by Carol Miller
“You could be right. Although it did seem awfully important to her. She was looking at me so intently, and she kept going on about it.”
It was Daisy’s turn to shake her head. “Then I can’t explain it, either. But I’m pretty sure that my mama’s had more than enough tea today. I suppose I can always check again after we get some of those lanterns.”
No sooner had she said it then the lights gave one final flicker, and the inn went dark.
CHAPTER
19
There was a collective cry of surprise from the parlor. Although everyone had been aware that the inn could lose power, it was still startling when it happened. It seemed as though the afternoon had vanished in a flash and the night suddenly collapsed on top of them. The heavy storm clouds with their cascades of snow had sunk low in the sky, almost touching the earth, leaving only a few weak streaks of daylight to sneak through the windows.
“Ducky?” Aunt Emily called.
“I’m in the hall with Drew,” she answered. “We’re on our way to the cellar. We’ll bring everybody a lantern as soon as we can.”
“We’ll stay here,” Aunt Emily told her, “and light some candles in the meantime.”
Parker could be heard soothing May. Lillian was complaining that she would no doubt get stuck with the smallest, most ineffectual candle. And Kenneth let out a string of profanities as he banged his knee against some table or other while retrieving the box of matches that Aunt Emily told him were on the mantel.
“Follow me,” Daisy said, taking Drew’s hand to guide him. “And watch out for the Windsor bench on the left side. It’s sturdy enough to break a toe.”
She had walked that way so many times with the lights off before dawn for her early morning shifts at the diner and the bakery that Daisy didn’t have any trouble maneuvering through the hall or the tight double turn into the kitchen. Because of its big bay windows, the kitchen was slightly brighter. She almost expected to find Georgia there—either making the all-important tea for her mama or huddled on the throw rug next to the hearth—but the room was empty.
The door to the cellar was on the far side of the chimney. Daisy went over to it and gave the glass knob a firm tug. The wood stuck in the frame for a moment, then the door creaked open. A blast of cold air shot up through the opening.
“Chilly.” Drew peered into the cellar. “And dark.”
Dark was an understatement. There was not even a hint of illumination below. The first few steps were decreasingly visible, then only blackness followed.
“You should take this,” Georgia said suddenly.
Both Daisy and Drew jumped at her abrupt appearance. Somehow Georgia had sidled soundlessly into the kitchen—or perhaps she had been sitting in the corner undetected—and was now standing beside them, holding out a large flashlight.
“So you don’t fall and snap your neck,” she explained. “Those stairs are wicked.”
Although wicked might have been a bit of an exaggeration, there was no question that the old cellar steps were steep and narrow. It certainly would have been much easier to retrieve the lanterns before the power had gone out.
“Thank you, Georgia.” Drew took the proffered light and immediately handed it to Daisy. “I spend most of my days climbing up mountains and crawling around damp caves looking for bats to study, so hopefully I can make it down a few rickety stairs without doing any permanent damage to myself.”
Having seen him in action, Daisy could vouch for the truth of his words. When it came to traversing rocky peaks and inky caverns, Drew was as surefooted as a Himalayan goat. Granted, that was with the aid of professional equipment, but all things considered, she didn’t mind being the one with the flashlight.
“I’ll go first,” she said. “To hold the light, and also because I know where the lanterns are kept.”
“I’ll catch you if you start to tumble,” Drew promised.
It was a sweet thought, even if unlikely in practice. Daisy started off slow and cautious, but after the first few steps, she got her bearings and the remainder of the dark stairway proved to be less challenging than anticipated. Maybe that was because after so many years of transporting Aunt Emily’s countless jars, crocks, and pots between the kitchen and the cellar during jam, jelly, canning, and pickling seasons, the dimensions of the stairs had become ingrained in her memory.
Drew didn’t have any more trouble than she did, and they were soon at the bottom. The floor was packed bare dirt—as hard and unyielding as concrete—having been tamped and compressed for many decades.
