Snowfall At Moonglow (The Moonglow Christmas Series Book 5)

by Deborah Garner

  Clara, who was standing next to Betty, waved Mist over. “I knew he would do this,” she whispered as Mist approached. “We started talking this afternoon, outside.” Mist nodded as she recalled seeing Clara and Max decorating side-by-side snow people. “He used to be a classical pianist,” Clara said. “Before Wall Street seduced him, that is. His words, not mine.”

  “He’s amazing,” Mist said, as stunned as the rest of the crowd by Max’s outstanding technique and musicality.

  “I think he misses it,” Clara said. “I could tell just by the way he talked about it.”

  “Without a doubt,” Mist said.

  Max moved on to The First Noel, followed by Once in Royal David’s City. By this time, a crowd had gathered around the piano, and as he began playing Hark the Herald Angels Sing, voices joined in. While some guests lingered in song, others mingled around the room. Nina and Kinsley stood by the front window, discussing the varying personalities of the snow people outside. Michael and the Professor fell into a verbal dissection of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, the Professor taking the liberty of analyzing Michael’s own analysis. Allison stayed with those at the piano, adding her voice to the group.

  As with the past few Christmases, Clive escorted Betty to the tree. “Close your eyes,” he said as he reached into the far branches. Nina and Kinsley turned from the window to watch. Mist observed from afar, already knowing what Clive had designed for Betty this year.

  “Now you can look,” Clive said.

  Betty opened her eyes and gasped. “It’s beautiful!” A silver snowflake ornament sparkled as it dangled next to the lights in the tree. The traditional Yogo sapphire that Clive always added rested just off-center for artistic effect. Betty held the ornament up for all to see and then placed it near others Clive had made over the years: a tree, a set of silver bells, a wreath, and a reindeer.

  As the evening grew late, local residents departed for their own homes, stomachs and spirits filled with the satisfaction of an exquisite meal and the warmth of companionship.

  “Thank you for leaving your camera,” Mist whispered as Maisie left with Clay Jr. sound asleep on her shoulder. Maisie responded with a wink and a promise to retrieve it the next day.

  A few hotel guests retired to their rooms; others lingered in the front parlor with mugs of hot cider or iced cranberry spritzers, depending on their inclinations. Clara and Andrew snuggled together on the sofa, and the Professor and Nina fell into a discussion of Brazilian history. Max and Michael continued a game of chess they had started in the late afternoon. And Kinsley, yawning, accepted her mother’s gentle suggestion that reading in bed might be a good way to wind down after all the Christmas Eve activity. Even Betty and Clive said good night after enjoying a kiss beneath the mistletoe that hung in the entryway.

  Late in the evening, Mist dimmed the lights on the empty parlor, took an afghan from the downstairs linen closet, and curled up in a wicker love seat on the front porch. In spite of the storm that had come and gone, the temperature was barely chilly. The contrast of the warm fabric wrap and cool air on her face felt invigorating and relaxing at the same time.

  “Communing with the snow people?” Michael’s voice and presence warmed her heart as he sat down beside her. She opened the afghan and rearranged it to spread across their laps.

  “I believe I am.” Mist laid her head on Michael’s shoulder as he put his arms around her.

  “They won’t last, you know, the snow people.”

  “It won’t matter,” Mist said, smiling in the dark.

  “Why is that?” Michael turned her head toward his and gave her a gentle kiss.

  Mist looked back out at wintery figures, surreal under the moonlit sky. “Because the memories will last.”

  “I guess that’s what really matters,” Michael said.

  “Yes,” Mist said. “That is exactly what matters.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Christmas morning arrived bright and sunny yet still with a chill in the air. It was the one day of the year that breakfast was reserved for hotel guests only. Townsfolk spent their time with family at home, many still full from the feast the night before. So it was with the guests, as well, who were always pleased with the light offerings they’d find in the café.

