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disappointed somehow. Whatever the cause, she was eager to find out more about her father’s family during his boyhood years. Good or bad, it was, after all, the Howard family history.

Chapter Four
    H ave you heard the news?” asked Ethel before she was barely through the swinging door that connected the dining room and the kitchen. Alice turned to see her aunt bedecked in a purple and pink flowered dress that provided a vivid contrast to her dyed-red hair.
    “Hi, Aunt Ethel,” said Alice as she hung one of Jane’s pots above the stove.
    “What news?” asked Jane as she emerged from the pantry.
    “Are these left over from breakfast?” asked Ethel hopefully as she eyed a plate of freshly made raisin scones.
    “Help yourself,” said Jane. “We’re just finishing cleaning up.”
    Within seconds, Ethel had a cup of tea and a scone and was seated at the kitchen table. “Did you hear about Clara Horn’s baby?” she asked between bites.
    “Clara Horn’s
baby?”
repeated Jane. “Good grief, that woman must be at least seventy years old.”
    “Do you mean a new grandchild?” asked Alice as shehung up the dishtowel and poured herself a cup of tea. “Although her daughter is probably old enough to be a grandmother herself.”
    “Audrey Horn, a grandmother?” asked Jane. “Why, she’s a year younger than I am.”
    Alice laughed. “That’s still old enough to be a grandmother.”
    Jane frowned. “Thanks a lot.”
    “It’s nothing personal, but if you do the math, you can see—”
    “Excuse me,” interrupted Ethel. “I was trying to tell you about Clara Horn’s
baby.”
    “Clara Horn’s baby?” echoed Louise as she came into the kitchen. “What on earth are you talking about, Auntie? Clara is almost as old as you—”
    “Older,” snapped Ethel. “I’m
trying
to tell you girls the latest news and I can hardly get a word in edgewise.”
    “Excuse me,” said Jane as she hung up her apron. “Louise, did you give the Winstons directions to the local antique shops? They had mentioned wanting to find something special to commemorate their anniversary.”
    Louise nodded as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I did. And I told Mrs. Miller about Sylvia Songer’s shop since she is an avid quilter. And I told Mrs. Bauchman about Time for Tea after she complimented us on the tea.”
    “Well, the Chamber should give you a special award, Louise.” Jane poured the last of the coffee into her brightly colored mug and finally sat down at the table. “All right, Auntie, go ahead and spill the beans. You’ve got a captive audience now.”
    Ethel looked slightly miffed. “I’ve got a mind just to leave without saying another word.”
    Jane laughed. “I’d have to see it to believe it.”
    “Jane,” said Louise in a slightly scolding tone.
    “Go ahead,” encouraged Alice. “Tell us about Clara Horn’s mysterious baby.”
    “Yes,” agreed Jane. “Did Clara find a basket on her porch? Or perhaps it was hidden under a cabbage leaf in her garden?”
    Ethel smiled slyly. “Well, I suppose her
baby
would enjoy a cabbage leaf in her garden. For that matter, you better watch out for your own garden, Jane.”
    “What kind of baby are we talking about?” asked Louise.
    “A pig!” exclaimed Ethel. “Clara Horn has gone out and gotten herself a pig.”
    “A pig?” Louise blinked. “What could Clara Horn possibly want with a pig? Why, her backyard is no bigger than a postage stamp.”
    “Exactly,” said Ethel, tapping the side of her head withher index finger. “We’re beginning to think that Clara may need to get her head examined by a professional.”
    “Do you mean a pet pig?” asked Alice.
    “Like a potbellied pig?” added Jane.
    “I think she called it something like that,” said Ethel. “But, good grief, what pig doesn’t have a potbelly? Your Uncle Bob raised pigs on our farm for a few years, and that’s the whole point: You fatten them up for slaughter in the fall. They all