Gingerbread at Moonglow

by Deborah Garner

  “I simply painted a holly leaf on one side of each basket,” Mist said. “We’ll have clear cellophane and red organza ribbon, so they can be wrapped as gifts.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Maisie said. “Even though I bet most people plan to take them home to enjoy themselves, or with their families.”

  “Even better,” Mist said. “Sometimes a gift to oneself is the best kind. We all deserve something special now and then.”

  “I agree.” Mist turned to see Michael leaning in the door to the front hallway. Something about his casual stance caused Mist to blush. Yet the same casual way he leaned against the door jamb reminded her she had yet to see him walk across a room. Had she or had she not noticed a limp when he first took his seat in the café?

  “Chess game over?” Mist asked. “Or just taking a break between Tolstoy and Chekhov?”

  “Nigel went down to the town plaza to see how the girls were doing,” Michael said.

  “Busy, I imagine,” Maisie said. “They stopped by the shop on the way down there and picked up some flowers and greenery that I had that was still pretty, but not fresh enough to sell. They want to put a wreath of flowers on the snow maiden’s head when they finish, and a few on her skirt, as well.”

  “Her skirt?” Betty looked puzzled.

  “They’ll pack extra snow around the base of the figure,” Maisie offered as further explanation. “At least that’s how they explained it.”

  “A skirt of snow? How clever,” Mist said. “And a beautiful idea to decorate it with flowers, too.” She envisioned a watercolor version of the idea.

  “If you get a break, we could walk down and see how it’s turning out.” Michael looked directly at Mist as he made the suggestion.

  “An excellent idea,” Betty said. “There’s no need for you to work all day. You know how I love playing hostess for the cookie exchange. And Maisie can help me here.”

  “Absolutely,” Maisie said. “Just tell me where the baskets are, and I’ll set everything up.”

  “I suppose a short break would be nice,” Mist said. She glanced out the kitchen window and saw that snow flurries were dancing across the winter landscape.

  “Yes, it would, indeed,” Betty said. “Go bundle up. Maisie can help me set up. I know where everything is.”

  Encouraged by the others, as well as drawn by the idea of spending some time with Michael, Mist retreated to her room. She emerged wearing a patchwork cape of heavy fabric, the hood resting delicately on her head. With a heavy sweater underneath, and worn knitted mittens on her hands, she would be warm enough for the short excursion.

  “Go,” Betty urged. “We’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Snow gathered on Mist’s hooded cape as she and Michael walked toward the town plaza. Side by side, each took turns glancing at the other while focusing most of their attention on the sidewalk ahead.

  “You look beautiful, Mist,” Michael said. “Like a woodland apparition who has appeared magically in a snowy glen. The cape suits you – unique and mystical.”

  Mist laughed. “Just scraps from the thrift store’s fabric bin.”

  “That you used to create a piece of art,” Michael clarified. “Not a surprise, of course. Everything you touch becomes magical in some way.” Whether to catch a bit of the magic, or to prompt even more, he reached out and took Mist’s mitten-clad hand in his own.

  Mist squeezed Michael’s hand, accepting the gesture of closeness. “You’re limping,” she said quietly. She’d noticed as soon as they’d left the kitchen, before they even reached the front door.

  “Yes,” Michael said, adding nothing more.

  They walked in silence for a moment, the simple statement and confirmation hanging in the air.

  “This is why you weren’t able to make the trip here in the spring,” Mist finally said. It wasn’t a question. She already understood, and wasn’t going to push for an explanation. She hadn’t asked for one earlier in the year, either, when he’d changed his travel plans and indicated he’d be back at Christmas, as always.

  “Yes,” Michael repeated. “It was an unexpected recurrence.” He stopped and turned Mist toward him. “I didn’t want to worry you. It was just a small tumor, and it hadn’t spread. The doctors feel they got it all.”

  “Again,” Mist said.

  “Yes, again.” Michael pulled Mist closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her. They stood without moving for several minutes.

