Mistletoe At Moonglow (The Moonglow Christmas Series Book 1)

by Deborah Garner

  Mist tried to hold back her grin but couldn't. This made Michael laugh harder, starting a chain reaction that soon had Mist uncharacteristically bent over with laughter. She sat down in a chair across from him and fanned her face with one hand. Silver bracelets around her wrist chimed. “It sounds like you should stick to reading.”

  “Yes, I believe you’re right,” he said. Mist noted that the snow-filled light from the front window accentuated the coppery coloring in his eyes. For a split second, something unspoken passed between them.

  “What a delightful tree!” The sudden declaration came from Clara Winslow, who came through the front door, several small bags clasped in her hands. Mist recognized the bags’ logos as being from the candy store. “I was admiring it from the front walkway.”

  “Thank you,” Mist said. “We were just saying the exact same thing.” She stood up. “Please sit.” When Clara started to refuse, Mist made it clear she needed to get moving, anyway. “Unless you all want frozen dinners tonight, you’ll need to entertain yourselves for the rest of the day. I’ll be putting out hot mulled cider later this afternoon on the registration counter in the lobby.”

  “That sounds lovely, dear,” Clara said, removing her coat and accepting the chair across from Michael. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Save some room for appetizers, too.” Mist glanced at Clara’s bags and smiled. “I’m making baked Brie puffs.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clara laughed. “These are for the trip home. I can’t resist that peppermint bark Marge sells at Christmas. I always have to stock up. The Morrisons and Ms. Greeley are down there, too. I imagine all your guests will be heading out with Timberton treats.”

  “Not me,” Robert shouted. He had run through the front door in time to hear Clara’s last statement. He zoomed across the front hallway and started up the stairs. “I’m eating all mine.”

  “One’s enough for now,” Sally said. “Let’s save some for later. Let me have the rest.”

  “Not fair,” Robert said. He came back downstairs and handed the bag of candy to his mother, bumping into Michael’s outstretched leg in the process. Michael groaned, causing Clara to throw a worried look in his direction. Sitting down in front of the tree, Robert stuffed a single piece of candy in his mouth before picking up presents to shake, one by one.

  “Are you OK?” Clara said.

  “Yes, Clara, don’t worry,” Michael said. “Like I told you, they think they got it all.” He turned to see Mist watching the exchange. “I had a tumor removed recently. It’s just a little sore still. Nothing to worry about.”

  Mist nodded and didn’t press for more information. Instead, she checked the clock and retired to her room, leaving the guests to enjoy visiting with each other. She had a good hour left before she needed to start preparing dinner, just enough time to add final touches to her artwork from the early morning hours.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mist looked over her palette, surveying the various shades. Bright red, forest green and sienna brown waited to join the artistic chorus of her efforts. Cornflower blue and a sweet, soft ivory also stood in line, ready to contribute. The paint gave little of itself, yet the colors offered much. Art was just that way, Mist reminded herself. A little could go a long way.

  These tiny squares of stretched canvas, no more than four inches square, would become part of each person’s journal, part of an emotional cloth. After two hours, with short pauses to get things going in the kitchen, she sat back, satisfied with the results of her work.

  Mist turned her full attention to the day’s main task, feeding a crowd of people. She’d set the place cards on one large table to make sure hotel guests could sit together. For the townsfolk, she’d stuck to open seating so they could come and go at different times. This way the tables would turn over, allowing plenty of seating for the anticipated record crowd.

  Mist tended to prefer lighter foods such as vegetables, fruits and whole grains, though now and then Betty tried to fatten up her waif-like figure with heavier foods. But Mist cooked to please her guests, and for this festive occasion, she’d planned a menu to satisfy every possible palate. And variety! Guests would be able to skip half the offerings and still waddle out stuffed at the end of the night.

