Snowfall at Moonglow

by Deborah Garner

  “How do the little trees look?” Betty asked as she slipped into the café. She closed the door behind her and looked around.

  “Quite lovely, I think,” Mist said, stepping back to take in the overall effect.

  “This was a wonderful idea,” Betty said, “using live saplings for centerpieces so we can plant them for the New Year. And they look beautiful just as they are, simple against the wooden tables. But I suspect that’s not your plan.”

  Mist moved to a nearby tree and touched the branches softly, as if caressing the pine needles. “Yes and no. We will keep them simple yet also add the touch of winter that guests are hoping for.”

  Betty nodded. “I’m sure you have something wonderful planned.”

  “For dinner?” Clive’s voice startled both Betty and Mist, who hadn’t noticed him stick his head into the room.

  “Not everything is about food,” Betty chided.

  “Maybe to Clive it is,” Mist said, smiling. “But dinner is hours away. There’s banana-nut bread in the kitchen if you feel you need sustenance at this very moment.”

  “Music to my ears!” Clive grinned and disappeared.

  Betty laughed as she headed for the kitchen door. “I’ll go make sure he doesn’t eat the whole loaf.”

  Mist turned her attention back to the small trees, thinking over the eclectic variety of additions she intended to use to create a snowy scene on each table. After all, if the snow didn’t manage to arrive outside, she’d simply have to bring it inside, at least in the guests’ imagination. Between the Queen Anne’s Lace, soft white chiffon she’d already set aside, tiny sparkling lights, and sweet—in fact, downright delicious—snowflakes, the guests would be able to enjoy their holiday meal while enjoying a winter wonderland. For tonight, she’d wrap a red satin ribbon around the base of each tree. Simple centerpieces would do for now. Their transformation would come later.

  With that in mind, Mist carried the vase of flowers into the kitchen and placed it on a side counter. She found Betty at the center kitchen island, seated beside Clive.

  “How was the banana-nut bread?” Mist asked, noting an empty plate with crumbs on the countertop in front of Clive.

  “Delicious, of course,” Clive said. “Perfect with Betty’s coffee.” He lifted a mug in the air as if making a toast. “Between the two of you, I’m a happy guy.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” Betty laughed.

  “Not a chance,” Clive said. “I count my blessings every day.”

  “Oh…” Betty turned to Mist, a worried look on her face. “Allison just informed me she and her daughter are both vegan. Will this be a problem for Christmas Eve dinner? Can you work something in for them? I know you have the menu planned already.”

  “And we’re right back to ‘what’s planned for dinner,’” Clive quipped. Both Betty and Mist ignored him, knowing he was just giving them a bad time.

  “It won’t be a problem at all,” Mist said. “We always have vegan options. It’s important to have something for everyone, especially when we have a large buffet and crowd.”

  Clive harrumphed. “Well, I’ll tell you right now I’m not eating a plain bowl of lettuce for Christmas Eve dinner.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Mist said with mock relief, “because there won’t be a plain bowl of lettuce on the buffet.” She and Betty exchanged amused grins.

  Clive furrowed his brow, playing into the discussion. “But you’d get me the bowl of lettuce if I asked for it, right?”

  “I’d have to think about it…” Mist teased. Both Betty and Clive laughed. “Oh, by the way”—Mist continued—“how did you like that lasagna I served last week?”

  “Delicious!” Clive exclaimed. “You had me worried when you said it had spinach and mushrooms in it, but it was fantastic!”

  “Glad to hear that,” Mist said. “What about that frittata with the sun-dried tomatoes and basil the other morning? With the pecan waffles and maple syrup to go with it?”

  Clive nodded his head enthusiastically. “I’m hoping you’ll make that whole meal again soon.” He turned to Betty. “They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. That’s why I make sure I’m here early.”

  “That banana-nut bread you just had wasn’t bad either, was it?” Mist tilted her head in the direction of the freshly sliced loaf.

  “It was so good I broke down and had two pieces,” Clive said. He grinned and patted his stomach for emphasis.