  Mist had awakened early in spite of staying up into the early morning to finish the miniature paintings for guests. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee had filled the lobby at 6:30 a.m. as always, along with that of apple-cinnamon muffins baking in the kitchen. The rest of the meal required no cooking. Clive had appeared within minutes of the coffee being set out, as he did every morning. He also built a fire in the fireplace so guests could wake up to a warm Christmas morning ambiance.

  Knowing most guests would sleep in after the festivities the night before, Mist still smiled when she heard early footsteps on the stairs as she placed homemade granola and mixed berries on the buffet. She’d expected as much and was not surprised to find Kinsley in the front parlor, kneeling in front of the Christmas tree. Presents had appeared overnight, gifts that guests familiar with each other had brought with them. Mist’s additions sat tucked inside the branches, wrapped in white rice paper with hand-painted silver snowflakes. Narrow satin ribbons in varying colors would allow her to distribute the gifts to the correct guests.

  Kinsley looked up and smiled as Mist entered the room. “Something from Mom,” she said, holding up a package. “And I brought something for her too.” She pointed to another gift under the tree.

  “She’ll love it,” Mist said.

  “But you don’t even know what it is,” Kinsley pointed out.

  “I don’t need to know,” Mist said. “She’ll love it because it’s from you.”

  Kinsley sighed as she looked down at the present in her hands. “She doesn’t let me do many things on my own.”

  “She will,” Mist said. “Give her time. She was quite impressed with the snow person you decorated yesterday.”

  “It was really different from hers,” Kinsley said.

  Mist smiled. “I suspect that is part of what impressed her.” She leaned closer, adding, “I loved the way you propped the straw bird on its shoulder.”

  “Thanks,” Kinsley said.

  The sound of additional steps on the stairway preceded Clara and Andrew’s arrival downstairs. They wore matching red sweatshirts with the words Let it snow printed above a trio of snowflakes.

  “Appropriate, don’t you think?” Clara said.

  “Perhaps the very reason it snowed,” Andrew added, laughing.

  “I don’t doubt it a bit,” Mist said. “Help yourselves to coffee or tea or even hot chocolate if you happened to wake up with a sweet tooth.”

  Clara and Andrew filled mugs with coffee and then bundled up, taking their steaming beverages with them as they stepped out to admire the snow people in the yard. One by one, guests appeared, some heading first to the light meal, others joining Clara and Andrew outside before coming in to sit by the fire. Michael looked especially handsome in a black turtleneck and khakis. He took a seat in his favorite chair, enjoying a warm embrace from Mist on the way. The Professor sat across from him, looking both festive and proper in a red argyle vest. Max joined the group last. Mist suspected he’d sent a few texts off earlier but noticed he’d put his phone away or—was it possible?—left the phone in his room.

  When the guests were finally settled together in front of the fire, those who knew each other exchanged gifts. Kinsley was surprised to receive a sweater she’d dropped hints about, a style popular with her peer group, as well as a paperback copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which Mist had pulled from the closet and placed under the tree. Allison beamed as she held up a plate Kinsley had decorated for her in art class, and Clara and Andrew declared their present was each other.

  “I have a little something for all of you,” Mist said, taking a place beside the Christmas tree. “Some of you have stayed here many times in the past and already know you are c
onsidered family. To those of you here for the first time, know that you are now family too. Hopefully, we’ll see many of you again. Meanwhile, we like you to take a small token of our appreciation home with you to remind you of your holiday in Timberton.”

  “A small token,” Clive whispered to Betty. “Those miniature paintings are drawing higher and higher prices each year in the gallery.”

  “Hush,” Betty said, patting his shoulder affectionately.

  “Over the past few years,” Mist continued, “I’ve handed these out one by one. This year will be different. You may all open them at the same time.”

  “Ah, they must be the same,” the Professor said.

  “Yes and no,” Mist replied as she drew each package from the tree, checking the color of the satin ribbons and handing them to specific people accordingly.

  “The snowflakes are pretty!” Kinsley exclaimed as she took her wrapped gift from Mist.

