Ivy laughed and realized, mid-giggle, that she was having fun. She was having lunch with a friend and gossiping about guys. It felt nice, and normal and … warm.
“You asked about the chickens? The girls are growing so fast! I’ve got to get their coop fixed up. That’s my project this weekend.”
“Need any help?” Phoebe offered. “I’m pretty handy myself. My granddad started teaching me and buying me my own power tools when I turned sixteen.” She flexed a muscle. “You’re looking at a lady who owns her own nail gun. And a chain saw!”
“Really? But this is such a busy time of year. You must have a million things on your own to-do list. I couldn’t ask you to take on my silly henhouse.”
“My shopping’s all done. We put up our Christmas tree the day before Thanksgiving. I’d love to help out. Think of all the calories I could burn! Besides, I’m dying to see what you’ve done with Four Roses Farm.”
“Well, okay, if you insist,” Ivy said. “See you Saturday? And don’t forget your chain saw. There’s a tree growing right through the middle of my girls’ chicken coop.”
Chapter 10
Saturday morning’s weather was sunny but cold. Ivy was sipping her second cup of coffee when the phone rang. She grabbed it when she saw the caller ID on her phone screen: Acme Movers.
“Hi? Miss Perkins? This is Jenny at—”
“Acme Movers. I know,” Ivy said impatiently. “Are you calling to tell me what time today I can expect my furniture?”
“Well … not exactly. I’m afraid I have some not-so-good news. You see, the truck carrying your belongings got into a bit of a fender bender in Tuscaloosa yesterday—”
“Wait. What? Tuscaloosa?” Ivy cried. “You told me my stuff was down in Florida. Tuscaloosa is not on the way to North Carolina. Not even remotely on the way—”
“If you’ll just let me finish…” Stephanie said, sounding somewhat hostile. “Your furniture was consolidated with another load of furniture for a client in Baton Rouge. The driver was on his way back from there when he had an unfortunate collision with a log truck—”
“You just said it was a bit of a fender bender,” Ivy interrupted. “Now it’s an unfortunate collision? With a freaking log truck? Could you please just tell me what happened to my belongings?”
“The driver was able to recover a few of your pieces,” Stephanie said. “He sent photos. Let’s see. There’s a desk lamp. What looks like a box of books. Maybe a Crock-Pot? I don’t have an exact inventory yet, but I will say you might want to start shopping for a new sofa.”
“My sofa?” Ivy cried. “My brand-new, blue velvet, custom-ordered down-cushioned sofa?”
“Hmm. All I have is ‘blue sofa.’”
“That’s it? So, you’re telling me I have no furniture? At all? The only thing that survived was a six-year-old Crock-Pot that was a wedding gift from my ex-in-laws? Let me ask you something, Stephanie. You said this was ‘not-so-good news.’ What’s your definition of good news?”
“Well, the driver escaped serious injury, and I see from your paperwork that you are fully insured. So that’s what I call good news, Miss Perkins. Our claims adjuster will be in touch with you soon. Have a nice weekend.”
Stephanie ended the call. Ivy looked around her chilly kitchen, barren with the exception of the chickens’ crate sitting on the wooden table and the one chair she’d wisely refrained from donating to charity; then she looked down at Punkin, who was scratching at the back door, eager to greet the day. “I guess we’re gonna have to go furniture shopping, buddy.”
He wagged his tail.
“Right. What do you care? You’ve got your dog bed. All I’ve got is a mattress on the floor.”
She opened the door and Punkin went bounding outside to greet the day.
* * *
Phoebe arrived on Saturday at nine o’clock, in a mud-spattered pickup truck, with an awe-inspiring array of power tools and an assortment of lumber. She wore a heavy plaid woolen jacket, jeans, and thick-soled work boots, and her newly blond hair was hidden under a knit ski hat.
“I wasn’t sure what we’d need to fix up the chicken coop, so I just threw in some random boards and spare lumber I found hanging around in my dad’s old workshop,” she explained.
Ivy impulsively threw her arms around her friend. “Phoebe, this is great. I don’t even know how to thank you.”
Phoebe grinned. “Show me the house. I’ve always loved Four Roses Farm, and I’m dying to see the inside.”
Ivy’s own smile faded. “Not much to see, especially in the furniture department. I had a call from Stephanie with the moving company just now. The van carrying all my belongings—except for the stuff I brought up here myself—was in an ‘unfortunate collision’ down in Alabama. She didn’t have the exact details, but it sounds like pretty much everything was destroyed.”
“You’re kidding! That’s so awful,” Phoebe said. She followed Ivy up the porch steps and paused to look out at the surrounding scenery of cedars, oaks, sycamores, and pine trees. A few late-season leaves were drifting through the cold air, and at the bottom of the hill cars moving down the county road looked like toys.
“But this view!” Phoebe said, inhaling deeply. “I can see why you fell in love with this place.”
“I know,” Ivy agreed. “It’s so peaceful and quiet out here.” She pointed toward a nearby oak. “There’s an owl who must have a nest up in that tree. I hear her hooting every night. At first, I thought it was creepy. I mean, I never heard an owl in Atlanta. But now, it’s sort of comforting. You know?”
Phoebe laughed. “You’re such a city girl. That owl is probably hooting to her partner that she just caught a tasty field mouse for dinner.”
Ivy shuddered as she opened the front door. “One less mouse to creep into my house, right?”
* * *
“It’s just beautiful,” Phoebe said, trailing her fingertips across the fireplace mantel after she’d toured the house. “This place is like something out of a storybook. I wish Cody and I were going to have an old farmhouse like this to move into.”
“Where will you live? After the honeymoon?” Ivy asked.
“My place. It’s just a crummy efficiency apartment in a complex at the edge of town,” Phoebe said. “But the rent’s cheap, and this way, we can start saving up a down payment for a house of our own.”
“What kind of work does Cody do?” Ivy asked.
“He does something in high-tech surveillance in the Army, and he’s already gotten hired to work as a mechanic at a car dealership in Asheville, but he wants to go back to night school at the technical college and get a degree in computer programming,” Phoebe said. “Cody’s crazy smart. He reads, like, five books a week.”
“My ex and I lived in a garage apartment for the first year we were married,” Ivy said wistfully. “We both had a lot of student loan debt. We couldn’t even afford cable. I think that was the happiest year we spent together.” She looked around at the worn wooden floors and rustic ceiling beams of the farmhouse. “I guess the lesson is, if you have love, you don’t need a whole lot else.”