May Edition
From the desk of C.C. Bass — Keeper of Brighton’s Conscience, Unofficial Historian, and a woman who refuses, on principle, to ignore what everyone else is pretending not to see.
Hello again, dear.
May has arrived, and with it that particular brand of New Hampshire optimism that suggests everything might, at last, turn out exactly as it should. The trees are budding. The mud is receding. Windows are being opened with a confidence I personally do not share, given the continued unpredictability of our evenings.
Still. There is a lightness in the air.
Which makes what I am about to say all the more unfortunate.
It has been a month in Brighton. And not, I regret to inform you, in a charming, postcard-worthy sort of way.
Let us proceed.
This Month in Brighton
The Fire at the Charmed Card and Paper Shop. I Will Say Only So Much.
There are moments when a woman must choose between discretion and civic duty. I find myself, once again, walking that very fine line.
As you are no doubt aware, there was a fire at the Charmed Card and Paper Shop. A fire. On Main Street. In our Brighton. I would like to remind everyone that this is the same Main Street where we walk our dogs, where children press their noses to bakery windows, where we have, until recently, prided ourselves on knowing exactly what is happening at all times.
I have it on very good authority — and when I say very good, I mean the sort that does not come lightly — that this was not a simple accident.
There were words written on the wall.
I will not repeat them.
I could repeat them. But I will not, because I believe in maintaining a certain standard of decency, even when others clearly do not.
There has also been mention, whispered, but persistent, of fraud. Financial irregularities. The sort of thing that begins quietly and then, before you know it, has everyone looking at one another over the tops of their coffee cups.
Now. I am not accusing anyone. I am simply reporting what has been said, and what has been observed.
But I will say this: Brighton has always been a place where trust is our currency. And when that currency is called into question, even slightly, it has consequences.
Especially when the trouble arrives from… elsewhere.
I take no pleasure in noting patterns. I simply notice them.
Graffiti. In Brighton. I Ask You.
As though one disturbance were not enough, I have been seeing — with my own eyes — an increase in graffiti across downtown.
At first, I thought it an isolated incident. A lapse in judgment. Youthful indiscretion. We have all, at one point or another, made choices we later regretted, though I personally have never taken to a wall with spray paint.
But this? This is spreading like a disease.
It is not only unsightly; it is unsettling. Brighton has always been known as a safe town. A respectable town. The kind of place where one can leave a basket on a doorstep and expect it to remain there, untouched, until retrieved.
What message does this send?
What does it suggest about who we are becoming?
I, for one, am not prepared to stand by while our reputation is chipped away, one careless paint mark at a time.
There are lines. And we are approaching them.
A Personal Observation. (Not Gossip. I Refuse That Label.)
I have noticed (and I do not believe I am alone in this) that people have begun to lower their voices when certain topics arise.
At the post office. At the Country Store. Even, briefly, at The Farmhouse, which I would have said was immune to such behavior.
Conversations pause when someone new approaches. Glances are exchanged. There is a sense, faint, but unmistakable, that not everything is being said aloud.
Now, I am not suggesting that this is cause for alarm.
But I am also not suggesting that it is nothing.
Brighton has always been a town where things are known. Not always spoken — we are not uncivilized — but known. Shared in that quiet way that keeps a community intact.
When that changes… well.
I am simply observing.
Brighton Community Notice
The Art Festival Message Board Contest. We Must Do Better.
I do not enjoy scolding. It is not, contrary to popular belief, one of my great pleasures.
But I will say this plainly: in a town filled with artists — filled, I am told, with creativity, expression, and vision — we have received five entries for the Town Hall message board contest.
Five.
I have counted them myself.
This is not a shortage. This is an embarrassment.
Where are the painters? The crafters? The makers of things we are so often told define the very spirit of Brighton?
Come on, people!
If we cannot rally for our own Art Festival, then I begin to wonder what, exactly, we are rallying for.
There is still time. Our illustrious leader, Regina Buchanan, has extended the deadline.
I expect — and I do not use that word lightly — to see a marked improvement.
C.C.’s May Musings
I have been thinking, lately, about appearances.
How a place can look one way, so neat, cheerful, entirely as it should be, and yet hold, just beneath the surface, something more complicated.
A crack in the paint. A word left behind. A conversation that stops just a moment too quickly.
None of these things, on their own, amount to very much.
But together…
Well.
I walked down Main Street yesterday afternoon. The sun was out. The bakery windows were shining. Someone had propped open the door to the Country Store, and old Mr. Singer’s “Hello!” rang each time a customer stepped inside.
It looked, from a distance, like the Brighton we all know.
Up close, I noticed things I might not have, a month ago.
A wall that had been scrubbed a little too clean. A patch of fresh paint that did not quite match. A hesitation in someone’s smile.
It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that a community is not defined by the absence of trouble, but by how it chooses to face it.
Do we look away?
Do we smooth things over until they disappear?
Or do we decide, quietly and firmly, that we are better than whatever it is that has begun to take root?
I do not yet know the answer.
But I will be watching.
As I always do.
Until June, dear readers. Keep your eyes open. Support the Art Festival. And if you happen to know anything about a can of spray paint where it does not belong, I trust you will act accordingly.
Brighton is changing. Let us be certain it is for the better.
With vigilance and very reliable sources,
C.C. Bass
P.S. I stopped by Town Hall to confirm the number of contest entries. The clerk assured me more are “coming in.” I asked when. She said, “Soon.” I will believe it when I see it.
P.P.S. If anyone is in possession of information regarding the recent incidents on Main Street, I suggest you consider, carefully, what it means to be part of a community. Silence, in certain circumstances, is not the virtue people believe it to be.
# # #
Sylvie Kurtz’s Brighton Village series captures all of it: the romances that sneak up on you, the mysteries that won’t let you rest, and the community that holds it all together. Love in Brighton Village and A Brighton Village Cozy Mystery — two series, one village, endless reasons to stay.
The Brighton Bulletin
A newsletter from the world of Sylvie Kurtz’s Brighton Village series.
You’re receiving this because you love Brighton as much as C.C. does.
Which is to say: unreasonably, completely, and without apology.
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