  “I agree,” Nina said, running her fingers over the texture of the silver paint. “I will save this paper to remember the falling snow.”

  “Can we open them now?” Kinsley asked, looking to both her mother and Mist.

  “It’s up to Mist,” Allison said.

  “What do you think, Kinsley?” Mist said. “I’ll let you decide.”

  Kinsley stood and looked around the room, taking the responsibility seriously. Clara, Andrew, Michael, Nina. Allison, and the Professor all held their wrapped packages and waited, some fighting back smiles in mock seriousness, others giving in and grinning.

  “Well?” the Professor said, tapping his foot.

  “I say… now!” Kinsley set to opening her gift, as did all the others. A smile crossed every face in the room once the wrapping paper was removed.

  “Why, it’s my snow person,” Nina exclaimed. “Not just any snow person. It’s my snow person, Carmen Miranda!”

  “And my bird lady!” Kinsley said, giving Mist a hug. “The bird looks just like the one I put on her shoulder too. It even has the little red bow I put on it.”

  “How about yours, Max?” Clara asked, showing off her own sweet snow woman with a fringed shawl and granny glasses.

  Max held his painting up, showing the top hat, cape, and wand on his snowman.

  “I believe that’s a snow magician,” the Professor said. “Quite brilliant.”

  “I loved magic as a child,” Max explained. “I still do.”

  “Then I have a good card trick to show you,” Andrew offered.

  Max nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  “Yours looks just like your snow artist,” Kinsley said, directing her comment to her mother. “It has the beret you put on it and the paintbrush too. Wait… I didn’t see a paintbrush in any of the bins,” she added. “Where did you get that?”

  Allison sent a sly look to Mist, who maintained an expression of innocence.

  “Maybe it was magic,” Max suggested, causing Kinsley to giggle.

  Michael spoke up next. “I like your scuba diver, Andrew. I’m still amazed you were able to get those fins to hang off his arms.”

  “They weren’t terribly heavy,” Andrew explained. “But I did have to switch out my first set of arms for stronger branches.”

  Kinsley walked over to Michael, curious to see his painting. “I saw that little boy saying ‘fireman, fireman,’ over and over to you.”

  “Yes.” Michael laughed, remembering Clay Jr.’s insistent pleading. “His father is the fire captain. He brought the hat and goggles down from the station. I added the garden hose.”

  “Let’s line them all up together,” Kinsley suggested, pointing to the top of the piano. “And then go see the real ones.”

  “They’re framed to either stand or hang,” Mist said. “So that would work.”

  In agreement, the guests set their paintings on the piano, creating a miniature display, and then followed Kinsley and her mother outside where they found a few townsfolk admiring the full-sized creations from the sidewalk. Betty and Clive accompanied the others, along with Maisie, who had stopped by after her own family celebration to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and pick up her camera.

  Mist and Michael remained indoors, observing the activity from the front window. Gently Mist reached behind the tree and lifted up a flat, rectangular package wrapped in butcher paper. Random words and phrases swirled across the wrapping in varied calligraphy fonts and at odd angles. “For you,” she said, placing the gift in Michael’s hands.

  “Just what is this?” Michael asked, his expression so modest and sweet that Mist blushed.

  “Some old thing,” Mist said casually as she watched the growing activity outside. She suspected a snowball could fly at any moment and pondered who might throw the first pitch. Hearing the crinkling sound of paper unfolding, she turned as Michael lifted a wooden frame from the wrapping.

  “Mist… it’s wonderful,” Michael said. He held it out in front of him and then brought it closer to inspect. “Wait… It’s not… I mean, you wouldn’t…”

  “Actually it is, and I did,” Mist said. “But most of the credit goes to the Professor, not to me. He has a friend in London who deals in rare books. The gentleman received a first edition…”

  “Of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol? Chapman and Hall, 1843?” Michael’s voice shook. “I see the MDCCCXLIII but…”

  “Let me finish,” Mist said, taking on a schoolteacher tone. “The book itself was in poor condition—poorer than poor, according to the Professor. Only this page was salvageable, and as you can see, it is fairly mangled around the edges at that.” Mist pointed to multiple creases and tears beneath the protective glass.

