Free Let it Sew by Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page B

living with, and the entire
     town council while she’s at it, but she’s got no say over the Sweet Briar Ladies Society
     Sewing Circle.”
    Tori skimmed the shelf that largely contained authors in the E–L range and popped
     the top book into its correct spot. “True . . .”
    “Well, since Santa is probably making a wide berth around Sweet Briar thanks to you-know-who
     this year, I say we find someone to wear his suit and pass out homemade stockings
     to all the children.”
    “Homemade stockings?” Tori asked through twitching lips.
    “That’s right, homemade stockings. And I bet if we ask, Fred Granderson would probably
     allow us to have a meet and greet with Santa inside the fire station.” The sound of
     Dixie’s footsteps grew closer, only to fade again as the woman traveled into a section
     on Tori’s other side. “I mean, who says we have to run everything Christmas-related
     through Georgina and her cronies anyway? We pay taxes. We support that fire station.”
    Tori left self-help and ventured into local history, the placement of the next return
     necessitating a bend. “Dixie, I really don’t think you can fault Georgina for this
     Maime stuff. She might be mayor but she still has to work with this council member
     for the next year or so. I’m sure she’ll step in if she needs to.”
    A snort rang out from the mystery section. “She needed to step in two weeks ago when
     Margaret Louise was removed from her spot as committee chair.”
    Tori searched for an argument but came up empty. “So tell me about these stockings.”
    Dixie’s voice remained in the mystery aisle for several minutes, the edge it held
     giving way to the faintest hint of smile. “Margaret Louise was making one at our last
     circle meeting. It was simple enough that if we make the stockings as a circle-wide
     project, we could get them done in no time. And if we pool our resources and buy smartly,
     we might even be able to fill them with candy canes and inexpensive little trinkets.”
    No matter what angle she looked at the idea from, it all came back to one place. “I
     love it, Dixie. It’s a wonderful idea. And I’m quite sure the others will agree, as
     well.”
    “Then it’s settled.” Dixie emerged from the mystery aisle to meet Tori at the information
     desk. “I’ll make a sample or two during the day tomorrow and bring them to our meeting
     on Monday night.”
    “You mean you’ll make a sample or two on Friday, don’t you?” Winding her way around
     Dixie, Tori returned to her stool and the task she’d abandoned in favor of gawking
     at the spectacle that was Maime Wellington.
    “No. I mean tomorrow.”
    “But tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” she protested.
    Reaching for the pencil basket and the stack of scrap paper, Dixie rearranged everything
     so the paper was neat and the eraser ends of the pencils uniform with one another.
     “So?”
    “Aren’t you eating turkey?”
    Dixie shook her head.
    “Ham?”
    Again, Dixie shook her head.
    “Chicken?”
    Dixie replaced the basket and paper in their correct spots and turned to face Tori.
     “I won’t be celebrating Thanksgiving this year.”
    She drew back. “Why not?”
    “I don’t have anyone to celebrate it with.”
    The pain that flickered across Dixie’s face at the confession pricked Tori’s eyes
     with an unmistakable burn. “What about Rose?”
    Dixie shrugged. “We decided a long time ago that sitting across from each other at
     the Thanksgiving table was depressing. So we quit.”
    “So Rose isn’t going to celebrate it, either?”
    “You can’t tell her I told you, or she’ll have my head.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    “Because she doesn’t like pity invitations.” Tori followed Dixie’s gaze around the
     empty library until it came to mingle with hers. “It makes you feel like a bother.”
    “A bother? You and Rose aren’t bothers. You’re friends.
My
friends.”
    Dixie turned and cleared her throat but not before