“I have no idea,” Michael said. “Wherever we end up, I suppose.”
Mist leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “Perfect.”
CHAPTER TEN
By late afternoon, enough snow had fallen to create a layer fifteen inches deep, and more snow was predicted throughout the night. The wintery landscape delighted local children and young adults as their boots kicked soft powder into the air and their bundled bodies formed snow angels on the ground.
Inside the hotel, guests gathered in the front parlor where a crackling fire and warm eggnog negated the chill outside. Michael and the Professor sat near the fireplace, each reading in a favorite spot. Clara and Andrew played a game of gin rummy at a table toward the back of the room. Nina sat near the window, enchanted with the snowy scene outside, and Max Hartman thumbed through a magazine, seemingly unnerved by the lack of incoming calls due to the holiday. Allison and her daughter sat together on the couch, discussing the first chapters of a book they’d picked up at the library. Mist refilled a dish of glazed cinnamon nuts near them, not missing Kinsley’s subdued responses to her mother’s comments.
Retreating to begin remaining preparations for an easy evening meal, Mist found Betty already in the kitchen, arranging a tray of cookies to place in the lobby.
“Do you and Michael have any plans for this evening?” Betty asked.
“Not tonight,” Mist said. “I still have projects to finish for tomorrow. We had a wonderful afternoon though.”
Betty covered the cookie assortment and sat down at the center island of the kitchen to help Mist place cold cuts on serving dishes so guests could make sandwiches for dinner. A pot of roasted tomato-basil soup simmered on the stove, filling the room with a warm ambiance. The casual dinner would offer something for everyone, just enough to tide them over until the much fancier Christmas Eve dinner the next day.
“Maisie told me you took a drive out of town,” Betty said as she layered sliced tomatoes and pickles side by side.
Mist smiled, remembering seeing Maisie out playing in the snow with Clay Jr. as she and Michael passed by their house. She’d waved at Clay Jr., who’d made an awkward but adorable attempt to throw a snowball at the car.
“Yes,” Mist confirmed. “We took a peaceful drive along a road not far from town. It was postcard perfect, like that out of a dream: snow-covered barn rooftops and trees with powdered branches swayed with the slightest breeze.”
“It sounds enchanting, just driving along, surrounded by that scenery.” Betty sighed.
“We stopped beside a small lake,” Mist continued. “You must know the one, out by the old rock quarry?”
Betty nodded.
“A faint ray of light burst through the clouds, causing ice crystals across the top of the water to shimmer for just a minute before the light disappeared again.” Mist paused, remembering how she and Michael had stepped out of the car to watch osprey soar above the frosty landscape. Michael had wrapped his arms around her to protect her from the chilly air. She hadn’t objected even though her cape was enough to keep her warm.
“And you stayed warm enough?” Betty smiled, as if reading Mist’s thoughts and picturing the scene.
“I took a thermos of hot chocolate, which we enjoyed by the lake.”
“And?” Betty nudged, clearly hoping for more.
“And what?” Mist said.
“You’re not telling me the romantic parts,” Betty said, leaning forward. “Tell me something special. For example, how many times did he kiss you?”
Mist felt herself blush, something she rarely did. Giving Betty a devilish grin, she responded. “I believe I lost count.”
“That’s my girl,” Betty said, smiling. “Oh, I left fresh towels for Max Hartman at his request and noticed a windmill on his desk. You didn’t happen to leave a Tinkertoy set in his room, did you?
“Possibly,” Mist said nonchalantly.
“It’s amazing, the things that come out of that closet of yours,” Betty said.
“It never hurts to be reminded of the carefree days of youth,” Mist said, “especially if life becomes complicated.”
“True,” Betty mused.
The sandwich makings complete, Mist posed a suggestion. “Let’s open the café early tonight so people can come and go at their leisure. The guests are busy with activities in the front parlor, and we won’t get many locals the night before the big dinner tomorrow.”
“And you’ll have more time later for your projects,” Betty said. “I know you’re planning to spruce up the trees on the tables, plus I bet you’re working on those miniature paintings you always give guests on Christmas morning. That’s become a lovely tradition. You know some regular guests display them at their homes, adding the new one each year.” She picked up the first of several cold cut trays and carried it to the café’s buffet table.