  “I’m…” Michael tried to find words. “I’m… speechless.”

  Mist shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “That’s fine. Then just kiss me.”

  Not one to disobey a Christmas morning request, Michael pulled Mist into his arms, first setting the framed page aside carefully. Both ignored a snowball that hit the front window as they kissed. The sound of a throat clearing drew them apart, both grinning at the recognizable harrumph.

  “Your timing leaves something to be desired, Clive,” Michael said, laughing.

  “We’ll let Mist decide about that,” Clive said as he handed Mist a box approximately five inches square. A single white ribbon tied in a bow held the lid in place.

  “Why, thank you, Clive,” Mist said.

  “Don’t thank me.” Clive chuckled. “It’s from this goofus over here.” He stuck his thumb out and pointed at Michael. With a mock butler bow, he left to join the others outside.

  “Open it,” Michael said once Clive was gone.

  “It must be a crystal ball,” Mist mused, wrapping her hands around the box to feel the weight and size.

  “You won’t know until you open it.” Michael said.

  “As you wish.” Mist moved away from the front window and sat on the sofa. Delicately she untied the ribbon and opened the box. She reached in with one hand and lifted out a silver jar with the word wishes engraved on the front. A tiny sapphire dotted the i. “It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, holding the jar out to catch the light.

  “Now open it,” Michael said.

  “I did open it.” Mist attempted a pouting look without success, then brightened. “Oh, you mean open this…” Lifting the delicate silver lid, she set it on a side table, looked inside the jar, and tipped it over. Tiny strips of paper floated into her other hand. “They’re wishes,” she mused as she picked up a paper that said joy. Another said sunshine, and yet another said peace. “And this is your handwriting. You wrote each one of these.”

  Michael nodded. “Yes, because these are my wishes for you, three hundred sixty-five of them so you can have one every day.”

  Mist remained quiet, thinking this over. “What about leap year?” she asked.

  “I’ll have to think about that,” Michael said teasingly.

  “Do you want to know what I wish right now?” Mist whispered.

  “Of course I
do.” Michael leaned closer.

  “I wish to smother you with…” She left the sentence unfinished for effect. Jumping up, she hurried to the front door and ran outside, not even bothering with her cape. By the time Michael caught up with her, she’d already grasped a handful of snow, which she promptly smashed on top of his head. He reciprocated quickly, and in a matter of moments, a full-fledged snowball war was in progress. Andrew and Clive formed a coalition and started an exchange with Clara and Betty. Nina aimed a solid shot at Max, who first stiffened but then burst into laughter and sent a toss of his own at the Professor. And Kinsley shrieked with delight as she and her mother tossed snowballs back and forth between them.

  As some of the townsfolk watched the merriment from the street, one visiting family member leaned toward a local to ask, “Is this a special gathering of some sort?”

  The recipient of the question smiled as he replied. “Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just a typical Christmas holiday at the Timberton Hotel.”

  BETTY’ S

  COOKIE EXCHANGE

  RECIPES

  Glazed Cinnamon Nuts

  Peanut Butter Cookies

  Norwegian Kringla

  Jo’s Fudge

  Wunderbar Ginger Bar Cookies

  Orange Sablés

  Lemon Nut Cookies

  Cinnamon Cookies

  Chocolate Peppermint Bark

  Mrs. Prager’s Cry Babies

  Choco-Mint Puffs

  Pecan Pie Cobbler

  Meringue Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Eve’s Apple Pecan Pound Cake

  Homemade Caramel Sauce

  Pumpkin Cookies

  Polka Dots

  Pfeffernüsse Fruit Cake Cookies

  Chocolate Refrigerator Cookies

  Pecan Dreams

  Aunt Shirley’s Oatmeal Cookies

  Lone Ranger Cookies

  Mystery Bars

  Glazed Cinnamon Nuts (A family recipe)