Mistletoe At Moonglow (The Moonglow Christmas Series Book 1)

by Deborah Garner

  “What? Oh, sorry! Wrong plate!” Laughing, he switched it out with the plate in his other hand, one full of vegetables and absent of meat.

  “Well, I’m lucky because I get to eat a chocolate tree tonight!” Robert bounced up and down in his chair.

  “We’re all looking forward to the chocolate tree, Mist,” Sally said. “Robert told us all about it.” Mr. Morrison nodded, waving a slice of kalamata olive bread in the air for emphasis.

  Michael leaned toward Mist and lowered his voice. “Are we talking Bûche de Noël, aka Yule Log?”

  “Yes, we are.” It didn’t surprise Mist that Michael caught on right away. He was unusual and endearing in many ways. She suspected she would miss him when he left.

  Betty showed up at the table, removing plates from guests who had finished. Clara had to nudge Mist to keep her in her chair when she attempted to stand and help.

  “You just relax, Mist,” Betty said. “Marge and Maisie are helping clear dishes. Guests can help themselves to dessert on the side buffet. I already have coffee set up in the entry hall.” She looked at the professor’s raised eyebrows. “And tea,” she added.

  By the time the guests had moved into the living room and most townsfolk had gone home, Bing Crosby was done singing his entire repertoire of Christmas songs, and Nat King Cole had taken over. Clara and the professor had discovered a bowl of eggnog punch and were singing along to “Deck the Halls.”

  The Morrisons sat together, threading garlands of popcorn and cranberries for the tree. Robert handed over each popcorn kernel or cranberry as needed, a successful ploy to keep him from using a needle himself. Mist noticed all three were laughing together for the first time since they’d arrived.

  Ellen Greeley stood by the front window, enchanted by the falling snow. Clive kept her company, pointing outside. Mist joined them for a moment.

  “See that bench across the way? That’s where Hollister sits in the spring taking it all in but never saying a word,” Clive said.

  “Who is Hollister?” Ellen asked.

  “He’s our mysterious, silent, homeless resident. We can’t get him to come inside for more than a night or two.”

  “I’m hoping he comes in tonight, though,” Mist said. “Even if he doesn’t speak to anyone or see anyone, he has a spot in the back where the spirit of our festivities might reach him. And we always leave him food.”

  “That sounds like a lovely thing for you to do, Mist,” Ellen said.

  “It’s not just me. The entire town takes care of Hollister.”

  “Well, I hope to meet him before I leave.”

  “Not likely,” Clive said. “But he’s an interesting one, Hollister. He may not use his voice, but sometimes he speaks volumes with his expressions and gestures.”

  “He sounds more expressive than my fiancé – er, ex-fiancé,” Ellen said. “He was supposed to be here with me, but we called off the engagement. I nearly didn’t come, but I’m so glad I did.”

  Mist placed a hand on Ellen’s wrist. “We’re delighted to have you here with us.”

  “That we are,” Clive said. “His loss, if you ask me.”

  Mist left Clive and Ellen so that Clive could tell some of his taller tales of Timberton’s past, recent and not-so-recent.

  Mist saw that Michael sat near the tree, examining some of the older ornaments. “I’m especially fond of this one,” he said, seeing Mist approach. He lifted a wooden star off the tree. “Carl Winslow made this a few years ago, whittled it right here by the tree. I watched him as he carved it.”

  “Clara’s husband?” Mist connected the last name right away.

  “Yes, this is her first year without him, which has been difficult. I think it gives her comfort, knowing the ornament is here. I’ve seen her stop by the tree to touch it now and then.”

  “Remembrances,” Mist said.

  “Yes, remembrances.” Michael replaced the ornament on the tree.

  “Exactly,” Mist agreed. Conversation was so easy with Michael. Words were almost superfluous.

  “It’s a lovely tree this year,” Betty said, stopping by with a pot of coffee in one hand. Maisie passed by right behind her, taking the coffee pot and heading off to refill cups.