“Good golly,” Drew’s teeth chattered, “it’s cold down here.”
“Welcome to the country cellar,” Daisy replied. “In weather like this, it’s a giant refrigerator.” She frowned. “You don’t think the low temperature will hurt the lamp oil?”
He shook his head. “No, it just might thicken it up a bit.”
“So long as it doesn’t damage the likker.” Daisy laughed, thinking of Aunt Emily’s precious gooseberry brandy.
She directed the flashlight to the vast network of shelves on their left. Long rows of jars lined the wall, perfectly ordered like battalions marching into battle. Pickled products, canned products, and plenty of moonshine.
“Good golly,” Drew said again, this time laughing also. “That is a heck of a lot of hooch. Come the next war, this is the place to be. You’ve got enough provisions and barter goods to last five years.”
“Medicine, drink, and entertainment combined in one pretty package!”
He walked over and took a closer look. “Is it all brandy?”
“Mostly,” she responded. “There’s also some corn whiskey.”
“Does Emily make that, too? Because the stuff I had last night with Henry sure was tasty.”
“These days Aunt Emily tends to stick to her gooseberries. But the whiskey is from the neighborhood.” Daisy didn’t add that it was the best corn whiskey he would ever come across, anywhere. It was Rick’s moonshine, and the likker was very much like the man—fiery, with an unpredictable finish, and always dancing on the edge of the law.
“Can I try some?” Drew asked. “After we’re done with the lanterns.”
Daisy joined him at the shelves and scanned the rows with the flashlight. When she came to Rick’s jars, she paused. Some were gifts to Aunt Emily, some were gifts to her mama, and some were gifts to the inn in general. None had been purchased. Rick would never accept any money from them for his ’shine. And that was also why none were gifts to Daisy. She, in turn, wouldn’t accept them. She preferred not to owe Rick favors. He liked to collect.
“This one.” She selected a jar filled with shimmering, copper-colored liquid. “It’s aged and really nice.”
“Too bad we don’t have a happier occasion for it,” Drew remarked.
“We’ll drink it in Henry’s honor.”
He smiled. “Based on how he was enjoying that brandy yesterday evening, I think toasting him with a nip would be rather appropriate.”
“Um—hello?” Georgia called tentatively. “Are you okay? Did you make it to the bottom?”
“We’re fine,” Drew called back. “We’re getting the first batch of lanterns now.”
“Over there.” Daisy moved the flashlight to the right. “Along that other wall.”
Unlike the jars lined up with methodical neatness on the shelves, the lanterns were clustered in a mass on the ground. They were made of brass and reflected the light with a metallic glint.
Drew started to lift the nearest lantern by its thin wire handle. “Can I assume they all work?”
“I think so. If the globe breaks or something inside goes wonky, Aunt Emily usually sets that one away from the others. But be careful to hold them upright and not tip them too much, or the oil will leak out. It can make a real mess.”
Two in each hand was all Drew could carry without banging the glass and spilling oil. Together with the flashlight and the jar of Rick’s ’shine, Daisy managed one lantern in e
ach hand. She would have tried adding another, but she didn’t want to take the chance of dropping the likker.
Going up the cellar stairs was comparatively easy, because of the daylight—limited as it was—coming into the kitchen. Georgia appeared relieved to see them.
“It’s creepy down there when it’s so dark,” she said, almost in a whisper.
Daisy looked at her. Georgia’s usually sunny freckles seemed pale, and her gray eyes were sunken and unsettled. The girl was definitely troubled by something, and Daisy was inclined to believe that it went beyond her mama’s tea or the lack of electricity. Hoping that more light would make her feel at least a little better—even if only for the moment—Daisy offered Georgia the first lantern.
“Do you know how to use it?” she asked her.
Georgia nodded.
“Great. Then I can start on these.”
With deft movements, Daisy turned the small wheel to raise the wick, lifted the glass mantel, and struck a match. She touched it to the braid cotton wick, and a lovely luminous flame appeared. She lowered the mantel and adjusted the wick once more, then she felt the weight of the lantern. It seemed relatively heavy, which was good. That meant the base was full, and she wouldn’t need to refill it with more oil for some time.
