The Innkeeper's Bride

by Kathleen Fuller

He knew better than to argue further with his father. Daed was easygoing, but he had his stubborn moments too. “I’ll take a look at it.”

  Plumbing was the worst of the jobs at the inn, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a toilet. But everything had to be in working order when they opened in a week. They should have opened before Thanksgiving, but the inspector who was supposed to give them the final go ahead had rescheduled. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more delays.

  He went inside the mudroom at the back of the inn and opened the cabinet where he kept all his tools. He pulled out his tool belt and fastened it around his waist as he headed for the lobby. When he got there, he saw his grandmother dusting the custom-made coffee table in front of the woodstove. “Why did you let Daed get up on the roof?” he asked her.

  “You think I can tell him anything?” She pointed the feather duster at Levi. “I had to come in here, he’s making me so nervous.”

  “Where’s Nina?”

  She attacked the coffee table again as if it had a foot of dust covering it. “She went to Ira’s. Probably for the same reason. She should be back soon.” She banged the duster on the table. “He just got over spraining his wrist last week.” She sighed and looked at Levi. “I don’t know where he gets his mule-headedness.”

  “Me either.” Levi hid a grin as he headed up the staircase. When they remodeled the old English four-bedroom house into an inn, they’d added three small bathrooms to the top bedrooms. Each one had a shower, a toilet, and a pedestal sink. Everything had worked well except for the toilet in room four. This would be the third time he tried to fix it.

  When he opened the bedroom door, he heard Nina screaming his name at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Levi! Daed’s fallen off the roof!”

  Panic made his blood run cold. He ran downstairs, his tool belt smacking against his hips, and dashed outside to their house. His father was lying on the ground, Grossmutter kneeling next to him. Levi crouched on the other side. Daed’s face was contorted with pain, his left leg twisted in a way that made Levi’s stomach churn.

  “Loren, can you hear me?” Grossmutter said, holding his hand.

  “Ya,” he said. “I’m not . . . unconscious.”

  But his pallid face told Levi his father was close to passing out. Nina arrived, out of breath. “I called nine-one-one,” she said, gasping. “They should be here any minute.”

  “I told you not to geh on that roof.” Grossmutter’s voice trembled. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  Daed closed his eyes and nodded. “I . . . should have.”

  Levi felt Nina’s hand on his shoulder, and he reached up and squeezed it. “He’ll be okay.” Levi saw the fear in her eyes. “Once we get him to the hospital, they’ll take gut care of him.”

  But Nina didn’t respond as she held Levi’s hand tight.

  He remained calm, believing what he’d told Nina. Panicking and worrying wouldn’t help the situation. “You’ll be all right, Daed,” he said as his father’s eyes remained closed. “Everything will be fine.” Lord, please let it be.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Levi sat in the surgery waiting room with Nina and Grossmutter. Nina had the presence of mind to call a taxi right after she called nine-one-one, and when the ambulance arrived, the taxi was right behind it. Fortunately the ER wasn’t busy, and not long after they arrived, Daed was taken into surgery. “He’s lucky he only broke a leg,” one of the ER nurses had said. “He could have died from that fall.” Levi didn’t know anything about being a nurse, but the family could have done without that information.

  “Kaffee?” Nina held out a cup to him. “Black, two sugars.”

  He nodded as he took it, taking a sip even though it was after five o’clock and he usually cut off his coffee consumption by noon. He’d never been in a hospital before, and he was surprised at how slow treatment worked here. His father had been in surgery for more than three hours. But he didn’t care how long it took if it meant Daed would be okay.

  “Grossmutter wants to talk to us.”

  He turned to her. “Is she okay?”

  “She seems to be.” Nina half-smiled. “She’s the strongest woman I know, that’s for sure.”

  Nodding in agreement, he accompanied his sister to the back corner of the waiting room where there were chairs and some privacy. Nina sat down and pulled her navy-blue sweater closer around her, even though the waiting room was comfortable and warm. He sat next to her, and they were both opposite their grandmother, who had on what Levi called her no-nonsense expression—eyes sharp, mouth pressed thin, shoulders held back.

