A Pour Way to Dye (Book 2 in the Soapmaking Mysteries) Read online

  “Chicken,” Kate said.

  I pretended to study my class list. “Funny, I don’t see your name here.”

  She smiled at me as she left, and Cindy said, “We were just teasing.”

  “I know. You do realize I’m interested in Kelly, and just Kelly, don’t you?”

  Cindy hugged me. “Ben, everybody in the world knows that. That’s why we’ve been teasing you. Do you honestly think we’d be that cruel if you weren’t? Okay, don’t answer that.”

  I ignored her as I opened the door and announced, “For those of you registered for our soapmaking class, it begins in two minutes.”

  Diana was the first one inside, taking a seat by my desk. Was there any truth to my sisters’ teasing? I certainly found her attractive enough, and we’d hit it off from the start. Maybe if Kelly wasn’t in the picture, I conceded. But she was, so I dismissed the speculation and watched as the others came inside. Two people on my list, names I was well familiar with, weren’t there yet, but I waited as long as I could, then started to close the door.

  “Hang on,” a voice I knew called out.

  “We’re coming,” the other said.

  Herbert and Constance Wilson, two of my more interesting students from the past, rushed to the door, both nearly out of breath.

  “You’re late,” I said with a grin.

  Herbert said, “I was ready an hour ago. She couldn’t decide on what to wear.”

  “Herbert Wilson, that’s not fair and you know it. My first outfit would have been fine if you hadn’t spilled root beer all over it.”

  “You joggled my arm, woman. It wasn’t my fault. Besides, no one would have noticed. You were wearing your brown pantsuit.”

  “I would have known,” Constance replied.

  I knew from experience that this could go on for hours, and I had a class to teach. “If you two are ready, let’s go in so we can get started.”

  The older couple walked inside and scanned the room. Before they could say anything, I said, “You’ll have to sit back here. Hope you don’t mind.”

  They took a seat at one of the back tables, and I heard Constance say, “If you hadn’t been so clumsy, we would have gotten our spots from before.”

  “Be quiet, woman, the man’s trying to teach.”

  It was a bit of a blessing that the Wilsons were sitting in the back. Maybe I’d miss Herbert’s whispered critiques of my lessons, but I doubted it.

  “Welcome,” I said as I stood at the small teacher’s table in front of the room. The five long tables were nearly full, and I marveled yet again how many people in our community had embraced soapmaking. The walls of the classroom were lined with shelves containing everything from abrasives to volatiles, and four microwave ovens were anchored in each of the room’s corners. We used the microwaves instead of stovetops for much of our melting, but we also had hot plates we’d need today. Cindy stood in back where she could get a good view of my lesson.

  “Today we’ll be learning one of the basic methods of soapmaking. It’s called hand-milling or rebatching, and some of the finest soaps in the world are created with this method. Hand-milled soaps have a finer texture than other soaps, and they last longer, too.” I held up one of the standard generic white bars of soap and said, “This is our first building block in creating an individualized and unique soap. Don’t think of this bar as a finished product, because it’s just a beginning ingredient.” I put the soap down, then held a container of dye up in one hand and a baggie filled with oatmeal in the other. “For one of our first soaps, we’ll be using some simple additives, but it’s amazing what you can come up with once you learn the basics of this process. There’s a combination that will do just about anything you want, if you just know the right ingredients to add.”

  “I want to look forty years younger,” an older woman in back tittered.

  “You’d have to be wrapped up in a baby blanket if you did,” I said, and the class laughed right along with the two of us. “Seriously though, there are soaps that reduce stress, increase energy, help insomnia, and even ones that actually clean your hands.”

  “What about noodles?” Constance asked from the back of the room.

  “Someone’s been studying,” I said, and she smiled. “We’ll be using soap noodles in our next class,” I told everyone, “so we’ll go over them then.”

  “But what are they?” an older man asked.

