Our Daily Bread Read Online Free PDF

both hands, inhaling the fragrance, which was at once both comforting and stimulating. She made a point of paying attention to such small details of life. Noticing, being grateful for, acknowledging beauty, these things gave meaning to life, did they not? She agreed with Virginia’s quote. An elegant life was lived by immersion in the quotidian, by honouring creation with awareness.
    As she crossed the creaky wooden floor to her desk, she flipped the door sign. Farmhouse Antiques was officially open. One of the great benefits of being your own boss was that you got to keep your own hours. Dorothy adjusted the position of a cobalt blue glass bottle, placing it closer to the sweet little milk-glass vase on the Shaker ministry table. They set each other off so nicely, they were a pleasure just to look at. She particularly loved the lines of Shaker furniture. So simple. So uncluttered by unnecessary ornamentation—a thing reduced to its essence.
    Dorothy settled into her old Boston rocker, dialled the radio to the public classical station, and opened
Silas
Marner
to chapter sixteen, in which Aaron will offer to dig a garden for Eppie. She sipped her coffee and turned in happy anticipation to the page. However, the door rattled and she looked up, frowning. It was Mabel. Mabel owned Mabel’s Gifts, around the corner on Main Street and sold what Dorothy judged were trinkets of dubious value: bean soup gift sets, blank-page books with embossed leather covers—so fancy one would be terrified to scar them with a single unworthy musing—chemically scented candles of sneeze-inducing intensity, papier-mâché parrot earrings, T-shirts with sayings on them such as,
Give me the chocolate and nobody gets hurt.
    â€œHello, Mabel.” Dorothy did not rise. Oh, Lord, she prayed, please don’t start her talking about church.
Dorothy was still not quite over the unsettling image of Mabel McQuaid calling out to the Lord and babbling in a rhythmic jibber-jabber she referred to as speaking-in-tongues. Mabel, in fact, had not been at all pleased yesterday when, after the service, Dorothy asked her why angels didn’t just speak in a language one could understand?
    â€œHideous weather,” said Mabel, by way of greeting. She was a large woman who walked with a swaying side-to-side gait that bespoke bad knees and hips.
    â€œHow are you?” Dorothy regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth.
    â€œAre you kidding?” Mabel rubbed her right hand. “With this weather? I couldn’t even get the jar of coffee open this morning the rheumatism in my hands was so bad. And since I don’t sleep anymore, I need my coffee in the morning.” Mabel flapped her umbrella, scattering water droplets all around her.
    Dorothy considered offering her a cup, but then didn’t.
    â€œSo, did you hear?” said Mabel. “There’s been a break-in at Wilton’s.”
    â€œReally? How dreadful. A robbery?”
    â€œNot during store hours. It was last night after closing sometime. I told Bob he should put in an alarm system. They got a few thousand I heard and took a bunch of liquor and cigarettes and junk food, which means only one thing as far as I’m concerned and you know what that is.”
    â€œDo I?”
    â€œIt means North Mountain people. Come on, Dot, those hill goats will be drunk for a week and then they’ll come in to buy more and that’s all I need to know. Erskines, most likely. They’re nothing but white trash. I don’t know why Carl just doesn’t go up there and arrest the bunch of them.”
    â€œI’m sure Carl’s doing his job. You can’t arrest people on speculation.” On
prejudice
she wanted to say. “If he finds proof he’ll do what needs to be done.”
    â€œI guess you’re right. What can you do? That’s the mountain. Can’t do anything with that bunch. But you lock your doors. You’re