivia did her best to keep a pleasant aura about herself, but with her long face and pinched nose, she was losing that battle. She always looked as if she had detected a bad odor in the air. 

“Hello, my dear,” she said to Alpaca as she pressed her thin lips into a smile, sadly, it always came out as a grimace. 

“I’m Oblivia Young. I’d like to officially welcome you to our town even though the circumstances are so very sad. Were you close to your brother?”

The first thought that entered Alpaca’s mind was that it would be hard to get close to someone who had such a large circumference as my brother did. But from what Alpaca had observed of Oblivia, she detected not one ounce of humor in her matronly body, so she decided to go for a diplomatically balanced answer.

“We were very close as children (bald-faced lie), but when Dear Brother received the call to the ministry and went off to seminary school we naturally drifted apart (bald-faced truth). Don’t misunderstand, his death was a horrible shock (mostly to himself, she thought), but one must go on, mustn’t one?” said Alpaca.

“Oh my goodness yes, the Good Lord knows I’ve certainly had my trials and tribulations with Henry and my son, Chester. But one does learn to cope,” said Oblivia, as she fanned herself with a fan on a stick, that looked like it had been rescued form the church long before the fire.

Alpaca then put on what she hoped would be her brave face, touch Oblivia’s arm lightly and said, “Since I’m going to be a member of this community I would like to hold the occasional afternoon tea. Do you think you could help me with the guest list? I’d like to be able to invite both congregations and have just one tea. Do you think that would be possible?”

“What a marvelous idea,” said Oblivia, nearly chirping. “Yes, I think it would be quite possible for both groups to meet peaceably.” Oblivia leaned closer to Alpaca, her heavily applied Avon perfume To a Wild Rose causing Alpaca’s eyes to burn and tear up.

“Confidentially, it’s mostly loud-mouthed Tarsal Henley who created all of this kerfuffle. I would certainly be more than happy to help you. I’ll get to work on it this afternoon. You just let me know the date and we’ll send out the invitations together, hand written, of course. Now, don’t you cry, my dear. You’re brother is in better place,” she whispered, totally missing the cause of Alpaca’s tears.

True to her word, Oblivia met with Alpaca the very next day and they worked out a guest list for an afternoon tea to be held at 3:30 a week from Thursday. The ladies who received their sedate invitations were nearly hysterical with anticipation. On the invitation list in addition to Oblivia Young, were Trachea Carmichael, Old Doc Trueblood’s nurse, Sara “Sugar Pants” Peterson, disgruntled housewife, Miss Mayrose Mayhern, retired school teacher (who would never attend), Sadie Stenner, piano teacher and wife of county engineer Frank Stenner, whose late sister, Doris, had been married to Johnny Perkins, Fern Oldhat, owner of the Lovely Lock Beauty Salon and cousin to Harold Freeman, whom Alpaca had already met and quite liked the looks of, Geraldine Nurse, head librarian at the Loone County Public Library, and Celia Matthews, married to James Matthews the brother of Milton Matthews. Alpaca had met Milton when she was in Steele’s Hardware to buy bug spray to get rid of the spiders that had made themselves at home on the front porch of the parsonage. With this guest list, Alpaca was optimistic that this tea would mark an auspicious beginning for her grand scheme. 

None of these ladies had any notion of what society life was like in Saints of the Lake, Minnesota. Or for that matter, if there even was any sort of society life there, bur for some reason they all wanted to impress Miss Alpaca Finn and if there were strings attached to this invitation, the ladies were prepared to be yanked. After what seemed like and interminable amount of time, the much awaited for day was upon them.

The ladies arrived promptly at 3:30 perfumed, powdered, and dressed in their Sunday finery. Those who could afford it bought new frocks and those who could not, tried to breathe new life into their old dresses with new matching sets of costume jewelry purchased at the Woolworth’s Five and Dime, or a giant fabric flower pinned to their chests.