  “This is one of my favorites.” Hands now free, Betty pointed to a miniature doll with a sweet bisque face. “This was my grandmother’s. I just love old ornaments. They remind me of happy times in the past.”

  “How about new ornaments, to remind you of the future?” Clive had stepped up beside Betty and now reached around the tall tree. When he brought out the ornament he’d hidden behind the upper branches, Betty gasped with delight. The silver tree dangled from a narrow red ribbon, shiny metal and exquisite sapphire catching the white lights on the tree.

  “It’s beautiful, Clive!” Betty took the ornament in one hand, clearly touched that Clive had thought to craft it and hide it for a Christmas surprise.

  “I thought I might start designing one each year. Build up a nice collection over time.”

  “Why, Clive, you could sell these in your gallery, along with the rest of the jewelry you design and Mist’s paintings.”

  Clive grinned. “Well, now, I could, couldn't I? That’s a darn good idea. But I’m not gonna do it.”

  “Why on earth not?” Betty asked. “This is beautiful. You know those late summer tourists we get in Timberton would buy them.”

  “Yes, I suppose they would. But I’m not making any for them. These are just for you.” He put his arm around Betty, drawing her into a warm hug.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Mist said. “You can look forward to this each year, something special in the future.”

  Michael smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “Now, that’s quite a statement, coming from someone who believes in living in the present,” Clive said.

  Mist smiled. “But the future is the present, Clive. It just hasn't happened yet.” With that, she moved on, circling the room and noting the cheerful atmosphere. The professor had switched from the eggnog punch back to tea and was perusing the bookshelf. Clara and Sally Morrison sat together on the couch, deep in conversation. A sleepy Robert rested his head on his mother’s lap. Ellen Greeley had just moved to the tree, admiring Betty’s new ornament. Clive and Bob Morrison appeared to be heading back to the dessert buffet. A few townsfolk still lingered, knowing they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

  “A lovely evening, Mist.” Michael had appeared by her side. He handed her a mug of hot mulled cider. “I’ve always loved spending Christmas here, but you’ve created something that is so special it’s almost surreal. Look at everyone, content and peaceful.”

  “Just as it should be,” Mist said. She took a sip of cider and leaned against the doorframe of the parlor. “Yes,” she repeated, smiling. “Just as it should be.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Christmas morning arrived with bright sunshine. The storm, already lighter the day before, had disappeared completely, leaving a picturesque blanket of snow throughout the town. Even the tree branches sparkled in the morning light.

  Mist had been up since before dawn, excited for Christmas Day. By 6 a.m., she’d brewed a favorite combination of French Roast and Hazelnut and set up coffee service in the silent hotel lobby while the guests slept soundly. Not even Robert had slipped down to sneak a peek at the presents below the tree. At least, not to her knowledge.

  Maisie and Marge had done an amazing job cleaning up after the Christmas Eve feast. The front parlor and café stood ready for a new day. And the kitchen was spotless – a near-miracle after its heavy use the day before.

  Mist filled muffin tins with cranberry-orange batter and placed them in the preheated ovens. She set a timer and returned to her room.

  Seven miniature squares of canvas rested against the wall, their lower edges propped against her worktable. Looking across the assorted paintings, Mist knew she’d chosen images the guests would like. It had been just a whim when she’d first th
ought to do the paintings, something similar to a party favor. Now that she knew more about each guest, the gifts held more meaning. She was pleased that the guests would take home something tangible to remind them of their holiday at the Timberton Hotel.

  When the timer buzzed, Mist returned to the kitchen to set the muffins out to cool. Back in her room, she wrapped each painting gently in rice paper, securing the thin paper with red raffia, and garnishing it with treasures from the box Maisie had given her. Tiny pinecones, paper berries and silk holly leaves added holiday cheer to the subtle wrapping. The gifts had no name tags, but she knew which went to each guest. She gathered them into her arms and passed through the front parlor on her way back to the kitchen, wedging each package between branches of the Christmas tree.