  “We need to discuss the future,” she said, her tone also no-nonsense.

  “Grossmutter, he’s going to be all right,” Levi said. “He’s not on death’s door.”

  “I realize that. I’m talking about the immediate future. We’re opening the inn in a week.”

  “You’re not thinking of opening without Daed, are you?” Nina said, balking. “That’s not fair to him.”

  “Nina, we have to be practical.” Grossmammi pushed up her glasses, which was as much a habit for her as it was for Levi. “I know yer daed would want us to be.” She turned to Levi. “You’ll have to be the manager until Loren gets back on his feet.”

  “Me?” Levi almost spilled his coffee. “I don’t know anything about management.”

  “You’re a smart bu. You’ll learn.” She looked at Nina. “And you’ll have to take care of yer vatter until he heals. I’ll still prepare breakfast and snacks for our guests.”

  “What about cleaning?”

  “Thankfully we don’t have to worry about that yet since we’re not open.” She shook her head. “I never thought I would look at the inspector’s delay as a blessing, but it was. Levi, you’ll have to hire a maid right away. I know Loren wanted to wait awhile, see how many guests we have, but this changes everything.”

  He was about to point out that he didn’t know how to hire anyone either, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to complain or doubt his abilities. His family needed him to step up and manage the inn, and that was what he was going to do. “I can put an ad in the paper.”

  “That’s a gut start.”

  Levi turned around and glanced at the electronic board above the courtesy desk. They’d been given a number and a doctor’s name so they could follow the progress of his father’s surgery. “Daed’s in recovery,” Levi said, getting up.

  “Then the doctor should be out soon to talk to us.” Grossmutter rose. “We need to lean on one another more than ever. I know yer vatter will be fine.” She paused, her bottom lip quivering once. “But it will take time for him to recover. You don’t bounce back from surgery as quickly at his age.”

  Both Levi and Nina nodded. “You can count on us,” Levi said.

  Grossmutter touched his arm. “I know I can. Yer vatter knows it too.”

  * * *

  Jackson Talbot took a huge bite out of a strawberry jelly donut and stared at the computer screen. He chewed slowly as he tried to figure out what his father had done to the hotel’s website. This was the third time in a month the site had gone down, all because Dad couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  At least he had Jackson’s correct email now. Last year, before he’d moved to Barton, neither his father nor the head desk clerk, Lois, had known what to do when the hotel network faltered. When Jackson didn’t respond, they thought he was ignoring them. At least a dozen angry emails from his father were floating out in cyberspace somewhere.

  They had a good reason to contact Jackson. He had a degree in computer science, and he’d minored in web design. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know what he was doing. The employees at the Stay Inn clearly didn’t, though.

  He glanced at the jelly donut and then set it down on the plate next to the keyboard. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing either since he’d thoughtlessly eaten one of the messiest foods known to man beside a five-thousand-dollar compute
r.

  He slid from the stool and picked up the plate before taking it to the front desk and laying it beneath the counter. “I’ll be back,” he told Lois. She’d worked at the hotel for more than ten years, enduring three owners. But according to her, Trevor Talbot was the most challenging. Jackson hadn’t been surprised to hear that.

  Before Jackson could go to the restroom and wash off his sticky hand, the glass front doors slid open and his father stormed inside. Uh-oh. From the enraged look on his father’s face, Jackson assumed something was really wrong. On second thought, his father was probably just overreacting again.

  Dad glanced around the lobby, which was still being renovated by the slowest construction crew Jackson had ever encountered. At least they’d finally installed the carpet, a dull gray-and-black-striped pattern that was supposedly chic but looked like it belonged in a dive bar from the early eighties. His father glanced around the lobby, and when he saw it was empty, he spewed a curse and slammed a newspaper on the front desk. “Do you believe this?”

