Welcome to the intro video
and an excerpt from the twenty-third post of my serial, “Sketches from the Café
Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To read more about the mystery of Applewood, and get
recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion
tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com.
Rather less
demonstrative that Violet, Roscoe offered a gesture to his new love that she’d
be more comfortable with. His fingers found hers, latching on, so simple and
yet so intimate. Phillipa ducked her head but couldn’t hide her schoolgirl
blush.
He said to her,
“There’s sunshine in your smile. You know that’s a herald of good things on the
horizon.”
From the phone,
Violet waved us over frantically. “This is Kate,” she said. “And the news is
not so good.”
We learned that
Alan Loggins’s campaign headquarters was not, at the moment, a happy place.
Turnout was down among both Loggins and Masterson supporters. Paltrune
supporters, however, had been turning out since polls opened. It’s true that
the diehards vote early, and most voters hit their polling places after work,
and we still had about an hour until that might happen. But there’s something
else that plays a big role on election day.
Weather.
Apparently, as
of twenty minutes before, the skies had opened up over Speroton. No rain was
forecast, and here in Applewood there wasn’t a cloud. As we gathered around
Violet and the phone, we heard Kate’s panicked voice come through:
“You guys have
to get over here now,” she said. “We need you to knock on doors, offer rides,
hold umbrellas, whatever it takes so people don’t just stay at home. And if you
can get anyone else to come along, we could use the help.”
After all the
work we’d put in over the summer, talking to people, educating folks about what
was at stake, it seemed impossible anyone would sit this one out. And if all
the effort and donations and time we’d thrown at this wasn’t enough, maybe it
was a lost cause. Maybe we’d all have to concede that tonight.
As we left the
café, Phillipa announced to customers and her employees, anyone within earshot,
that we needed help, and she left the address of Alan’s campaign headquarters
at the front counter. But you could see the looks on people’s faces: it was
getting late. Dinner needed to be fixed. Kids needed help with their homework.
Nighttime had fallen back an hour just a couple days ago, so it would be dark soon;
and who wanted to leave a mild evening to go a town over where storms--on a
couple fronts--were churning?
No, this was
going to be up to us and the people of Speroton. Now if we could just figure
out how to pull it off.
“Keep smiling,”
Roscoe said to Phillipa, hope still lit in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll be able to
bring the sunshine along.”
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