  I called out, “Cindy, would you mind grabbing a few bags and passing them around? Class, this is my sister Cindy, and one of the best scent-makers to walk this planet.”

  My sister shot me a cold look as the classroom pivoted in their chairs to get a look at her. She had no other choice but to retrieve a few bags of the soap noodles and pass them out. As the class looked at them, I explained, “These noodles are extruded from the same formula as our basic bar of soap. While it’s true they are easier to work with since the hand-milling step is skipped, I think it’s important to build your first soap from the beginning of the process. There’s a history in hand-milling soap that goes back hundreds of years. Cindy, would you mind passing out the soap bars so we can begin? I’ll distribute the trays while you do that.”

  My sister came forward and started doing as I asked. I offered her a smile and said, “Thanks.” As I passed out trays to catch the shavings of the white base soap to each student, I noticed that Diana was watching me. Well, I was the teacher. Why shouldn’t she watch me? Blast my sisters for planting the thought in my head that she might be interested in me.

  “Use your graters and reduce the soap I gave you,” I told them. “It’s just like grating cheese.” As they worked the soap down to shreds, I said, “Watch those knuckles. We don’t want any impurities in our finished products.”

  After everyone had a neat pile of soap shavings on the trays in front of them, I said, “Now is where the fun begins. For today, we’re all going to make the same type of soap together to learn the process. Tomorrow we’ll be using soap noodles,” as I said that, I nodded in Constance’s direction. “Then in our final class we’ll be experimenting with individual soap blends. Now it’s time to gather the tools and ingredients we’ll need for today’s session.” I’d thought about handing everything out at the same time, but I wanted them to get a feel for the soap on their hands before we complicated the procedure. As I moved from station to station on the long countertop, I distributed measuring bowls, wooden spoons, hot plates, pots, and other equipment. Once those were passed out, I gave each of them premeasured containers of water, dye, and fragrance. Finally, I handed out small bags of oatmeal and molds I’d made from sections of plumbing pipe that were perfect for our needs.

  “Put the soap you’ve grated in your glass measuring containers, then add the water I gave you. Next, place the container into the pan and turn your hot plates on.”

  “Why not use the microwaves?” Herbert asked.

  “We could,” I admitted, “But for the first time, I like you to be able to see the soap actually melt and coalesce. That’s tough to watch in a microwave.” I wasn’t a big fan of using microwave ovens for soapmaking, though some of my sisters actually preferred them. I personally liked to watch the shredded soap and water combine slowly, a dance that delighted when it transformed into a silky base ready to enhance.

  As everyone waited for the water in their saucepans to boil, I gave them my talk on the history of soap. It filled the time nicely, and I thought it was important for them to realize they were participating in a process that was thousands of years old. I noticed most of them were ready, so I said, “When you achieve a fairly smooth consistency, lower the temperature to a simmer, and then stir the soap occasionally. Don’t worry if it looks a little lumpy right now. We’re just trying to get everything melted. Stirring helps, but do it gently. If you stir too hard, you’ll get suds, and we don’t want them right now.”

  After another minute, Herbert said, “This looks more like cottage cheese than soap.”

  “Then you�
�re doing it right. Keep stirring.”

  A little while later, Diana said, “Mine’s stringy. Should it be that way?”

  “That’s perfect. Take the bowl out of the water and turn your hot plate off.” She did as I asked, as did most of the others. “As your soap reaches this stage, you’ve got to work quickly. Add the dye, then put the fragrance in. Next comes the oatmeal, then stir it all in. Once you’re happy with the blend, spoon what you’ve got into your mold. Tap the side of it a few times as you go along to get rid of the air bubbles, and you’re finished.”

  I had to help a few students out, but Diana had done a perfect job, as had many of the others.

  When they were finished, a woman named Betty from a front table asked, “Can we take these with us this afternoon?”