  “Life is mysterious,” Mist whispered. “We never know what the future has in store, not even an hour ahead.”

  “Well, I say we try to take that next hour and make it whatever we want.” Michael stepped back, tilted his head to one side, and looked at Mist, seeking a co-conspirator to test fate.

  Mist nodded. “I accept the challenge,” she said in a most serious tone. “I propose lingering in the town plaza with a snow maiden, followed by enjoying hot mulled cider in front of the hotel’s fireplace.”

  “I agree with your plan completely,” Michael said, “with one exception.”

  “And what would that be?” Mist searched his face, noted, as she had many times before, the remarkable grey-green-copper color of his eyes.

  “Well, if we’re tempting fate for only one hour, I believe we should make that hour exceptional.” Michael smiled.

  Mist noted a bit of mischief in his expression. “A snow maiden and hot mulled cider won’t make for an exceptional hour?”

  “Almost, but not quite.” Michael leaned closer, his lips inches from Mist’s. “Don’t you agree?” As Mist smiled, he kissed her softly. “Now it’s exceptional.”

  “Yes,” Mist said. “Exceptional, indeed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Animated chatter flowed from the interior of the hotel as Mist and Michael stepped through the front door. The exceptional hour had stretched into three, combining snow maiden play with a visit to Clive’s gallery, another to Marge’s candy store, and a long walk through the wintery Timberton scenery.

  As Michael took his favorite spot beside the fireplace, Mist went to retrieve the promised hot mulled cider. She passed through the café, now busy with Betty’s cookie exchange in full swing. Holiday spirit decked the air as townsfolk filled their baskets with assorted treats. Maisie stood by with cellophane and ribbon and discussed recipes with cheerful participants.

  Leaving the cookie enthusiasts to enjoy themselves, Mist heated up the cider and filled a pot with the hot beverage. She delivered it to the front entryway, where mugs already waited at the coffee and tea service area.

  Clara, Andrew, Greta and Rolf had returned from their drive and now sat with Michael in the front parlor. They were in the middle of a discussion, which continued as Mist poured mugs of cider and carried them into the room.

  “You do have a lovely garden,” Clara said to Andrew. “I can see why you would hate to give that up. The rhododendrons alone are magnificent. Plus you have the outdoor deck.”

  “I know you’re fond of the landscaping at my place,” Andrew said. “But the kitchen in your house is wonderful. It’s much more modern than mine, and more spacious.”

  “Is this a garden versus kitchen discussion?” Mist asked as she handed a mug of cider to Greta, and a second mug to Clara. “Both sound lovely.”

  “We’re still debating which house to give up and which to keep since we’re combining households,” Clara said.

  The professor and Chloe entered the room. “I have an easy answer. Just send one of the houses here to us. We need to find a place to live before the semester begins.” He turned down an offer of cider in favor of tea.

  “Or just a flat, Nigel,” Chloe said, “While we look around. No need to rush into a purchase before we find a place that feels right.”

  “Yes, a flat, that could work,” the professor agreed. “Carry on, then.” He took a sip of tea and settled back in a chair, looking professorial indeed in his argyle sweater vest and wire-rimmed glasses.

  Greta si
ghed. “I’m glad we’re not house hunting. We’re planning to remodel, though, to add an extra bedroom. Right now Hanna and Jo are sharing a room.”

  “They don’t seem to mind,” Rolf said.

  “True,” Greta said. “We hear quite a bit of serious talking late at night.”

  “And giggling after a little while,” Rolf added.

  “Perhaps sharing is nice for them right now,” Mist said, leaving unspoken the fact they were going through dramatic life adjustments. It was not her place to share personal situations, but she knew Greta and Rolf would understand the thought behind her statement. “They seem to enjoy each other’s company,” she added.

  “Yes.” Rolf nodded his head. “I think you’re right, Mist. They don’t seem to suffer from any sibling conflicts and stay very close to each other. Sharing a room may be all right, at least until we can finish the remodel.”