Mist followed Betty with baskets of assorted breads and rolls for the sandwiches. Guests would have options ranging from simple hummus and avocado on wheat bread to towering sub sandwiches on french rolls. She already suspected which guests would choose which combination of ingredients, just as she saw them picking and choosing ingredients for life.
“I do have plans for the table arrangements,” Mist said. “But the paintings are complete, minus details that I won’t be able to add until tomorrow night.”
“Still getting to know the guests?” Betty asked.
“We only get a brief glimpse into their lives during the few days they stay with us,” Mist said. “If we’re fortunate, the holidays let us see a little more. There is magic in the air at this time of the year, you know.”
Mist returned to the kitchen and pulled a tray from the refrigerator. A dozen small pottery bowls held condiments and optional additions for sandwiches including three types of mustard, grated carrots, sliced black olives, alfalfa sprouts, peppers, and cranberry relish. Taking the tray to the buffet, she set the dishes out, each accompanied by a tiny spoon or fork. She surveyed the buffet, and satisfied with the selections, she informed the guests that they were welcome to choose what they’d like at any time.
“Clive will be the last to arrive for a change,” Betty said as she watched the hotel guests file in. “He’s keeping the shop open late for last-minute Christmas shoppers.”
“Why don’t you make him a sandwich and take it down to him?” Mist suggested. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Betty said. “I’ll do that. And I’ll come back quickly to help you clean up.”
Mist gave Betty a soft pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. Spend some time there. Michael’s getting well trained on cleaning up. Guest or not, he insists on helping now.”
Betty proceeded to make a sizable club sandwich for Clive, wrapped and placed it in an insulated bag, and added several cookies. Leaving Mist to attend to the guests, she bundled up and headed for the gallery.
Mist turned her attention to the enthusiastic crowd, watching them put together combinations as varied as the individual personalities. This was exactly what she expected. It was one reason she loved meals that those dining could create themselves.
Seeing Kinsley at the buffet alone—Allison had already made her sandwich and chosen two seats at a table for four—Mist approached.
“What book are you and your mother reading?” Mist asked. “Did you find something good at the library?”
Kinsley shrugged her shoulders. “Something Mom wanted to read.”
“But not you?”
“Not really.”
“So what do you like to read?” Mist waited, unsure what response she’d get, if any.
Kinsley took a minute to answer, as if surprised to be asked. “I love dragons,” she said. “Or anything magical or books set in worlds that aren’t real.”
“Fantasy,” Mist said. “A very popular genre. I can see how that would appeal to you. Maybe I can find a book for you. We have a few with dragons in them.”
/> Kinsley’s eyes brightened. “That would be awesome.” She glanced at her mother, who was waving her over to the table. “I’d better go,” she said, leaving Mist pondering the mother-daughter relationship, not for the first time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Christmas Eve morning delivered the exact landscape guests had hoped for. A light snow had continued overnight, adding a soft layer to the previous accumulation. A few flurries were still tapering off, but the sun was already showing through the remaining clouds. Mist looked out the café window at the enchanting scene. It was perfect for her plans.
With the traditional Christmas Eve dinner scheduled for that evening, breakfast was not only casual but reserved for hotel guests only. Townsfolk knew they were on their own for the day. No one ever complained; most wanted to build up an appetite for the big meal anyway. Even those staying in the hotel enjoyed simple fare from the beverage area in the front lobby. The café doors would remain closed until the evening so that additional preparations for later could be completed with ease. There was always a sense of unveiling when the café doors opened on Christmas Eve. Not seeing inside beforehand added a sense of mystery and anticipation.
“Delicious muffins, Mist,” Betty said, entering the café from the kitchen. Clive followed just behind her. “I smelled them baking early this morning. You must have been up even earlier than usual.”
“A little,” Mist said, turning toward Betty with a welcoming smile. “I wanted to be sure the muffins were ready to put out with the coffee at six thirty.”
“I love anything with cranberries,” Betty said.
“Same here,” Clive said. “I grabbed one as soon as I poured my coffee this morning. And that stuff on top is great.”
Betty and Mist both laughed at the typical Clive comment.