  Ordinarily I liked to send my students home with their soap, but I didn’t have enough freezer space to hurry the setting process. “No, these won’t be ready for four or five hours. There’s a piece of tape on each mold. Write your name on it, and you can pick your soap up on Monday.”

  There were a few grumbles, and I regretted once again that I’d let Mom schedule the first class on a Friday. She’d had to bump the session when she had a chance to teach a special class earlier in the week, one that profited the shop considerably.

  “They’ll be here for you all on Monday. Have a good weekend,” I said.

  With the class over, I said, “Cindy will be standing by the door handing out some of our basic hand-milled soap recipes. Each of you should take a sheet and consider what type of soap you’d like to make during our final session on Tuesday. Thanks everyone, you all did a great job.”

  They didn’t clap, but everyone looked well pleased with the session. Diana approached me after class was over and said, “That was a lot of fun. I’m so glad I could come.”

  “I’m happy you could, too.”

  There was a line of people waiting to speak to me, so she excused herself. Somehow Constance had beaten most of the others to me, although she’d been in the back of the classroom. “Ben, there’s something I want to ask you about. I tried to do a pour last week like you taught in that other class, but it didn’t work out right.”

  “Did you bring it with you?” I asked.

  “No, I didn’t think to do that,” she admitted.

  Saved. “Why don’t you bring it early on Monday and I’ll take a look at it.”

  She wasn’t going to budge, though. “I can describe what happened to it.”

  Herbert touched her arm. “Let’s go, Connie, I’m hungry.”

  “I told you not to call me Connie,” she said.

  “And I told you not to let me go hungry. I figure we’re even.”

  As they headed for the door—still arguing—I answered the rest of the questions. Cindy came up front with the extra soap handouts after everyone else was gone. “That was dirty, big brother.”

  “If I’d answered her question, she’d never have left,” I said.

  “You know perfectly well I’m talking about dragging me into your class. I wasn’t supposed to do anything, remember?”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Cindy, I just asked you to help hand a few things out. You’ve got to get over this fear of teaching. This isn’t junior high school. These people are here because they want to learn. With the possible exception of Herbert, nobody’s here who doesn’t want to be. Okay?”

  “I guess so,” she said reluctantly. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

  “No, I’ve got it,” I said. In all honesty, straightening up after one of my classes was a nice, quiet time for me.

  I was just starting to rinse the graters when Mom hurried into the classroom.

  “Let one of the girls handle that,” she said. “You’ve got a job to do.”

  “This will just take a second,” I said, resentful that she’d intruded on my time.

  “Well, I don’t think Andrew Joy’s going to wait for you much longer. He wants to talk about the fence.”

  Chapter 4

  Andrew Joy was studying a display Cindy had created for the shop showing which essential oils and fragrances achieved a particular result. Andrew was a squat little man with a head of thinning blonde hair, though I knew he was just in his late twenties. To overcompensate, Andrew had grown a thick, luxurious mustache that edged down his chin.

  Before I could even say hello, he turned toward me and said, “Do you people actually believe this bunk? How can a bar of soap alter your mood?”

  “I don’t know, how can jewelry make you feel better?” I countered.

  “We never claimed it did,” he said. I’d been hoping Andrew was there on a peacekeeping mission, but it was pretty obvious from his tone of voice and demeanor that he was asking for a fight.

  “What can I do for you, Andrew?” I asked curtly.

  He actually smiled. “Good, we can dispense with the niceties. I want you to leave my family alone.” He tried to poke me in the chest with his right index finger, but I easily stepped out of his reach.

  I laughed, which only made him angrier.

  “What’s so funny, Perkins?”

  “You put a fence up blocking access to our shop and you expect me to back off? You’re kidding, right? I’ve got a team of lawyers digging into it right now.” Well, maybe not a real team, but I knew Kelly was better than anybody the Joy clan could throw against her.

  “Dad was well within our rights. That land belongs to us,” he said petulantly.