  “Three,” Betty whispered.

  “I’ve gotta get back to the gallery. I can only get away with that Back in ten minutes sign for so long.” Clive stood up and took his coffee mug to the sink. “Why are you asking me all this anyway?”

  Mist smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “Just curious.”

  Clive grabbed his jacket, gave Betty a peck on the cheek, and headed out.

  “His sales are up this year, aren’t they?” Mist said.

  “Yes,” Betty said. “His jewelry and your paintings are both selling well. Even the business from drop-in customers searching gravel for Yogo sapphires is up. Every year the place does a little better.”

  “The combination of art, jewelry, and gems is fascinating,” Mist said. “And visitors get to learn about Montana sapphire mining when they visit Clive’s gallery as well.”

  “He does love to tell people about the history of the area,” Betty said. “It’s a little like visiting a museum there, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” Mist agreed. “And people love watching him make the jewelry. Speaking of which, I wonder what ornament he’s giving you this year.”

  “How do you know he has an ornament for me?” Betty laughed, knowing Mist’s forthcoming answer.

  “Because he makes one for you each year,” Mist said. “He has for the past four years, I know. So far you have… let me think… a Christmas tree, a star…”

  “A wreath, and a reindeer,” Betty said to finish recounting the collection so far.

  “Each with at least one tiny Yogo sapphire in it somewhere,” Mist added. “They’re wonderful, especially since Clive creates them himself. Handmade gifts are always special.”

  A phone call interrupted the conversation, and Betty picked up the cordless phone they always kept nearby. After a few words of greeting, she passed the phone to Mist. “For you.”

  Mist took the phone, spoke for a few minutes, and ended the call with a smile.

  “You’re beaming. Let me guess,” Betty said. “Michael’s on his way.”

  “Yes,” Mist said. “And he’s bringing the Professor with him.”

  “Wonderful,” Betty exclaimed. “I didn’t think Michael would be here until tomorrow, or Nigel, for that matter. Better known to us as the Professor, of course.”

  “It seems Nigel took an earlier flight from England and got in today,” Mist said. “With the storm predicted, they decided to drive down now. They’ll be here tonight.”

  “In time for dinner?”

  “No,” Mist said. “But in time for a late dessert in front of the fireplace. And tea for the Professor, naturally. I have his favorite, PG Tips, ready for him.”

  “This is perfect,” Betty said. “We’ll have all our guests here and settled in by tonight. It’s going to be a lovely holiday. Now we just need the snow to arrive.”

  “The snow will come,” Mist said. A sudden mischievous look crossed her face. “And I have just the activity to celebrate its arrival.”

  “What have you got up your sleeve now?” Betty said, leaning forward as if expecting a secret to be revealed.

  Mist smiled. “Let’s just wait for the snow to arrive.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A chilly wind swept into Timberton not long after Clive returned to the gallery. Mist put the makings of a hearty stew in a large pot to simmer and set dinner rolls to rise in two towel-covered pans. Moving to the front parlor, she nodded hello to Max Hartman, who hovered over his laptop. She then peered out the large window that framed the hotel�
�s Christmas tree. The late afternoon sun was merely orange haze behind an overcast sky that had been growing darker for several hours. Mist knew without even stepping outside that the sensation of approaching snow would be heavy in the air.

  Turning to the tree—a stately six-footer this year—she admired the old-fashioned ornaments that adorned the branches. Every year, a few new ones showed up, whether something whimsical that Mist found at a crafts fair or a handmade creation by one of the local children. She had taken to telling stories at the library during the past year, occasionally reading a book but often simply pulling tales out of the air. Seated in front of the cluster of eager young listeners, she would reach into the air and grasp an invisible story. “Look!” she would exclaim, holding out her empty palm for them to see. “A new story waiting just for us!” The children would giggle and wait for whatever Mist pulled from her imagination that day. Therefore it was not unusual at this time of year for precious ornaments crafted by the children to show up on the hotel doorstep.