  The front door opened and closed, and Clive’s voice boomed out, “What? No Christmas music to go with this holiday scene?”

  “An excellent idea,” Betty said. She passed by him with a basket brimming with cookies, which she placed on a coffee table near the visiting guests. “And I’m sure your sudden visit has everything to do with music and nothing to do with the cookie exchange in progress, right?” Her smirk, combined with the obvious way Clive’s eyes followed the path of the cookies, made everyone laugh.

  “Music is a wonderful idea,” Mist said. “I have just the right selection.” She stood and walked to a closet that housed the hotel’s sound system. Strains of traditional Christmas instrumentals began to flow from overhead speakers.

  “Help yourselves,” Betty said, gesturing to the basket of baked treats. “We have plenty to go around.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Clive said, “but here, I don’t want to be greedy.” He held the basket out to each guest before taking a cookie himself.

  Betty returned to the café to help Maisie wrap the cookie baskets. Mist followed, leaving the guests to enjoy their cider, cookies and music together.

  With the last of the cookie baskets wrapped, and townsfolk headed home with their cellophane bundles, Betty and Mist sat at the kitchen’s center island.

  “Quite a busy day,” Betty said. She leaned forward and folded her arms on the countertop.

  “Why don’t you take a break, maybe a short nap?” Mist suggested. As gracious a hostess as Betty had been for the cookie exchange, full of smiles and compliments, Mist now noticed how tired she seemed.

  “I hate to leave you with all the work,” Betty said, though clearly tempted by the idea. “I’m sure there’s more I could help you with now.”

  Mist stretched both arms over her head, and then lowered them to rest in her lap. “There’s very little work to do, Betty. Maisie is doing a great job cleaning up the café. I’m serving a simple dinner later, and the guests are content in the front parlor, enjoying each other’s company. Besides, I took a three-hour break earlier, remember?” She patted Betty’s hand in a matronly way that seemed to reverse their roles, if not their ages. “Take some time to read a book, or just rest. You can help later with the pomanders.”

  “Oh, yes.” Betty’s face brightened. “I forgot we were going to do that with the guests this evening. Fine, I’ll rest a bit now and help with the pomanders later. I can almost smell the scent of oranges and cloves, just thinking about it.”

  Mist smiled as she watched Betty head out of the kitchen. The idea of having the guests decorate oranges with whole cloves this year had really been Betty’s, a result of a morning conversation a few weeks before while Betty, Maisie and Mist had been cleaning up from breakfast. A cheerful discussion of childhood holiday memories had evolved into possible activities for guests. All three had agreed that the pomanders would be a great idea.

  “You actually convinced Betty to rest?” Maisie said as she entered the kitchen. She set the leftover cellophane and ribbon on a counter and sat down across from Mist. “How did you manage that?”

  “I reminded her of the pomanders,” Mist said. “Because she had something to look forward to, she no longer needed to worry about something now.”

  Maisie nodded. “Clever, and a reminder that I need to bring you those supplies. I have everything ready, including a few sharp utensils to poke holes in the oranges for the cloves, and ribbons in white, gold and silver. I brought extra ribbon, too, like you requested.”

  “Wonderful,” Mist said. “The finished pomanders can either hang from hooks or rest in the tub over there.” She gestured to a large copper container she had used for a flower arrangement the previous year.

  “That will be perfect,” Maisie said, standing back up. “I’ll drop everything off later this afternoon. Clayton’s mom is cooking tonight, so we won’t be here for dinner.”

  “It’ll be a small crowd tonight — hotel guests, plus a few regulars,” Mist said.

  “You know they’re just saving up their appetites for your Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow night.” Maisie said. “What are you serving this year, anyway?”

  “I have a printed list this year,” Mist said.

  “A list?” Maisie laughed. “Dare I ask if it’s an actual menu?”

  Mist smiled. “You know I don’t believe in menus.”

