Page 32 of Once Upon a Fall

“Hello? Rosie?” a woman’s voice calls out from down the hall just as I’m about to hammer the nail into the wall.

“In here,” Rosie says.

An older woman with sparse, dyed-brown hair appears at the door.

“There you are,” she says. “I’m glad I found you.”

I might not find Rosie’s antics exhausting, but I’m beginning to find this town tiring. We are constantly being interrupted. Mostly about the festival, which I guess is warranted (this town seems to be very serious about its fall festival), but it’s also hard to watch Rosie add things to her list when she already has so much to do.

One thing is for sure: The festival does not seem to be a well-oiled machine to me. It seems to be more like a machine held together with duct tape and a prayer.

“Hi, Linda,” Rosie says to the woman. “How are you?” She swipes her fingers across her cheek, leaving behind a smudge of Cinderella Blue paint.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” she says. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

I quit my task and turn toward the conversation, curious what this woman, like everyone else in this town, will want from Rosie.

“What can I do for you?” Rosie asks, a tired smile on her face. “Is it about the carnival games at the festival?”

Linda shakes her head. “Oh, no, I’ve got all that in hand.”

Good for Linda. She’s the first one to come into the inn who isn’t needing information or help with their booth.

“That’s great to hear,” Rosie says.

“I was actually wondering if we might be able to use your front room for our quilting circle this Saturday.”

“Oh,” Rosie says, her smile going tight.

“We normally do it at the activity center at the church, but a scout troop is using it this weekend.”

“Oh, well, I . . .” Rosie says.

Now would be the time for Linda to tell Rosie—who’s standing in a half-finished room with paint on her face—that it looks like she’s got a lot on her hands and that she’ll find another place to do her quilting circle.

What even is a quilting circle? Do they sit around and share feelings about . . . quilts? A secret society of quilt makers?

“I promise we won’t be a bother. We’ll be like church mice. You won’t even notice we’re here,” says Linda.

Obviously, Linda does not know how to read a room.

Okay, so now Rosie has to tell her that it just won’t work. That she’s got too much going on and they’ll have to take their quilt cult somewhere else.

I watch her facial expressions as she considers it and try to tell her, telepathically, to say no.

Just say no, Rosie.

“Yeah, sure. I think we can make that work,” she finally says.

I guess I’m not actually capable of telepathy.

“Wonderful,” Linda says, bringing her hands to her chest. “I promise we’ll only be here for a few hours, and we’ll clean up after ourselves. You won’t even know we were here.”

“Sounds good,” Rosie says, giving her a smile.

“Well, I’m off to let the others know,” Linda says, before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall toward the stairs.

Rosie lets out a breath before going back to cleaning off the side table.