  “Would you like some tea or coffee?” Mist said, turning toward the continuing sound of fingers on a keyboard. “I’ll be happy to bring you a cup.”

  Max continued typing for a good ten seconds and then raised his head. “Coffee. Black.” Mist smiled and stalled before stepping away. Prompted by her stance, he added, “Please.”

  Allison and Kinsley descended the stairs as Mist was pouring Max’s coffee at the beverage counter in the front lobby. Kinsley walked in front, her mother just behind her. Both took their coats from the lobby rack. Allison looked over at Mist. “We’re off for an afternoon stroll,” Allison said. “Any suggestions?”

  “Absolutely,” Mist said. “Take a left at the end of the front walkway and continue down the sidewalk until you come to the candy shop. Marge makes the most wonderful fudge. I recommend the white chocolate with peppermint. She makes delicious caramels too. Betty is addicted to them.”

  “We should try both!” Kinsley looked up at her mother, face beaming.

  “We’ll get something to share,” Allison said. “Just one kind.”

  Mist watched Kinsley’s smile falter, and she leaned forward slightly to address the young girl. “Marge could give you small portions. Maybe you and your mom can try a few things. You can talk about it when you get there.” She straightened up and continued. “Then continue on to the gallery on the corner of the next block. Clive has an impressive showing of jewelry and art. You can even sort through local gravel and see if you find a sapphire.”

  “A big one?” Kinsley asked.

  Mist smiled. “Maybe a little one. Or maybe none at all. But the fun is in trying.”

  “Is there a library close by? We accidentally left the books we intended to read at home.” Allison pulled gloves on and handed her daughter a pair to put on as well.

  “Our town librarian, Millie, will have the library open this afternoon,” Mist said. “But we have many bookshelves here in the hotel, at the back of the parlor. You’re welcome to each choose something to read.”

  “Thank you,” Allison said. “But we need two copies of the same book. We read books at the same time so we can discuss them.”

  “I see,” Mist said, noting that Kinsley was looking down and shuffling her feet. “Well, visiting a library is always wonderful. It will be closed tomorrow and the next day, so I would definitely stop in there this afternoon. Perhaps reverse the order of your walk. The library is just past the gallery. You can choose books, then visit the gallery, and then pick up something sweet at Marge’s candy shop on your way back. Tell Millie you’re staying with us here at the hotel and she’ll do a special guest check-out. We can return the books later for you.”

  “Perfect,” Allison said. She prompted Kinsley toward the door, and the two left the hotel. Mist finished pouring the coffee and took it to the front parlor. Seeing Max focused on his laptop again, she set it down gently on the table beside him and returned to the kitchen, where she found Betty sorting mittens on the center island.

  “The gloves for the Winter Warmth project are done!” Mist exclaimed. “They look wonderful.”

  “Don’t they?” Betty beamed with pride. “We’ve had so much fun putting everything together.”

  “Such a rich variety of colors, and they have so many unique designs on the backs.” Mist picked up a burgundy pair with a toy train design, another in hunter green with a chubby Santa Claus, and yet another in a rich royal blue with a cheerful snowman.

  “And look at these,” Betty said, showing off others with everything from candy canes to penguins to doves with olive branches.

  “They’re warm and whimsical, a perfect combination.” Mist smiled, impressed.

  “Glenda made scarves to go with many of them,” Betty said. She pulled several out of a bag on the chair beside her and laid them out on the table, matching up the colors. “There are no designs, but she added a little fringe on the ends.”

  “Lovely,” Mist said. She moved to the stove to check the stew, which by now was filling the entire hotel with a tantalizing aroma. She stirred it and added a bit of ground pepper. “I sense a hint of sadness in Kinsley.” She moved to the rolls and lifted the towels, pleased to see the yeast had done its job.

  “In what way?” Betty said.

  Mist searched for the right words. “Like a flower trying to open but with outer petals holding the inner petals in.”