  Lois calmly peered at the paper through her bright-pink reading glasses. “Teenager loses his pants in bathroom sneak attack gone wrong.” She cracked a half-smile. “Serves him right.”

  “Not that.” He shoved the paper at Jackson and pointed to a tiny ad in the right-hand corner of the paper. “This.”

  Jackson licked the powdered sugar off his fingers and looked at the ad. It said Stoll Inn was opening in a week. Oh, so Birch Creek finally got an inn. He wasn’t surprised. The small Amish town had been booming for the past several years. Jackson had grown up in Chardon, but after his parents divorced, he’d spent his summers with his father in Barton. After high school he’d attended Cleveland State, and then after graduation he’d bounced around the Cleveland area before moving to Barton two months ago. He’d never paid much mind to local news, but on his visits here he’d heard about the secretive Amish community that had suddenly become welcoming and was now experiencing rapid growth. No one knew many details—or at least not enough of them to make anyone he was acquainted with pay any attention.

  He pushed the paper back at his dad. “I don’t see what you’re flipping out about.”

  “You don’t?” His father sneered. “You don’t have a shred of business sense, do you? Competition.” Dad tapped at the Amish ad. “The last thing we need is competition.”

  “Competition isn’t a bad thing,” Jackson said. “Besides, you’ve had the monopoly on the hospitality business in this area only because Stay Inn has been the only hotel. This was bound to happen sometime.”

  Dad grabbed the newspaper and crumpled it in his hand. “This isn’t the same as some hotel popping up down the road. This is an Amish inn. People are crazy for anything Amish these days. You think they’re going to think twice about staying here when they find out there’s an Amish inn less than thirty minutes away? And Stoll Inn? The name’s too close to Stay Inn.”

  Stoll Inn sure is a better name. Jackson had always thought Stay Inn was corny. “I think there’s enough business to go around.”

  “Really?” Dad spread his arms wide. “Do you see all the guests here? How we’re turning away people because we have no vacancies?”

  “You’ve been in perpetual construction for over a year. That’s why you don’t have many guests.”

  “I’m investing in this property,” Dad said in a low voice that carried a warning—Jackson was close to saying the wrong thing. He tugged at the neck of his expensive polo shirt. “By the time it’s done, we’ll have people dying to stay here.”

  Jackson hoped so for his father’s sake. He was sinking a lot of money into this hotel, which he’d inherited from a distant aunt and uncle along with a sizable amount of cash. But Dad had always been loose with his money, owning and losing several businesses over the years. Jackson wondered if this construction company was dragging out the renovations for a reason other than ineptitude.

  Lois disappeared into the office and then came out with a cup of water and a roll of antacids. “Take these, Trevor,” she said, handing them to Dad. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer, carrying on this way.”

  At that point one of the construction guys walked into the lobby, Sheetrock dust covering his jeans. “Mr. Talbot, we got a problem.”

  “Problems, problems,” Dad muttered, tossing the rumpled paper on the counter. “Always problems.” He and the construction worker disappeared down the first-floor hallway.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Lois said, patting Jackson’s hand, the numerous and colorful plastic bangles circling her wrist clacking together. She was in her early sixties but dressed like she was still living in the disco era. “He’ll settle down.”

  Jackson knew Lois was right. His father had always had a short fuse, and it was getting shorter as Dad was getting older, which was one reason Jackson had cut his summer visits short the past five years. The last summer he’d visited here, right before his senior year, he’d left after three days. Technically he didn’t have to keep visiting his father in the summers since he was an adult, but he had felt some loyalty to the man—and he still did. That loyalty had been tested when Jackson spent Thanksgiving Day alone in their apartment, eating a microwave pizza and watching football. Not too big of a deal since it wasn’t his first Thanksgiving alone, but it would have been nice if his father had at least been there.

  But loyalty wasn’t the reason he moved here. Desperation was. “I’m not worried,” he said.

