“Is that why you all invited me tonight?” Susie asked. “Do you need to talk about fundraising?”

“The idea hadn’t crossed my mind,” Charity said. “But since you mentioned it, let’s chat.”

Between bites at dinner, they brainstormed strategies to address the impending funding cut. Susie displayed a superficial understanding of how to explore the problem. Charity, however, presented a new, impressive side of herself. She talked strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats as well as any strategic planner Cal had ever encountered.

After she had made one more astute statement about how to strategize around saving the work study program, Cal shifted the course of the conversation to ask, “Where did you learn how to lead?”

Before Charity had a chance to answer, Chuck said, “When the kids were still in grade school, Charity was the youngest school board president ever. I always said if I’d been able to have the babies, Charity would have been the better breadwinner.”

Charity shook her head and grinned.

Initially, Cal had wondered what Chuck saw in his wife besides her poise and beauty. Now Cal was seeing a whole other side of her. She possessed the mind of an organizer, a developer, a shaker and a mover, and she knew how to use it.

“If I had inherited a load from my parents, I would have had children and volunteered, too,” Susie said. “I moved to Cleveland with my husband, God rest his soul, and took the first job offered because Tom couldn’t make enough to keep me happy.” She slugged down the last of her wine.

“Tom’s not dead, Susie,” Charity said. “And I think he’s been very generous.”

“Oh, that he were, on both counts,” Susie said, her voice higher pitched than before.

“Susie knows business development,” Charity said. Cal could see that she was trying to reign in Susie’s drunkenness.

“Yes,” Susie said, sober now, at least in tone. “I have been the force behind promoting many small businesses, and I have written a few grants on the side.”

“Cal has ideas about expansion,” Chuck said. “Maybe you two should get together and see what you can come up with.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” Susie laid her hand over Cal’s.

Cal pulled his hand back to pick up his wine. How did school funding dovetail with small business funding? He didn’t see the connection, but he didn’t know everything. Maybe Susie could offer something useful.

After another round of discussing ways to address the school board, the four of them took their coffee into the family room.

Charity and Chuck sat together on the couch. Cal chose the seat edge of the nearest recliner. Susie milled about the room picking up objects for inspection and setting them down again.

“That dinner was lovely,” Cal said.

“The chicken and green beans were easy,” Charity said. “But I can’t take credit for the dessert. I picked it up in Columbus yesterday when I was shopping. You can’t get a good pastry in Fieldstone.”

“Oh, really?” Cal said. “I have a friend who’s thinking of starting a pie business.”

“One of your students?” Susie asked. She wandered over and sat on the armrest next to Cal.

“A friend,” Cal said.

“Who is it?” Susie asked, leaning forward, her elbow on her knee, chin in hand, and fingers playing across her lips.

Cal didn’t know what kind of script she was writing in her head, but he knew whatever the plot, she would see herself in the starring role.

“I haven’t been given permission to share much information,” Cal answered. “But do you all think a pie shop could make it in a town this size?”

“A specialty food business sets a town apart,” Chuck said. “Look what ice cream did for Jerseytown.”

“And chocolate for Grant City,” Charity said. “Those towns have festivals every summer centered on their specialty food shops.”

“Can you imagine Fieldstone becoming the pie capital of Ohio?” Susie said, straightening up, raising her arms to jazz hand as she continued. “We could score a feature in Small Town Ohio magazine, or be part of the show on PBS, the one where the celebrity goes around and highlights unique food in unlikely spots. Fieldstone’s about as unlikely as they come!”

Charity and Susie talked on and on about the ways pie could revitalize Fieldstone. Every so often, Chuck would offer a suggestion, his face showing heightened color, a brightness in his eyes which had been missing when Cal arrived.

He wished Bryony had come with him. Cal was sure she would be excited by their encouragement, their ideas.

BRYONY’S COMPANION PLANTS

Apparently Cal’s evening with the Hendersons was so titillating, he didn’t even bother to call until long after Bryony had gone to bed. She said she needed to sleep, steeling herself against the corrosive damage done by so many years of being an afterthought.

After the brief call, she lay awake most of the night, wondering how she could continue to see him if this is how it would be. She tried to reason herself out of backing away from him—he’d known the Hendersons all along and not been irresponsible about arranged plans with Bryony before last night—but old habits take on a life of their own when challenged by forces beyond one’s control.

She went to work the following morning with red eyes and dark circles.

Cal had shown up for his morning coffee. Again, he didn’t apologize for not calling earlier the night before. She told him she was too busy to chat, and he left with a smile and a wave, heedless of the barrier she sensed between them now.

Lillian noticed Bryony’s worn down appearance, but accepted the insomnia excuse, she too suffering from that at times, which allowed for escape from relationship scrutiny. That bit of respite was the highlight of Bryony’s day thus far. She rinsed a fresh cloth in warm water, grabbed the bottle of spray sanitizer, and moved beyond the counter to wash tables.

At Abby’s table, she stopped to admire the young woman’s current project, a baby blanket crocheted on the diagonal. “Taking a break from the animals,” Abby said. “Check out the yarn.”

Fingers stroking the surface, Bryony said, “It’s soft.”

“Bamboo,” Abby said.

“I love it.”

“I’d trade you an afghan for six pies,” Abby said. “I could give Grandma one pie a month for half the year.”

Imagining an afghan draped over the back of her couch in shades of green, a hint of pink, maybe a subtle yellow, Bryony said, “It’s a deal.”

“I’ll bring in yarn samples tomorrow,” Abby said.

“What can I trade for a pie?” Mr. Parker asked.

“How about cash?” The question came from the short-haired woman whose face, for once, was not buried behind her computer screen.

“I’d be happy to pay for a pie.” Mr. Parker looked back at Bryony. “You name the price.”

Bryony continued to look at Etta.

Etta shrugged her shoulders. “I heard you say you want to start a pie business.”