  “I know you don’t,” Maisie said. “You run the most amazingly successful café without ever putting a word on paper.”

  “These words are simply decorations.” Mist crossed the room and pulled a sheet of rice paper from a folder, and set it on the center countertop. Maisie’s eyes widened as she looked over the masterpiece of calligraphy and watercolors.

  Christmas Eve Dinner at the Moonglow Café

  Rosemary Orange Roasted Chicken

  Cherry Balsamic Pork Loin

  Pomegranate, Pecan and Brie Salad

  Honey Roasted Butternut Squash with Cranberries and Feta

  Sautéed Mushrooms in a Browned Butter, Garlic and Thyme Sauce

  Cheddar Chive Biscuits

  Chocolate Caramel Tart

  “This is exquisite!” Maisie exclaimed. “Not to mention deliciously appetizing. Are you going to post this somewhere near the entry? Or did you have them printed for each table?”

  Mist retrieved the folder and opened it, removing additional sheets, each one hand-written, individual, and artfully decorated.

  “Of course.” Maisie smiled. “I should have guessed they’d all be originals.”

  “There is one for each guest room,” Mist said. “I’ll use the extra ribbon you brought to tie them after I roll each one like a scroll, and then I’ll place them in each room tomorrow afternoon with a small fruit and cheese plate.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being a guest here,” Maisie sighed.

  Mist set the non-menu down and hugged Maisie. “You are welcome anytime, Maisie. Everyone is welcome here, always.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I’m making a heart,” Poppy said as she pressed a whole clove into her orange. She sat on the floor in the front parlor in her faded jeans and a red sweater with the words “Bah, Humbug” stenciled on the front. The Weber girls sat beside her, each working on a variation of pomander style. Hanna’s orange already had the start of a zig-zag pattern that ran horizontally. Jo had chosen to wrap ribbons around hers first, and now was adding cloves in a haphazard fashion, as if they were afterthoughts.

  The atmosphere in the room contradicted the words on Poppy’s sweater as Burl Ives sang to everyone to have a “holly, jolly Christmas.” Clara and Andrew laughed together on the sofa as Rolf, elbow propped on the fireplace mantel, told family-friendly jokes. Greta and Chloe admired the hotel’s Christmas tree, which was lavishly decked out with garlands and twinkling lights. Betty stood beside them, telling stories about each of the old-fashioned ornaments – some passed down through the years, others made recently by local schoolchildren. The professor, predictably, sat with Michael, the two men engrossed in a literary discussion regarding Charles Dickens’ motivation in writing A Christmas Caro
l, noting the author’s concern with the spiraling effects of poverty on children following a visit to a London school.

  Mist watched the scene from the arched entryway, delighted to see not only how spirited and happy the gathering was, but also the way the guests interacted with each other. Newcomers, as well as those who’d spent many holiday seasons in Timberton before, blended as if they’d known each other for years. Mist liked to think of it as more than just the right combination of décor, food, music and activities; she envisioned a thread of magic weaving through the small crowd, turning strangers into friends, and friends into family.

  “You’re dangerously close to the mistletoe, you know,” a voice whispered.

  Mist turned to find Michael had managed to sneak up beside her while she was watching Poppy hold up her finished pomander, the heart design accentuated by gold ribbons. Mist looked up at the traditional cluster of leaves and berries hanging almost directly above and stepped back to examine it, as if just at that moment realizing Maisie had ordered the mistletoe, and Clive had securely fastened it in the archway. “And now I’m not,” she said, a sly smile spreading across her face. She ducked away toward the kitchen as he reached for her, leaving him shaking his head at her impish behavior.

  “Playing hard to get?” Betty asked as Mist took a seat at the kitchen’s center island.

  “I thought you were sharing ornament history by the Christmas tree,” Mist said, surprised to find her friend had also left the front parlor.

  “I just took a break to refill the bowl with the cinnamon glazed nuts,” Betty said. “But you’re dodging the question, aren’t you? Hmm?”