  I was tired of dancing around these people. “According to what fairy tale?” I asked as I stepped up to him. I was a good four inches taller than Andrew, and I wanted to use every bit of it to back him down.

  He took a slight step back. “We’ve got proof, don’t worry about that.”

  “If you’re so certain, why don’t you show us? If you want us to leave you all alone, give us a reason to.”

  Andrew snorted. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? There’s no way we’re going to give you a chance to steal our proof. An IOU from a poker game is legal, and you know it.”

  “What are you babbling about?”

  Andrew’s smile cracked his face again. “You mean he hasn’t told you? I thought you’d have talked to Paulus by now. Honestly, Ben, I’m beginning to believe you’re not nearly as smart as everyone in Harper’s Landing thinks you are.”

  He started to leave, but I wasn’t finished with him yet. I grabbed his arm, and he jerked it away violently.

  “So now you’re going to try to beat me up, is that it? I’ll sue you for assault and battery. You’ve lost your mind. You and your entire family are lunatics. You should all be locked up.”

  That was all I could take. There was no way I was going to stand in my own shop and have the man insult me and my family. I grabbed his arm harder this time and started walking him toward the front door. He tried to struggle, but I forced him outside. I hated that my class saw my behavior, and no doubt some of them would drop out because of it, but I wasn’t in the mood to worry about the ramifications of my actions at that particular moment.

  Once I had him outside, I nearly shoved him off the porch. “Go home, Andrew.”

  When he was fifteen feet away, he said, “I’ve got witnesses You’ll be sorry you did that.” As he rubbed his arm, he said, “When I get back to town on Monday, I’m swearing out a warrant on you.”

  “Why wait?” I said. “Let’s go downtown right now.” The adrenaline was starting to wear off, but I still wasn’t sorry for what I’d done.

  He shook his head. “I’m late right now for an appointment in Raleigh. Monday will be soon enough for you to go to jail.”

  He scampered back toward Joy land, and I had to fight the urge to follow him, just to see what he’d do.

  Mom walked out onto the porch, and before she could say anything, I admitted, “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have thrown him out like that, but he had it coming.”

  To my surprise, my mother just smiled at me. “I came out here to tell you how pr
oud I am of you. No one should be allowed to insult your family, Benjamin.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was happy with the praise or not. As for the threat of arrest, that didn’t bother me too much either. I’d worry about it when and if the time came later.

  The last thing I wanted to do was to go back inside the soap shop, but I didn’t have much choice. I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be, but I never expected applause. When I walked through the door, my brothers and sisters were lined up near the register clapping.

  Bob said, “Way to go, man. We heard you yelling from the production line.”

  Jeff added, “You really let him have it.”

  Louisa looked at me and said, “Don’t let him get to you, Ben. He always was a little weasel.”

  “Guys,” I said, “I hate to ruin the party, but there’s a very good chance that I may have just made things worse.”

  Mom said loudly, “Enough. We have these wonderful customers still to wait on, and gentlemen, you have a specialty production run to finish. Now back to work, everyone.”

  I wanted to hide in my office, but Diana caught me before I could get upstairs. “I’m sorry to hear about your troubles.”

  “We’ll work it out,” I said. “I’m the one who should apologize. I let him get to me.”

  She touched my arm lightly. “Ben, there’s nothing wrong with defending your family. I think you did exactly what you should have done.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then I noticed that Kate and Cindy were watching us. “Well, I’ve got a mound of paperwork waiting for me upstairs. If you’ll excuse me.”

  She took the hint instantly. “Absolutely. I need to get back to the bookstore. It’s hard to tell what Rufus has done in my absence. I’ll see you Monday, Ben.”

  “See you then,” I said.

  I retreated up the stairs to my office, hoping to get away from the world for a while. There was a knock on my door not ten seconds after I’d closed it.

  “Go away,” I said.

  The door opened and I saw Louisa standing there. “Now is that any way to talk to your favorite sister?”