but she bit back the remark. She had to rebuild her life, just like this cabin needed loving care and attention to come back to life, as well.
Dana didn’t want to destroy the cabin built in 1900 because, in part, it symbolized how she’d felt for the last several years. Destroying the log cabin, to her, was like symbolically destroying herself. She wasn’t anywhere near healed from her experience, but saw the cabin as a reflection of where she was presently. Determined to save the cabin, and in doing so save herself, she’d bought the place. Her mother had always said life was unfair, but the way her entire world got upended, it was more than unfair. It was a daily hell on earth for her.
Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that the appointment with Mary Bishop was thirty minutes away. Time to get a move on. Mary was considered the maven, the queen of Silver Creek, she’d discovered. The lively woman, everyone warned her, didn’t act her age at all. She was spunky, driven, full of great ideas and easily excited over new projects. Dana thought, from talking to several people over at the Silver Creek food bank and kitchen where she volunteered on one of the days of the weekend, that maybe the word passion best suited go-getter Mary Bishop. She was a woman on a mission and she took it seriously.
Dana wanted this appointment with Queen Mary—and she meant that label in kind terms—to go well. Queens could rule with grace, responsibility, and in her idealistic world, a queen would have a great love of her people. Mary sounded like such a person, and that’s all Dana could ask for.
* * *
Mama’s Store was bustling with townspeople, lots of children, and some people with service dogs mixed among the crowded aisles. It was a huge place, far larger than she imagined from seeing it from the highway. A woman clerk led her back to Mary’s office. Everyone was happy here, she noted. There were smiles, lots of laughter and neighborly chatting amongst those who pushed the grocery carts around the store.
Stomach tight with fear of rejection, Dana followed, trying to keep her face looking normal, not fearful or anxious. Pulse pounding with stress, she pushed through the crowd, following the clerk through the loading dock area and to a small glass-enclosed office. Inside, she could see a petite woman with short, silver hair working at her large, messy-looking desk.
“Go on in,” the clerk invited, opening the door. “Mary, here’s Dana Scott. She has an appointment with you?”
Taking a deep breath, Dana moved forward, spotting a chair in front of the desk.
“Yep, she does. Come in, Dana,” Mary invited, lifting her head, waving her into the office.
Instantly, Dana could feel the elder’s piercing scrutiny. Her stomach clenched, the door closing quietly behind her. Would Mary have a job for her? “Yes, ma’am,” she said, standing, hands clasped in front of her.
“Sit, sit,” Mary murmured, and gestured toward the chair. She put down her pen and moved some papers to one side, grabbing a blank piece of paper and placing it in front of her. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you new to Silver Creek?”
Sitting, Dana murmured, “Yes, ma’am, I am. I’ve been here for two weeks.”
Squinting her eyes, Mary said, “I hear from Judy, over at the food bank, that you’ve signed up to work a day on weekends over there.”
Dana tried to keep the surprise off her face, but didn’t exceed. “Well . . . yes, yes, I did.”
“Why?”
This was supposed to be an employment interview. Thrown off by Mary’s gaze fixed on her, making her feel as if she were being checked out, Dana tried to relax. Opening her hands, she said, “Because I was raised to give back to others who didn’t have as much as we did.”
Giving a nod, Mary said, “That’s commendable. We need folks like you in our valley. Here”—she looked around at the busy loading dock area where boxes of goods were being off-loaded from the semitruck—“we’re all one big, messy family.”
“The Realtor said the same thing,” she said, nodding.
“How’s that sit with you?”
“Fine. I grew up on a large farm in the Willamette Valley of Oregon, and everyone knew everyone else. We were like a large family, too, of sorts.”
“Good to know.” She pulled an employment form from another stack of papers, looking down, frowning and studying it. “So? Why on earth would you leave your farm in Oregon