“That was quick,” Drew complimented her, setting his lanterns next to hers. “Since you’re obviously the expert at lighting, I’ll get a second load.”
“Do you want the lantern or the flashlight?” she said, holding out both.
The lantern illuminated a much wider area, while the flashlight allowed him to carry more.
Drew took the flashlight. “The faster we get this finished, the sooner we can move on to the fun stuff.” He inclined his head toward the jar of whiskey that Daisy had put on the kitchen table.
She smiled in complete agreement. Rick’s ’shine was exactly what she needed.
“Be careful,” Georgia mumbled, as Drew headed back into the dark cellar.
“When you have a free hand, will you grab a bottle of oil, too?” Daisy called after him. “These lanterns all feel pretty full, but it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra supply at the ready.”
A sardonic snort echoed up the steps. “We’ll never hear the end of it if Lillian’s should happen to run out.”
He was right, and with that thought in mind, when Daisy brought the first set of shining lanterns into the parlor, she made sure that Lillian received hers immediately after Aunt Emily. She didn’t want any protests or aggrieved moans from her about being the last in line. In truth, it didn’t really matter in what order the lanterns were distributed. One was enough to fill the parlor with a warm golden glow, and the more Daisy carried in, the more pleasant and cheerful the room became. Although she couldn’t have said that the group was actually jolly, they did seem to relax somewhat as their surroundings grew brighter. May stopped twisting her handkerchief into a lace pretzel. Sarah temporarily ceased shivering in her chair. Even Lillian didn’t voice a complaint.
Drew completed his trips to the cellar before Daisy had finished hers to the parlor. She would have kept pace with him, but it turned out that Georgia needed assistance lighting her lantern, after all. And when it was finally burning after several failed attempts, Georgia promptly disappeared with it and another lantern, murmuring an excuse about bringing it to Daisy’s mama. Daisy wanted her mama to have a lantern, of course, and she would never have forced Georgia to help hand out the other lanterns, but her desire to avoid returning to the parlor was so marked that it raised Daisy’s curiosity.
Was it simply shyness? Too many people, perhaps, as Edna had said. Except Daisy didn’t believe that Georgia was really so shy. On the contrary, she thought her reticence had more to do with a specific person in the room. Maybe it was the same person that had surprised her the day before, causing her to drop the tray of glasses. Or maybe it was somehow connected to what she knew about Henry Brent, and that was why she had raced out of the parlor so abruptly earlier. Either way, Daisy had the distinct impression that Georgia was deliberately staying away from someone, although she had no clue who.
When everybody was in possession of a lantern, Aunt Emily once again resumed the topic of cocktails and began discussing the options for supper, now modified by the lack of power. She suggested a round of bourbon, followed by a light meal of assorted cold cuts. The general response was more enthusiastic toward the drinks than the dinner. It was understandable enough. The buffet luncheon had been ample, and the entire group was weary and on edge.
At the first opportunity, Daisy imitated Georgia and used her mama as an excuse to slip upstairs. To her great joy, she found her sleeping soundly, with only an occasional mild cough. The cold was definitely not becoming bronchitis. It was the first bit of good news that she’d had all weekend. Georgia wasn’t in the room, but there was both a lantern and a cup of tea on the nightstand, so she had been there recently. Daisy wondered where she had gone. Certainly not back to the parlor.
Daisy didn’t return to the parlor, either. Instead she went to her own room with the jar of corn whiskey. She felt slightly guilty about it, knowing that Aunt Emily could use her help entertaining the group. But she was too tired and worn to have the requisite patience to organize a game of bridge for the Fowler sisters or to listen to Lillian endlessly correct Parker. The only thing that she had the energy or desire for at the moment was Rick’s likker.
