Free Thai Die by Monica Ferris

and do a spinning demonstration.”
    “What’s this? Lisa Lindberg is coming?” said Bershada, coming out of the bathroom.
    “It’s not firm yet,” said Betsy. “You told me she’s great at spinning and dyeing, so I decided to ask her. She says she’ll see.”
    “Are you thinking this Lisa will teach a spinning class?” asked Doris. “And then you’ll be carrying spinning supplies? I’ve always wanted to learn how to spin. I even bought a drop spindle, but I can’t get it to work.”
    “Girl, you will love Miss Lisa!” said Bershada. “She spins angora yarn right off the rabbit!”
    “What?” said Phil, over Shelly’s shoulder. “How does she do that?”
    “I don’t know, exactly. She starts her spinning wheel, and hooks the rabbit up to it somehow, and the result is angora yarn.”
    “Well, that I’ve got to see!” declared Phil.
    “Me, too,” said Doris, seeing Phil and hastily hiding a small garment behind her back. But the expression on her face as she listened to Bershada was pleased and interested.
    “Well, why wait?” said Bershada. “How about we make a day trip and go see Lisa? Amboy isn’t that far, just south of Mankato. Lisa also owns a cute little restaurant, makes fabulous pies. And she sells hand-spun, hand-knitted hats and mittens in a store she also owns.”
    “Busy lady—oops!” said Shelly, suddenly realizing her sponge was dripping. She cupped a hand under it.
    “She’s a working fool,” declared Bershada with a laugh. “But that yarn shop is something to see. She dyes some of her yarn, but the rest she leaves the natural color of the animal she took it from: goat, bunny, or sheep. And her yarn is beautiful stuff.”
    “Does she sell it? Her yarn?” asked Phil. He had become an avid knitter.
    “Sometimes,” said Bershada. “Not in great quantities, though,” she added to Betsy, who was always looking for new sources of yarn, especially varieties that were hand spun.
    Phil said, “Well how about we go tomorrow? Betsy, you’re closed tomorrow, aren’t you?”
    “Well, yes, I am, but I’ve got my account books, laundry, grocery shopping, and housecleaning to do, so leave me out.”
    “Shelly?”
    “I’m in.”
    “Alice?”
    “I’d be pleased to go, thank you.”
    “Bershada?”
    “Tell me what time, and I’ll be there. And how about we take my car? It’s old, but it’s big and runs smooth.” She drew that last word out, and ran her hand in a long, even line in the air, out as far as she could reach.
    “Dorie?” asked Phil, and they all turned to look encouragingly at her.
    “Yes, all right.”
    “Well, then, let’s get this finished!” said Shelly. “We’ll need a couple of hours sleep before we set off, I guess. Is seven thirty too early?”
    “Hold ’er, Newt, she’s headin’ fer the barn!” declared Phil. “I say ten is plenty early to leave.”
    Alice agreed. “Some of us want to go to church.”
    “Ten is fine,” declared Bershada. “That will get us there in time for lunch.”
    “ ‘Hold ’er, Newt’?” said Shelly.
    “It’s an old saying,” said Doris. “Picture a farmer in the days when they used draft horses, and Old Nelly was trying to avoid her day’s work pulling the plow. I learned all about it from Phil, who is much, much older than he looks.”
    “You’re only as old as you feel!” said Phil, and in great good spirits, he went back into the kitchen to finish scrubbing the floor.

Five

    “WHERE on earth did you get this thing?” asked Shelly from the backseat of Bershada’s big old Lincoln Town Car. The car, a blue so deep it was almost black, was rust-free. Usually, it takes only a few winters for road salt to make a Minnesota car start bubbling around the edges, and this model was thirty years old. There are a lot of Saturns in Minnesota, because they have plastic bodies.
    “It comes from Arizona,” said Bershada. “I have a friend who subscribes online to several Arizona newspapers. He keeps