  “Oh really.” Lois clucked her tongue. “For some reason I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  He leaned his hip against the counter. “Well, I am a little worried about the website. He needs to stop making these so-called upgrades. He’s made six since I took this job. They’re unnecessary, and his computer is swarming with viruses.”

  “You know your father,” she said, taking off her readers. They swung on a beaded chain around her neck. “He’s always tinkering with things. Looking for ways to improve.”

  “Or he doesn’t trust me.” Jackson knew it was the latter. “Do you think a little Amish bed and breakfast is going to cause us problems?”

  Lois shook her head. “I’m with you. Competition is good for business. Part of the reason this construction is taking so long is that your father isn’t staying on top of it. He’s too busy spending his time on vacations with that . . . that . . .”

  “Ashley?”

  “Yeah. That Ashley.” Lois sniffed. “He’s far too old for her. And why does a young thing like that want to hang around your father?”

  “His bank account?”

  Lois sighed, patting the back of her auburn hair, which was coiled into a loose bun on top of her head. “She’s so transparent.” The phone rang, and as Lois went to answer it, Jackson picked up the balled-up newspaper.

  He unfolded it and looked again at the ad. The opening was in a week. Being in the hospitality business wasn’t easy—even he knew that. It took time to build up clientele, and money was always an issue, except apparently for Dad. This was his second time renovating the hotel, this time with Ashley’s advice. “It’s too dull and old looking,” she’d whined, her nasal voice scraping against Jackson’s nerves like a rusty nail on an old cheese grater. He didn’t care for Ashley at all. She was hot, all right—in a plastic, shallow way that made him wonder if she’d ever had a deep thought in her life. Definitely not his type. He wouldn’t have guessed she was his father’s type, either.

  Jackson set aside his thoughts about Ashley and his father’s worries about the inn. Lois was right—the hotel would be much more successful if his father would stop tinkering with everything, including Ashley, and focus on building clientele and relationships. But between his inheritance and the lack of competition, he hadn’t been too worried about not filling the rooms every night. Until now.

  Maybe this was a wake-up call for him to get back on track. Jackson hoped so. At twenty-three, he should be out on his own, following his dream of having his own IT and
web design business, not putting out fires his old man was making during a midlife crisis.

  Jackson glanced at the ad again. “Good luck to them,” he said, and then he dropped the paper into the trash.

  Chapter 4

  Selah halted in front of the Stoll home, hesitant to knock on the door. She was carrying a basket of food she’d made for the family after hearing about Loren’s accident a few days ago. He’d spent three days in the hospital, and during that time several families had not only taken meals to the Stolls but helped with chores and anything else they needed.

  She had volunteered to bring a meal today. Not only was it ingrained in her to help others when a crisis happened—which she’d lost sight of when she was in the throes of her illness—but in counseling she’d learned that focusing on others instead of herself was also therapeutic, not to mention biblical. Her focus lately had been solely on herself, and maybe that was the problem. Hopefully, helping the Stolls would break the ice when it came to involving herself in the community. She’d cooked for over two hours last night, and from the weight of the basket she carried, she might have made a bit too much.

  Despite her decision to help, her stomach twisted a little. What if Levi answered the door? She had washed and pressed his handkerchief, even though he told her to keep it. She didn’t want to be in his debt, and she’d even brought money to repay him for the cinnamon candies.

  Stop being foolish and knock on the door. She couldn’t continue to be wary of Levi—or of any young man. But once she settled things with him, she would feel a lot better. She knocked on the door, and after a minute, Delilah answered.

  “Hello, Selah.” She smiled despite the weariness in her eyes. “Come in, come in.”

  “This is for you,” Selah said, holding up the basket as she walked inside. She glanced around the tidy living room. Loren was sitting in a chair near the woodstove, his leg propped up on an ottoman, crutches by his side.

  “Hi, Selah. Excuse me if I don’t get up.” His smile, like Delilah’s, was kind, but his voice was raspy with exhaustion. Selah had never had surgery, but from what she’d heard about Loren’s compound fracture, she wasn’t surprised he was tired and possibly woozy.