“Whoa…hold that thing still. You’re giving us all motion sickness!” Lila chimed in. “We each have our strengths, Capri. Maybe you can be in charge of the outdoor activities. You know, something with a bit more...action.”
Capri huffed but didn’t argue. “Fine. But I’m not gluing anything to anything.”
Reva nodded, satisfied. “Perfect. Lila, you can handle the snacks, and Charlie Grace, you’re on decoration duty. And we have the Knit Wit ladies all offering to help.”
Charlie Grace’s eyes widened. “Decorations? I thought this was being held outdoors?”
“Exactly, but we’re going with a Noah’s Ark theme this year. We’ll need all that goes with that. So, put your thinking hats on,” Reva quipped. A sly smile crossed her face. “I know it’s a big ask, but I’ll need your supply list by tomorrow morning. Pastor Pete promised to round up whatever we require, including lumber to build an ark. I’ve already arranged for a couple of guys from my AA meeting to help with the construction.”
Lila leaned forward, her voice a bit softer. “I think it’s going to be fun. The kids will love it, and it’s a good way to give back to the community. Count me in, and Camille will be home from college in a couple of days and can help too.”
Capri crossed her arms, as if still unconvinced. “As long as it doesn’t turn into one of those over-the-top productions. Keep it simple.”
That brought a chuckle from Charlie Grace. “We’re talking about Reva here. She never does anything simple.”
Reva frowned. “Hey—” Before she could continue, the screen suddenly wobbled, the images of the women shaking slightly.
Lila gasped. “Whoa, did you feel that?”
Charlie Grace fumbled and dropped her pen, eyes wide. “Was that an earthquake?”
Capri raised an eyebrow, her irritation momentarily replaced with a look of curiosity. “Appears so.”
Reva placed a hand on her desk, steadying herself as the tremor subsided. “It’s been a while since we’ve felt any seismic activity this far south of Yellowstone.”
Lila frowned. “Maybe it was the Teton Fault line. You know it follows the baseline of the mountain range. Of course, it’s been hundreds of years since any activity.”
Charlie Grace shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just a sign that Capri should embrace technology. The earth’s literally shaking to get you on board, Capri,” she teased.
Capri rolled her eyes in response. “Or it’s a sign that we should stop having these Zoom meetings. Before the mountains decide to tumble down on us.”
A second vibration shook, much smaller this time—but noticeable, nonetheless.
“Whoa, there it goes again,” Capri noted.
Just as the tremor subsided, Reva’s highly strung assistant, Verna Billingsley, burst into the office, her eyes wide with alarm. “Mayor, are you alright? Should we evacuate? I already pulled the emergency protocol!” She waved a document high over her head.
Reva stifled a grin, glancing back at the screen where her friends were chuckling with amusement. “Thank you, Verna. But unless the mountain decides to walk into town for a coffee, I think we’re safe—for now.”
6
The tremors were the talk of the town. Especially in the Rustic Pine later that afternoon.
By the time Capri pushed through the old wooden door, the place was already buzzing with animated chatter, the kind that seemed to vibrate through the worn floorboards just like the earth had that morning.
Pastor Pete was huddled near the counter, a concerned look on his usually placid face, while Annie stood beside him, wiping down the bar with a towel. “While not big when compared to a lot of the earthquakes up north, we haven’t had a strong tremor like that in a while.”
Annie flung the damp towel over her shoulder. “Well, I don’t think we should worry about it. We live in an area prone to earthquakes. I suppose it’s inevitable we’ll feel the earth move a little from time to time.”
Over in the corner, the Knit Wit ladies—Oma, Betty, and Dorothy—were knitting with a fervor that suggested the very act might somehow steady the ground beneath them.
Oma looked up from her needles, a wistful smile on her face. “When it happened, I was having breakfast with Earl. I told him, ‘Well, Earl, if the earth’s shaking, maybe it’s just Heaven’s way of reminding us that you and the saints are keeping an eye on things up there.’”
Oma was a widow and often spent mornings up at the cemetery, where she routinely sat in a lawn chair next to where her beloved Earl was buried, with a platter of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and a thermos of coffee.
Albie Barton, the town’s self-proclaimed intrepid reporter, was perched on a stool, his notepad already half-full of scribbled notes.
Capri slid into a seat at the bar, catching Albie’s eye. “Let me guess,” she said with a smirk. “Your headline tomorrow will be something like ‘Thunder Mountain Rumbles: Is the Big One Coming?’”