  She peeked in the oven. The brown sugar glazed ham baked side by side on the top rack with a standing rib roast, the latter draped in rosemary, garlic, and thyme. On the lower rack, she would place a pan of roasted root vegetables. The timing would be tricky, even with the second oven Clive had installed when they first opened the café. Although she preferred to serve straight from stove to table, feeding a large crowd required compromise, so she’d prepared a few dishes in advance to reheat at the last minute.

  “How can I help?” Betty sat at the center kitchen table. Foil-covered pans and napkin-lined empty baskets filled most of the surface. Mist had two special breads planned for the evening meal: roasted garlic sourdough and kalamata olive bread with oregano, both freshly baked that morning.

  “I think it’s under control,” Mist said. “How about just relaxing and keeping me company? Tell me what the guests have been up to. What have I missed while I’ve been hiding out in the kitchen?”

  Betty beckoned Mist toward the kitchen window. “Well, you’re missing something now, that’s for sure. Come look.”

  Mist joined Betty at the window just in time to see Robert land a solid snowball hit on Clive’s back. Clive tried to retaliate, but missed – probably on purpose.

  “Robert looks delighted to have one-upped Clive.” Betty grinned.

  “Naturally,” Mist said. “Clive is a clever man.”

  “Looks like the professor and Clara bundled up and took a walk together. I bet they’re headed down to the candy store.”

  “Maybe in search of more peppermint bark,” Mist said. “Speaking of sweets, do we need to put more glazed cinnamon walnuts out? That bowl keeps emptying quickly.”

  “No, I refilled it earlier and moved it just high enough to be out of Robert’s reach.” Betty laughed. “Seems this batch is lasting longer than the last one.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Mist said. “I’m glad the storm let up enough for the guests to spend some time outside.”

  “The snow’s still coming down, but not as heavy as earlier and the wind’s not too bad. I especially think it’s good for Robert to get out, even for just a bit. Michael is reading in the front parlor and Sally and Bob Morrison are playing cards at the game table.” Betty peeked inside one of the foil trays and then covered it back up.

  “Beets, carrots, rutabagas, parsnips, radishes and fingerling potatoes.” Mist answered Betty’s question before she asked. “With a little balsamic vinegar, basil and olive oil.”

  “And this tray?”

  “Brussel sprouts with cranberries, pumpkin seeds and Romano cheese.”

  “And this one?”

  “Wild rice with mushrooms and almonds.”

  “You’re not going to let anyone go hungry, are you? This is one spoiled town,” Betty said, shaking her head. “And my regular hotel guests have no idea what a treat they’re in for.”

  “Oh, there is something you can do, after all,” Mist said. “I have cucumbers in the crisper that you could cut, if you’d like. Everything else is ready to mix into a tossed salad except that.”

  “How about dessert?” Clive said. Mist and Betty turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, Robert beside him.

  “Yeah, what about dessert?” Robert echoed.

  “We’ll have a special holiday dessert,” Mist said, thinking of the Yule Log she’d prepared ahead of time.

  “Cake?” Robert’s eyes scanned the kitchen, looking for any sign of sweets.

  “You’re very close,” Mist said. “We’re having a Bûche de Noël.”

  “A bush?” Robert exclaimed, clearly disgusted. “We’re having a bush for dessert?”

  Mist smiled. “No, not a bush. A bûche. It’s a type of cake that looks like a l
og. It’s a traditional Christmas dessert, especially in France.”

  “Sounds weird.” Robert crossed his arms and frowned.

  “Sometimes unfamiliar food does sound weird before you try it,” Mist said. “But that’s how you discover new things to like.”

  “Or maybe not like,” Robert countered.

  “That’s always possible. But if you don’t try anything new, you’ll miss finding some of life’s good surprises.”

  “Well, you can count me in,” Clive said, rubbing his hands together. “Any kind of cake is just fine with me, no matter what you call it.”

  “Fine with me, too.” Robert looked up at Clive.

  “I take it you’re talking about those lumpy things you’ve got over at my place, in the fridge,” Clive said. “I was starting to think someone had chopped down a tree and stored the branches. I was about to toss them in the gallery’s wood stove and start a fire until I realized they were covered in chocolate.”