  Mist found Betty in the kitchen setting out the ingredients Mist had requested for a Christmas Morning Scramble. “Everything in one pot,” Clive had said, when he’d heard about the menu. Mist had laughed, revising his description to “Almost everything in one chafing dish.” Still, his description had been fairly accurate. Aside from baskets of cranberry-orange muffins and a platter of fresh melon slices, breakfast would be one cheerful mixture of eggs, potatoes, cheese, mushrooms, sun dried tomatoes and fresh herbs. Small bowls of sautéed peppers and onions on the side would offer an option to spice the dish up.

  Clara Winslow was the first to arrive, beating even Clayton and his crew. She wore a red sweatshirt with a puffy snowman design, black beads accenting the eyes and nose. Choosing just fruit and a muffin for breakfast, she moved into the front parlor, where Clive had just finished building a morning fire. The professor soon joined her to sit in the parlor with his morning cup of tea before moving into the café for a full breakfast.

  Robert bounded down the stairs with the expected enthusiasm of a five year old on Christmas morning. His mother was right behind him. “Let’s eat first, sweetie,” she said, diverting him to the café before he ripped open the first present he could get his hands on. “You’ll need energy before you tackle your gifts. And breakfast smells delicious.”

  “It does! It smells like magic food. Did Santa make it?”

  “I don’t think so. I think Mist did.”

  “Oh, same thing,” Robert said. “She’s magic, too.”

  One by one, the hotel guests and townsfolk passed through the café, offering Christmas greetings as they ate. Within an hour, most had gone off to enjoy a quiet day at home or a brisk walk or drive through the wintery countryside.

  “I love that Christmas Morning Scramble, Mist,” Sally Morrison said. “You must give me the recipe.”

  Mist had just stepped into the living room in time to see Robert tear into the first of several packages. “I’ll be happy to. It’s just a matter of herbs, really. You can change around the other ingredients according to your taste and whatever you have in your fridge.”

  Ellen Greeley sidled up to them. “Maybe you can add the ‘scramble’ recipe to the salad dressing recipe you promised me?”

  “Of course!” Mist said.

  “Merry Christmas, Mist!” Professor Hennessy toasted her with his cup of tea. He sported a Santa hat that looked both festive and odd next to his wire-rimmed glasses and mustache.

  “A fire truck, cool!” Robert shouted, holding the shiny vehicle up in the air. He set it down immediately and started in on another present.

  “We should see if Clayton would take him for a ride,” Betty said.

  Mist turned to see Betty had entered the room. “Excellent idea.”

  As the Morrisons exchanged presents, the single guests chatted with each other and delighted in witnessing Christmas through the eyes of a child. Clara surprised Betty with a box of caramels from Marge’s store. These exchanges occurred to the music of much laughter and the backdrop of Christmas carols, some people sitting by the fire singing along. It was a cheerful and rowdy gathering.

  Mist could hardly believe this was the same group of people who had arrived just days before, sadness trailing behind them. They’d managed to find hope in each other’s company. Mist felt certain they would return to their own lives with powerful memories and encouragement that would help them all to move forward. Some would return as guests in the future, some would not. It wasn't something they could know now, just as Carl Winslow couldn't have known last year would be his last Christmas in Timberton. Whether these particular guests returned next year to spend the holiday together or not, Mist was certain they would never forget each other.

  “I have something for each of you.” The room quieted down at the unexpected sound of Mist’s voice breaking into the merriment. She crossed the room, taking the first of the small packages from inside the tree.

  “I’d like you to have this, Clara.” She placed the wrapped painting in Clara’s hands, smiling at the woman’s surprised expression. This was the best part of giving an unexpected gift.

  Clara looked around the room. “I certainly didn't expect this. You are too sweet.”

  “You don’t need to open it now,” Mist said, noting how shy Clara looked.

  “Yes, she does!” Robert said. “I want to see!” Sally Morrison leaned forward to calm Robert down, but it wasn't necessary. Clara had already started to remove the festive wrapping. Her mouth formed an “O” when she unveiled the painting.

  “It’s lovely, Mist!” She turned the painting around for the other guests to see.

