Chapter 35

They spent the next day painting the interior and working on the eaves outside the building. The inside went quickly, but putting a coat of paint on the eaves was slower work. Spiderwebs and a coating of dirt meant having to clean every space before applying the paint.

“We’re getting it,” Frank said, walking into the shop after his tour on the ladder. “We may not get them done before tomorrow.”

“Then the four of us can do the walls,” Mary said. “We’re far ahead of where I thought we would be. Another day or two, even three, won’t matter.”

“We’ve had people coming in, asking when we will open,” Marjorie said. “The word is already out.”

“Were they interested?” Frank asked. He grabbed a well-soaked roller and slid the paint tray to a section of the wall.

“They seemed to be,” Marjorie said. “I need to get outside with Gail.”

She hurried out the door and disappeared around the corner.

“Word of mouth,” Frank said. “Every one of them will tell somebody else.”

“Get to work,” Mary said, with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s going to happen, Frank. My little shop will be reborn in a new place.”

“A new and better place,” he said, getting to work on the wall.

By six in the evening, they finished the interior. The eaves were half done, and they had all discovered unused muscles, from painting with their arms over their heads. Marjorie had paint in her hair, and drops on her face and the old shirt she wore.

Gail had one hand and a half of her left arm covered with paint, from when a can tipped while she was trying to adjust her position. Frank and Mary escaped untouched.

“Well,” Frank said, looking at the two women, “it could be worse.”

“We’ll have it finished tomorrow,” Gail looked at the unpainted section. “We can work on the upper part here, and the others start on the walls there.”

“Let’s go home and clean up, and then we’ll go to a nice place for a supper to celebrate being half finished,” Mary said.

By the time they showered and changed clothes it was after seven. They piled into Frank’s car and drove the few blocks to what had become their favorite restaurant, and the same one in which Frank first saw Mary when she stood in the street. The hostess, a young lady and friend of Gail’s, led them to a table near the back and gave them menus.

“You’re opening a store down the road,” she said. “I saw you working on it today.”

“The Healing Witch,” Gail said. “We should open in a few weeks.”

“Cool name. I’d like to hear more about it. Do you have any fliers?”

“Not yet,” Marjorie told her. “We’re getting them printed.”

“Bring some in. We’ll put them in the rack. Your server will be here in a minute.” She left and went back to her stand near the front.

“Everyone will want fliers. We’ll have to get some printed,” Frank said, eyeing the rack, filled with pamphlets advertising tourist attractions and various businesses.

Their waitress arrived, took their drink orders, and left, leaving them to study the menu a minute longer. When she returned, they ordered and settled back to wait for their meals.

“They should know us well enough by now to know we always get the same thing,” Marjorie said, glancing around the room. Those occupying most of the other tables were easily identifiable as tourists.

“The town would die without them,” Frank said.

“Not die,” Gail said. “It would just go back to what it was before.”

“How was it?” Marjorie asked.

“Beats me. It’s always been a tourist trap as far as I know.”

When they finished eating and left the restaurant, Mary and Marjorie suggested they walk off the supper. They strolled slowly, greeting the people they knew and nodding amiably to those they didn’t. It was a friendly atmosphere. Several business owners stopped them to ask about the shop they were opening.

While Mary and Marjorie explained, they listened with interest and seemed to approve. They knew of Mary and were aware of some of her past, at least as it related to Woodstock, Vermont. None of them knew the entire story or what transpired a few months ago.

“You’ll have some competition,” one woman said. “We’ve got similar places in town.”

“Not quite the same,” Frank said. “We’ll be a little different.”

Mary explained her plan to continue as a healer. The woman listened, nodding now and then.

“You’ll be a naturopathic physician,” she said, when Mary finished.