As the storm howled outside and the inn quaked and shuddered, Daisy waited for Drew to join her. Except he was too late. By the time he came to her room, she had already toasted Henry Brent and fallen asleep.
CHAPTER
20
When Daisy awoke many hours later, it was still. She had become so used to the roaring wind and rattling panes of glass that at first she was confused about where she was. Then she felt the soft bed beneath her and heard the gentle ticking of the clock on the nightstand by her side. She was in her room at the inn. For some minutes she lay without moving, gathering her senses. It was quiet outside. The storm had ended. It was quiet inside, too. Apparently everyone was asleep. The room was dark, so she knew that it wasn’t yet morning. She reached for the lamp on the nightstand and turned the switch. Nothing happened. The power remained out.
With a yawn, Daisy sat up. She had slept well and felt refreshed. Her mind was calm. Her body was rested. The inn had cooled considerably overnight. After a bit of blind searching, she pulled on a pair of thick woolen socks and a chunky sweater. Then she shuffled to the window and drew back the sheers. Moonlight flooded into the room. The sky was clear, dotted with what seemed to be a million glittering points of silver. It was bright outside, but not from the approaching daybreak. The dawn was just a mere violet fleck on the horizon. The light came from the stars reflecting against the snow. Together they bathed the world in white, creating a pale, glimmering blanket that stretched over the earth as far as the eye could see.
Daisy thought of Drew. She vaguely recalled him coming into her room during the night and talking to her, although she had been sleeping too soundly to pay much attention. He had said something about their lanterns. Turning from the window, she glanced around the room. With the aid of the moon, she found two lanterns sitting on the mirrored dressing table. She had put hers there the evening before. The second lantern was presumably his.
Neither lantern was burning. Daisy checked the bases and found them empty. The flashlight from Georgia had been next to her lantern on the table, but it was no longer there. Drew must have taken it and perhaps gone to get more oil. Daisy wished that he had woken her. As agile as he was on mountains and in caves while tracking bats, the inn was nevertheless a tricky place to wander about alone at night, especially when you weren’t all that familiar with it. It was awfully easy to twist an ankle on the uneven stairs or bang your head against one of the oddly protruding walls. Then you wound up on the floor with a bum leg and a bloody nose, waiting for somebody to stumble over you the next morning.
Without
a working lantern, Daisy realized that she was going to have to look for Drew in the dark. Grumbling to herself that she should be smarter about keeping an extra flashlight handy for situations just like this, she opened the door to her room as wide as it would go, hoping that the moonbeam would extend into the hall to help her. It didn’t, but somebody—most likely Aunt Emily—had left a chubby candle burning in a dish at the far end next to the stained glass lamp that usually acted as the hall night-light.
She went to the dish and picked it up. The hall was still. All the doors were closed. If someone came out of their room, they were going to have a hard time seeing anything without the candle, but Daisy figured that she needed it more than the rest of them at the moment. She checked Drew’s room first, wanting to make sure that she wasn’t wrong about the oil and he hadn’t gone there instead, but his room was empty. As she proceeded toward the stairs, the little flame on the candle sputtered and started to die. Daisy stopped and hastily circled her palm around the wick, coaxing the dwindling orange spark back to life. The nearest matches that she could think of were in the parlor, and that was a long way to go in the blackness.
Breathing a sigh of relief as the flame regained its strength, Daisy continued to the landing and then down the steps. She was forced to move slowly to keep the candle from snuffing out. When she reached the front entry, she sighed once more, relieved not to see a shadow lurking at the edge of the hall like she had the previous night. She paused briefly, listening. She heard whispering, or at least she thought it was whispering. Daisy strained her ears. It almost sounded like crying, although she couldn’t be sure.
There was a dim yellow glow up ahead. It appeared to be coming from the kitchen. Drew with the flashlight, she assumed. He was probably talking to someone. They were speaking in such hushed tones that from a distance it resembled tearful murmurings. Daisy turned the corner with a smile to greet him, but her face promptly fell when she found the kitchen empty. No Drew. Or anybody else, for that matter.