onnecticut, July 1989

Once I had made up my mind not to be present at the trial, I managed to push it to the back of my mind.

There was no point dwelling on it, since that served no good purpose and only tended to deflect me from my goal. This was forging ahead with the shops and the café at Indian Meadows.

Every day there was something new to keep me busy, yet another decision to be made, plans to be approved, additional merchandise to be ordered, labels to be manufactured, and countless other jobs.

There were times when I would stop in the middle of doing something and wonder at myself and all that had happened in two months.

I had come back from Yorkshire with the idea of opening a shop and a café, and everything had taken shape immediately. I had formed a company, applied to the town of Sharon for commercial zoning permits, borrowed money from my mother, my father, David, and Diana, and opened a business bank account.

They had all wanted to give me the money, to become my partners, but I had refused. I did not wish to have any partners, not even Sarah, who had also volunteered to be an investor.

I told them I would repay their money with interest, as soon as I could, and I had every intention of doing so.

Armed with my newly printed business cards and my checkbook, I had gone to the product showrooms in New York. Two were housed in a building on Fifth Avenue and another in one on Madison Avenue, and it was there that I found everything I needed for the kitchen shop. It was Sarah who had told me about these showrooms, pointing me in the right direction, explaining that I didn't have to travel to foreign countries to buy the merchandise for my different lines.

"You'll find the best of everything right there in Manhattan," she had explained. "I talked to various buyers on the home floors at Bergman's, and they recommend these particular showrooms." She had handed me the list and gone on, "You'll see from the notations next to each showroom that you can get French, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish pottery, porcelains, and cookware, all that kind of stuff, and table linens as well. Everything you want for the tabletop, in fact."

She had also told me that the International Gift Show was held twice a year in New York at the Jacob Javits Convention Center. "And there are other gift shows, held on the piers at the passenger-ship terminal on the Hudson. There's a wealth of American products as well as merchandise from all over the world."

I felt as if I had walked across the world, the first day I went on a buying trip to Manhattan.

I covered every one of the showrooms on Sarah's long list, and I thought I had lost my feet by the end of the day.

In fact, I was so exhausted by four o'clock that I took a cab up to my mother's apartment, where I promptly collapsed. Even after a rest and dinner with her and David, I hadn't had the strength to drive to Sharon. Since I no longer had an apartment in New York, I spent the night in my old room.

I drove back to Indian Meadows the following morning, feeling that I had accomplished miracles on my first buying trip.

Eric stood poised in the doorway of my studio. "Am I interrupting you, Mal?" he asked.

"No, it's okay, come on in," I replied, putting down the watercolor I was holding. "I'm just trying to sort through these paintings. Sarah's going to take them to that good frame shop in New Preston this afternoon, and I was just trying to select twenty of the best ones to begin with."

He came and stood looking over my shoulder at the watercolors, which I had spread out on the table. After a moment studying them, he said, "They're all beautiful, Mal, it's hard to choose."

"They're not bad, are they?" I said, glancing at him. "But you look as if you're bursting to tell me something, so come on, what is it?"

"They all want to come and work for us, Mal!" Eric exclaimed, grinning broadly. "Billy Judd, Agnes Fairfield, and Joanna Smith. So I thought I'd hire 'em, if that's all right with you."

"Of course it is, Eric. We're going to need three people at the very least. We may even have to take on another two helpers later."

"Billy wants to work with me, serving in the café and the food shop. Joanna Smith is in love with the idea of selling beautiful things for beautiful dining, so she could run the shop upstairs in the new loft. Agnes had wanted to be in the boutique, but I told her that was Anna's territory, and so she's agreed to handle the Kilgram Chase Gallery. It's worked out well, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed, thanks to you. I assume they agreed to the money we're paying."

Eric nodded. "Oh, yes, no problem, and they're all prepared to stay in their current jobs, starting with us in October."

"Good. That gives us six months to get everything ready for the opening in spring of 1990. There's a lot to do, though. What do you think, Eric? Can we manage to unpack all of the products, get price tags on everything, and put the merchandise on display in that amount of time?"

"I think so."

"I'll discuss it with Sarah later, just to be sure. But originally she did tell me to set aside three months just to deal with the merchandise."

"It's not putting the price tags on that's the problem," Eric volunteered. "It's making attractive displays of everything. Sarah says that's very important."

"Crucial," I agreed. "But she has promised to come out here and supervise us, you know."

He grinned at me.

I handed him a collection of watercolors. "Do you mind helping me with these, Eric?"

"My pleasure, Mal."

I picked up a second pile of my paintings, and together we left the studio.

It was a boiling-hot July morning, and as we left the air-conditioned studio, a blast of warm air almost knocked me over. "It's terribly hot today," I muttered, glancing up at the hazy sky and the brilliant sun already breaking through the clouds.

"It's going to be a real scorcher by noon," Eric commented.

"The sign for the gate is going to be ready tomorrow," I told him as we walked toward the house. "One of Tom's carpenters has made it, and he's bringing it over. Then I can paint the background and our name on it: Indian Meadows: A Country Experience. In the meantime, let's go and find Sarah."

"She's in the kitchen, sticking her nose into all of Nora's bubbling pots. She doesn't know which jam to try first. And every time Nora gives her a new one to taste, she declares it's her favorite."

Eric had spoken the truth.

I found Sarah with Nora in front of the stove, taking small samplings of her jams and putting them on a plate.

"What do you aim to do with all of that?" I asked as I walked through the kitchen, heading for my little office at the back of the house.

"Eat it, of course," Sarah said. "On these two slices of homemade bread, also courtesy of dear Nora here. And I know, before you say it, Mal, I'll regret it later. And yes, my diet's gone to hell."