you kidding? It’s beautiful. I’ll paint it—maybe fire-engine red—and spruce it up. Imagine how cute it’s going to look in someone’s front yard with live flowers in the basket...”
“Conveniently placed for the next brush and bulky pickup,” Gemma said drily.
“It’ll be a work of art.”
“Yes,” Gemma said with a sigh. “When you’re finished with it, it probably will be. But some of that other stuff...the washing machine, for example.”
“That wringer-type washing machine is in pretty good shape considering it probably saw its heyday when Herbert Hoover was president.”
“But what on earth are you going to do with it?”
Carly gave her a smug look. “Remove the rust, oil all the parts, polish it up. Believe it or not, there’s a whole society—mostly men—who collect washing machines. After I fix it up, I’ll sell it to one of them.”
Lisa stared at her. “Men who collect washing machines? Someday you’re going to be struck by lightning for the fibs you make up.”
“It’s true! They’ve got hundreds of members—all around the world.”
“That’s crazy,” Gemma said.
“Yup, but profitable, and besides, I’m a little crazy,” Carly answered. “I’m surprised you still let me take the lead on these things.”
“You’re the one with the truck,” Gemma reminded her sweetly. “And I needed a new lawn mower, which, now that I think of it, could have fit in the back of my Land Rover.”
“But we wouldn’t have been able to collect nearly as much useful stuff—”
“Good!” her friends said in unison.
“And I could have found you an old lawn mower, fixed it up and—”
“No.”
“Well, in any case, you don’t have to do your own mowing. You could hire someone to... What’s that?” Carly slammed on the brakes at the same time she whipped her head around so fast, Gemma could hear her neck crack.
“It’s nothing,” Lisa said. “We need to keep going. We’ll be late for the meeting.”
“That’s a chair.” Carly pulled over to the mound of discarded furniture someone had piled up at the end of the road that led into the Bordens’ place. “We’ve got plenty of time to get to the meeting. I don’t want to miss it since I hope to sell produce to the hospital kitchen.”
“The chair is broken.” Gemma knew it wouldn’t do any good, but she had to try. She exchanged an exasperated look with Lisa. “You don’t need a broken chair, Carly.”
But Carly had already turned on her hazard lights to alert approaching traffic, catapulted from the truck and freed the discarded piece of furniture from a tangle of wire and sheet metal, easy for her since she was tall. She was also strong from years of working outside. Her long black ponytail swung as she held up her find.
Gemma wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Carly’s dark brown eyes shining in triumph as she examined it. No archaeologist unearthing a history-changing artifact could be more excited than Carly was at this moment.
“It’s Duncan Phyfe style.” She turned it this way and that, checking it from all angles and testing the joints. “The arms are sturdy. I can make this into something useful.”
“Yes,” Gemma said, joining her. “Kindling wood.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Only the legs are broken. This would make an adorable swing to hang from a tree limb, or a porch beam.”
Gemma tilted her head back and looked at the clear blue sky. “Repurposing, thy name is Carly.”
Thrilled with her new treasure, Carly placed it in the pickup bed beside the box holding Gemma’s yet-to-be assembled lawn mower. “If I attach a seat belt, it would even be suitable for little kids.”
When she started to turn back to the junk pile to look for more gems, Lisa leapt from the truck. She and Gemma each grabbed an arm, marched their friend in a circle and then took her straight back to the driver’s side.
“Wait!” Carly protested, straining to look over her shoulder. “There might be something—”
“Yes,” Gemma answered. “Tetanus.”
“Snakes,” Lisa added. “Copperheads, cottonmouths, timber rattlers.” She pointed to the pools of water in the bar ditch beside the road, evidence of the recent rains. “Remember they like moist places.”
Carly grimaced. “Oh, yeah, right.” With a slight shudder, she climbed behind the wheel. Gemma and Lisa hurried around the front of the truck and climbed in. After they fastened their seat belts, they resumed their drive to Reston.
“You wait and see,” Carly said smugly. “I’ll make that chair into something adorable and useful.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Gemma answered. “But has it occurred to you that it might be a good idea to begin getting rid of some of the chairs you’ve refurbished over the years? You’ve got enough for a symphony orchestra.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not by much,” Lisa added. “You’ve made each chair into a unique collector’s item. If you wanted to, you could open a shop in Reston or Toncaville, or somewhere else nearby.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be tied down. I wouldn’t be able to work on refinishing furniture at my own pace or go out looking for new pieces. Owning a shop means having to deal with the public. The way it is now, I advertise the items I’ve got for sale online and people come find me, or call me up and place an order over the phone. Besides, what about my farm? My organic produce won’t plant and harvest itself.”
Lisa threw her hands in the air. “But with a shop your sales would go through the roof. People like to come in and browse. I know you’re the ultimate do-it-yourselfer, but you could work on the farm in the mornings, then have a place in town with a back room. You could work on your projects, hire someone to work the front, arrange your merchandise. You’d be providing a job for someone. Maybe two people. A shop like that would be another way to attract tourists here. The kinds of projects you do? People from Dallas would eat that up with a spoon. They’d gladly drive up here to shop, enjoy the rustic experience, eat lunch, spend money.”
Carly sent her a sidelong glance. “You planning to run for mayor, Lis?”
“I might. Someday. There’s a lot that could be done in Reston if people would get their heads out of the past and think about the future.” Lisa had the bit between her teeth now and was going to run with it, doing her best to convince Carly of the rightness of this idea.
“The Smiths’ house, for example. It’s been sitting empty all this time, but it’s sound, only needs upgrading. The place has six bedrooms. It would make a perfect bed-and-breakfast.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had two encounters with Nathan Smith since I’ve been back. Neither one of them gave any indication he was interested in running a B and B. Besides, didn’t you say he’s anxious to sell?”
Lisa gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It was only a suggestion of what could be done with that property. And furthermore, if you reopened your family’s campground, you could attract tons of visitors. And the pavilion would be perfect for weddings and receptions.”
“If nobody minds the giant hole in the roof,” Gemma added.
Lisa didn’t even pause for breath. “Your lake has hardly been fished in years. The trout are practically begging to be caught. Fishermen would be buying tackle at Wilson’s Hardware, fuel and groceries at Crossroads Gas ’n’ Stuff...”
“Not