Most of these ladies had been to the parsonage while Reverend Finn lived there and they had seen first hand that housekeeping was not a priority of his. So they were quite curious to see what Alpaca had done to make the place habitable. If she had not done anything (which they doubted), they would be drinking greasy tea and sitting on dusty chairs, but as they entered they saw that all was sparkling. Alpaca had worked miracles with the place, they could even see out of the windows that had been so dirty they kept prying eyes from seeing inside as they casually strolled past the parsonage when the late reverend lived there.

Alpaca ushered them into the dining room where the tea table was set up with candelabra and fresh flowers, all on a newly starched and ironed ecru linen cutwork tablecloth. Alpaca was more of a nibbler than an eater but she tried to be mindful that her guests probably had heartier appetites, so the table was beautifully laid with see-through slices of shaved roast beef made into sandwiches, the requisite watercress and cucumber sandwiches, all cut into geometrically perfect triangles, celery sticks stuffed with creamy peanut butter, and various and sundry pickles and olives. For dessert there was homemade white layer cake with lemon icing and Alpaca made her soon to be famous lavender cookies. The tea was a smooth orange Pekoe. The stunning silver service that she had inherited from Grandmother Finn sat in its rightful place at the head of table reflecting the snapping candle flames. Her china was pure bone-white porcelain with no frivolous flowers cluttering up the swirled pattern at the base of the delicate cups and the edges of the sandwich plates; those were inherited from her Grandmother Chagrin on her mother’s side. She was glad she had refused Brother’s request when he asked to take those things to the parsonage when he moved to Chanceville. She knew he would never entertain and he would be so lazy that when all of his everyday dishes were dirty, he would use the good china for his own meals. She shuddered to think what state they would have ended up in. Broken mostly, she guessed.

When the women were ushered into the dining room they oohed and aahed out loud, ostensibly at the fine table but also at Alpaca who was dressed in a champagne colored dress that provided a pale palette for her obsidian eyes and shining black hair. She wore a matching set of jet earrings and necklace, which caught the candlelight and sparked off her eyes. Her makeup was so expertly applied that they weren’t even sure if she was wearing any; there was just a hint of color on her cheeks and lips. Every lady in that room silently decided that they were long overdue for a makeover; maybe they could even get Alpaca to advise them.

Alpaca asked Oblivia is she would help with the tea service and each guest secretly despised her for receiving that glorious honor. Oh yes, this would be a great topic for gossip at the Lovely Locks tomorrow. The ladies retired to the front parlor where they precariously balanced plates on their knees and nervously made small talk, while trying not to slurp their tea. Alpaca was the epitome of discretion, asking only the right questions to bring them out of their shyness without seeming to pry. She found out many of the things she was interested in knowing, mainly the status of several men she thought The Tea Ladies (that’s how she thought of them now) might have connections to. She did her best to show equal interest in the female relatives of The Tea Ladies so as not to raise suspicion or jealousy among them at this stage of the game.

Before they knew what hit them, Frank and Sadie Stenner had arranged for their brother-in-law, Johnny Perkins, and Alpaca Finn to have dinner at their house. Johnny had gallantly offered to pick Alpaca up and drive her to the Stenner’s. When they arrived, Frank and Sadie had the impression that things weren’t getting off to a good start. Alpaca was tight-lipped all the way through the meal, starting with the salad, moving on to the Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and finishing off with fruit cocktail. Johnny was a different story, he chatted all the way through the meal. Unfortunately, every sentence started with, “Doris always said, or Doris liked”, in spite of the dagger looks that Frank and Sadie were shooting his way. Finally, after what seemed like an excruciatingly long two hours, Alpaca thanked the Stenners and said that after that lovely meal, it was such a nice night, she felt like walking home. Scratch Johnny Perkins off her list.

A few days later Alpaca was at the Lovely Locks Beauty Salon having her bi-weekly shampoo/set. The shop was abuzz shortly after Alpaca arrived, Fern Oldhat popped in with the exciting news that her cousin, Harold Freeman, whom everyone thought was a confirmed bachelor, had just become engaged to a lady he had met over in Liberty at his square dancing class. Harold became the second man to be scratched off Alpaca’s list. Oh, well. He was shorter than she was anyway. Maybe she’d stop by Steele’s Hardware and see if Milton Matthews was still qualified for her list. Better yet, he was definitely taller than she was.