  “She does tend to be quiet,” Betty said. “I noticed she barely said a word at breakfast this morning. But the holidays do seem to work a little magic here. Maybe this visit will help her.”

  “Perhaps,” Mist mused as she sprinkled sea salt and chopped rosemary on the dinner rolls and covered them again with the towels.

  “How are the other guests doing?” Betty asked. “I know Nina Pereira has been keeping to herself since breakfast. It makes me happy when people know it’s fine to just rest in their rooms. No need to be social unless the mood strikes them.”

  Mist smiled, wondering if the jigsaw puzzle she’d placed in Nina’s room had anything to do with the quiet time she was allowing herself. The snowy winter village scene in the puzzle was charming. On the other hand, the items she’d planted in Max Hartman’s room had so far gone unnoticed, as far as she could tell. That didn’t cause her any concern. She felt confident her choices were the right ones.

  “Max is working on his laptop in the front room, and Allison and Kinsley have gone on a walk to the library, gallery, and candy shop—in that order, I believe.”

  “I hope you told them to try Marge’s caramels,” Betty said.

  “I did, indeed.”

  “Which reminds me I need to replenish my stash! I think I’ll run down there now.” Betty stood up and gathered the mittens and scarves into a woven basket. “Unless you need help with dinner, that is.”

  Mist shook her head in a move so sleight that strangers wouldn’t be likely to pick it up. “Thanks, Betty. But it’s a simple meal, just something to warm people up. The stew just needs to simmer another hour. The dinner rolls will go in the oven shortly before we serve. And I have a fresh green salad already prepared.”

  “Then I’m off to Marge’s place.” Betty set the basket of knitted goods on a side counter and put her jacket on.

  “I would add a scarf,” Mist suggested. “Look outside.” She nodded toward the kitchen window. Aspen and Ponderosa pine trees swayed back and forth as repeated gusts of wind blew through the yard.

  “Good idea,” Betty said. “I think I’ll try out one of Glenda’s scarves.” She debated the contents of the basket. “Purple— No, red looks more appealing… No, purple it is, after all.” Betty added the additional accessory, stepped outside, and closed the door.

  Mist checked the simmering pot on the stove, satisfied the heat was just high enough to continue blending the flavors of the stew. She returned to the living room to offer a still-focused Max a refill of his coffee. Retrieving a spool of red satin ribbon from a sewing chest, she walked back to the caf
é and wrapped a simple bow around each miniature tree. She arranged place settings and stood back, a sudden feeling of peace washing over her. Although guests were scattered at the moment, she could sense they would soon all come together—whether they knew it or not.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was a common occurrence to hear compliments after meals, and this evening was no exception. By the time guests and locals had passed through the café to partake of the offerings on the buffet, the gusting wind had grown even stronger. The warm stew filled both stomachs and souls, helping take the edge off the harsher weather.

  Clive had closed the gallery in time to build a fire in the front parlor’s fireplace before dinner, providing a cozy resting place for evening lounging. So it was natural for folks to saunter toward the warmth of the flames after the meal. The fact that Mist announced she’d be bringing individual servings of apple tart out shortly only served to further encourage the group to gather together.

  And so it was that the two remaining and much-anticipated guests, Michael Blanton and Nigel Hennessey, a.k.a. the Professor, arrived to a cheerful scene.

  “Welcome to the Timberton Hotel,” Mist said, ushering them in with feigned formality. Both guests laughed, knowing they were considered family members arriving home.

  “Good evening, Mist,” the Professor said, mimicking her manner. “It’s quite brilliant to see you again.” He shook her hand, followed that with a hug that spoke of more familiarity, and then pointed up the stairs. Receiving an affirmative nod from Mist, he ascended the stairs in a spritely manner to drop his bags off in his usual room.

  Michael, who had stayed back while Mist was greeting the Professor, now pulled Mist just inside the café, out of sight of the others. Pulling her close, he kissed her softly and then repeated the Professor’s greeting. “It’s quite brilliant to see you again,” he whispered in her ear.