  “I could eat a whole tree if it’s chocolate.” Robert’s eyes brightened.

  “Then you’ll like this one,” Mist said.

  “Yay, a chocolate tree!” Robert took off, running through the hotel.

  “Speaking of fires, Clive, how would you like to get one going in the front parlor?” Betty voiced her suggestion with a sweet “honey do” tone. “Be sure to put the grate in front of it. And give Robert a talk about fire safety.”

  “Excellent idea,” Mist said. “That will give the fire a good start before dinner guests arrive. But please don’t use the Bûche de Noël. There’s plenty of firewood on the porch.”

  “As you wish.” Clive grinned and left the room.

  “He’s a keeper, Betty.” Mist said. “I’m glad you two finally figured out you were meant for each other.”

  Betty laughed. “That makes two of us. I guess sometimes it takes people a few years to figure out their feelings. With us, it just took a few more.”

  “About four decades, would you say?”

  “That’s about right,” Betty said. “I guess we wasted a lot of years.”

  Mist shook her head. “I don’t see it that way. Your experiences during those years made you who you are. This is simply the right time for you to be together.”

  “I wish I could see the world through your eyes,” Betty sighed. “Everything makes sense to you. It all seems so clear. At least it’s clear when you explain it.”

  “I just see what my senses perceive,” Mist said. “And I feel what my heart tells me. It’s a matter of listening deep inside myself while watching outside. When you put listening and watching together, it becomes clear.”

  Betty shook her head, but smiled. ”If you say so.” She gathered up a pile of cut cucumbers and placed them in a bowl. “Ready to mix.”

  Mist turned her head toward the kitchen door at the sound of a knock.

  “You ladies are working so hard, maybe you should assign a task to me.” Michael leaned in the doorframe favoring his healing leg.

  “You’re a guest, Michael,” Betty said. “You know by now I won’t let guests do any work.”

  “I thought you had a task,” Mist said.

  “Oh, and what exactly would that be?”

  “To sit by the fireplace and read.” Mist turned her head away, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

  “I hardly consider that a task,” Michael laughed. “I meant something to help out.”

  “You don’t think that’s helping out?” Mist took a challenging stance, one hand hip-level on her forest green batik skirt, the other holding a wooden spoon. “Seeing you in the room, relaxing by the fireplace, tells other guests to do the same. You’re inviting them to enter and relax.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Michael admitted. “I finished Dylan Thomas. Short piece, as I imagine you already know.”

  “There’s a copy of The Great Gatsby on the bookshelf to the right of the fireplace.” Mist waved the spoon toward the front room.

  Michael folded his arms, getting comfortable. “I’ve read it.”

  “How about The Sun Also Rises?”

  “Read it.”

  “Brave New World?”

  “Read it.”

  “The Call of the Wild?”

  “Read it.”

  “A Day in the Life of Flanagan McBean?”

  Michael paused briefly. “Read it.”

  Mist laughed. “No you haven’t. There is no such book.”

  Michael grinned and backed out of the kitchen. Mist tried to ignore a comical look on Betty’s face.

  “I do believe he was flirting with you,” Betty said.

  Mist smiled, remaining silent.

  “He’s a fine young man, one of my favorite guests.” Betty continued. “He’s spent many Christmases with us here.”

  “All the guests are wonderful,” Mist said. She smiled as she added, “Even the professor, as long as he has his tea.”

  “Yes,” Betty laughed. “He’s quite a character. I found him grumbling outside this morning, saying the snow was already building up on the front walk right after Clive shoveled it.”

  Mist nodded. “There you have it, the dilemma and the solution. We can’t control the snow, but we can control the tea. I believe that sums it all up.” She checked the oven one more time, washed and dried her hands and left the kitchen.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Betty opened the doors to the café at 6 p.m., a long line of eager customers already waited, anticipating a Christmas Eve dinner unlike any that Timberton had experienced. Even William “Wild Bill” Guthrie himself was right up in front with Clayton and his fire crew. Others, not fond of lines or simply more patient, waited in the front parlor, where they enjoyed the hot mulled cider and baked Brie puffs that had been set out two hours before.