  “What is it?” Robert wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s the quilt pattern from my room here,” Clara explained. “See how it looks almost like a stained glass window?”

  “What’s stained glass?” Robert asked.

  “It’s the kind of glass you see in churches, dear boy. Oh, Mist, thank you so much. You know I adored that quilt the minute I saw it.”

  “This way you’ll have it with you wherever you are.”

  Mist pulled another package out of the tree, sliding it cautiously past white twinkling lights. She took this one to the professor, who almost dropped his tea in surprise.

  “For me?”

  “Yes, for you,” Mist reassured him.

  “Well?” Robert again.

  “Don’t rush me, youngster,” the professor said with mock seriousness. “It’s not often I receive gifts from a stranger.”

  “No one’s a stranger here,” Mist said.

  “Not for long, anyway,” Betty said. “Once you walk in, you’re family.”

  The professor shook his head as he pulled off the wrapping. “I never expected coming here would be like this. I expected to hide away and feel sorry for myself, being away from home at this time of year.” He paused as he lifted up the painting. Smiling, he turned it around.

  “That looks like your cup!” Robert was clearly pleased with himself. He’d won this portion of what now was a guessing game.

  “Indeed it does,” the professor agreed. “Quite remarkable! I’ll hang this in my study when I get back to the university, right next to the chair where I always have my afternoon tea. You, my dear, remind me a little bit of my niece Katherine. Thank you.”

  Mist smiled as she pulled another package from the tree branches. She handed it to Ellen Greeley, who unwrapped the painting and turned it toward the group.

  “It’s a road,” Robert said. “With a big sun above it.”

  “Yes,” Mist said.

  “Ah...for safe travels home,” Michael said, watching as Mist nodded.

  “A lovely idea,” the professor agreed. “No running off into a ditch for you this time.”

  “Thank you, Mist,” Ellen said. “I have a feeling this painting will bring me safe travels, both actual and personal. You seem to have a way with magic.”

  “Wow, you are a magician! I knew it!” Robert’s face lit up in awe.

  “Not at all,” Mist laughed. “I just cook and paint. And listen to hearts.”

  “Like a doctor?” Robert’s voice grew even more animated. “My doctor listens to my heart. He always listened to Joshua’s
heart extra ‘specially closely because he said it had trouble beating right. I think that’s why Joshua died, right Mommy, his broken heart?”

  Mist glanced at Robert’s mother to see if this question would send her back into her quiet grief. Her eyes did fill with tears, but she put her arm around her son and answered. “That’s right, Bobby – I mean Robert. Joshua’s heart got tired and that made him tired. But your heart is just fine.” She kissed the top of Robert’s head.

  “That’s what the doctor said! And he listened to it with this really cool metal steth…steth...” His arms gestured around his neck. “I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up. Like you, Miss Mist.” Sally rubbed Robert’s back.

  Mist smiled. “I’m not a doctor, either, Robert. But I bet you’ll be a great one.”

  “You don’t have to be a doctor to listen to people's hearts,” Michael added. He shifted his weight, adjusting the position of his leg, and then settled back in his chair.

  The next package Mist pulled from the tree was for Michael. He paused before opening it. “Thank you.” A brief second of eye contact passed between them before Robert spoke up.

  “Open it. C’mon. I wanna see! What do you think it is?”

  “I have no idea,” Michael said, unwrapping the package. A slow smile crept across his face before he turned the painting around for the group to see.

  “It’s a rocking horse!” Robert clapped his hands.

  “With a red scarf,” Michael said. “A wonderful red scarf.”

  “Brilliant,” the professor said. “The scarf practically glows. I believe there are specks of gold in it.”

  “Hey, what about us?” Robert said, hunching his shoulders and holding his arms to the side, palms up.

  Mist looked up at the ceiling and tapped her chin, then looked back down at Robert. “Do you think I would forget you and your family?”

  Robert’s pouty look lasted only a few seconds before he smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so….”

  This time Mist pulled three packages from the tree, handing them all to Robert, whose eyes grew wide. “I get three?” A round of laughter circled the room.