  The hotel guests sat at their reserved table, having been given the courtesy of early seating. Their full plates didn’t even make a dent in the spread that Mist had prepared. Laughter and high fives filled the air as townsfolk made their way along the buffet.

  Mist was in high spirits herself, pleased to see the décor and cuisine had blended to create the festive atmosphere she’d desired. The scene matched the one on her sketchpad exactly. The sound of Bing Crosby’s voice crooning Christmas songs from the café speakers rounded out the ambiance. The aromas from the holiday feast floated through the hotel like ribbons, tying everything together.

  “Well. Look at this.” Clive stood beside Mist, surveying the crowd. He’d passed up his usual first place in line for food in order to fetch more firewood. A long evening of camaraderie would undoubtedly follow the meal and the warmth of the fire would be welcomed.

  “You look lovely.” Clive had turned toward Mist, noting her appearance in a grandfatherly way. She’d taken a break in the late afternoon, once everything was under control. Casting aside her usual hippie chick gauze and batik clothing, she’d changed to a soft, red velvet dress that hung flapper-style around her slender figure. For shoes, she’d decorated a pair of ballet slippers with silver metallic paint, adding tiny swirls of red and white with a fine brush. A long string of pearls and a silver barrette with mother-of-pearl detail completed the outfit.

  Mist smiled at the compliment. “I thought I’d get in the spirit of things.”

  “A mighty fine idea,” Clive said. “In fact, a few people have been conspiring to allow you to enjoy this meal with everyone else.” Mist raised her eyebrows in surprise as Clive guided her by the elbow to the table of hotel guests. An empty place waited for her, just to the right of Clara’s and just to the left of Michael. She started to protest, but realized she was outnumbered. Resigned and slightly flustered, she sat.

  “We all decided you’ve been working hard and deserve to enjoy the evening, too,” Clara said, reaching over and clasping Mist’s hand. “You know, many of us have been coming here for years, don’t you, dear?”

  “Yes,” Mist said, her voice barely a whisper. “Betty told me. She looks forward to
your visits each year as if you’re family.”

  “Exactly how we feel about her, too,” Clara said. “Even that old grump, Clive, seems like family now.” The whole table laughed as Clara threw a teasing glance at Clive. Clive shook his head and headed off to grab a plate at the end of the buffet.

  Michael leaned in Mist’s direction. “You’ve made this year special for everyone here.”

  Mist turned her head toward Michael. “You’re very kind, Michael. Betty and Clive have made this year special for me, too. It’s been a great gift for me to be able to set up the Moonglow Café in this wonderful old hotel.”

  “Well, I’m quite chuffed to be here, if I do say so,” Professor Hennessy said. “I was feeling a mite sorry for myself, being away from my family at this time of year. But the holiday spirit here is splendid.” He paused. “And the tea is spot on! Just as delightful as my Aunt Margaret’s tea back in London.”

  “Do you have Christmas in England?” Robert sat up straight in his chair as if he wanted the professor to treat his question like a serious, adult question.

  “Yes, we do, young man,” the professor said. “We have a splendid Christmas with a lovely dinner just like this. We always have plenty of roasted chestnuts, and on Christmas Day, we listen to the Queen’s Christmas Message.”

  “That all sounds lovely, Professor,” Ellen Greeley said. “You know, I feel like I’m the luckiest one of us. If not for Clive, I might still be stuck in that ditch.”

  Clive bowed at Ellen’s praise, causing an awkward clunk as he placed a plate in front of Mist, whose eyes grew wide at the heaping portions of food, including both ham and roast. Not one spec of plate was visible; the meal threatened to spill over the sides, onto the table. “Clive! Thank you, but you know I can’t eat all this!”