“That stuff is a walnut crumb topping,” Mist explained. “I made a few without the crumble in case any guests have nut allergies.”
Clive patted his stomach. “No nut allergy here, so I think I’d better have another one.” He left for the lobby, making sure to close the café doors behind him.
“So, you have big plans today,” Betty said, looking around the room. Plastic tubs and cardboard boxes sat on many of the tables and chairs. “More than usual for Christmas Eve.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mist said, surveying the café. “Decorating, cooking, and the activity I planned for this afternoon.”
“Not to mention serving the meal later. And, if you haven’t exhausted yourself, visiting with guests in the front parlor tonight.” Betty opened the lid of a tub near her. “Well look at this.” She pulled out a red beret and tried it on. “How do I look?”
Mist pondered responses and settled on two. “Like either a female Renoir or Monet’s long-lost sister.”
“Monet didn’t have a sister,” Michael said, having just taken the liberty of sticking his head into the café.
“That’s why she would be long-lost,” Mist said. “Perhaps long-lost in his imagination.” She smiled. “He only had one brother.”
“Ah, I should have suspected you’d know your art history,” Michael said.
Mist approached Michael and offered him a kiss, which he readily accepted. “You know, you’re now destined to work today since you dared to enter the forbidden café this morning.”
“An assignment I gladly accept,” Michael said. “Though I’ll warn you I’m not much use in the kitchen. But if you’re serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tonight, I could help.”
Mist glanced at Betty. “Do we have those on our Christmas Eve menu this year?”
Betty grinned, playing along. “I’d have to check the list you have in the kitchen.”
“I think we’ll keep you on decorations,” Mist said. “And this afternoon’s activity.”
“Yes, I was wondering about that,” Michael said. “I saw the sign in the lobby: Meet at 2:00 p.m., front lawn. And… what does optionally mandatory mean?”
“It means guests have the option to consider it mandatory,” Mist said.
“So it’s not mandatory,” Michael said.
“Correct,” Mist said. “It’s optionally mandatory.” She reached into the tub where Betty had found the beret, pulled out a fedora, and set it on Michael’s head. “There you go. You must wear that today.”
“And what if I don’t want to wear it?” Michael said.
“Then you take it off,” Mist said. “You choose.”
Michael took the hat off and flipped it back and forth, pondering Mist’s words. “Well, now it seems more appealing to wear it.” He placed it back on his head.
Clive’s voice joined in as he returned from the lobby, a pocket in his plaid flannel shirt suspiciously resembling the shape of a muffin. “Is it Halloween instead of Christmas?” he asked, seeing the beret on Betty and the fedora on Michael. “What am I missing?”
“I’d say you’re missing a hat.” Mist calmly reached into the plastic tub and pulled out a cowboy hat. Being nearly a foot shorter than Clive in height, she had to stand on tiptoe in order to set it on his head.
“Does this have something to do with that activity this afternoon?” Clive attempted a stereotypical Western cowboy accent, doing a surprisingly decent job. “I saw the sign out by the muffins.”
“Several times, I bet,” Betty teased.
“It could,” Mist said. “Or it could not.”
“Right,” Clive said. “I’ll see you all later. I have customers coming to pick up special orders at the gallery.” He tipped his hat, returned it to the tub, and left through the front door.
“And I need to check on the decorations you have thawing.” Betty disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a confused look on Michael’s face.
“You have decorations thawing in the kitchen? Dare I ask?” Michael ran his fingers through his hair and looked around the room.
“Just a few,” Mist said. “Final touches after the rest is set up. Ready to help?” Ignoring the plastic tubs, she began pulling items out of the cardboard cartons. “The tubs are for this afternoon,” she said. “We can set them by the door. That will leave the tables clear for the centerpieces.”
“But you already have centerpieces,” Michael pointed out. “The little trees with red ribbons are great.”
“Sometimes, for a special event like Christmas Eve dinner, greater than great is preferable to great,” Mist said as she pulled chiffon yardage from one box. She moved to a second carton and lifted out strings of tiny lights, battery packs attached to each. A third, smaller box revealed silver sleighs about three inches long. Finally she retrieved the vase of Queen Anne’s Lace from the kitchen. Just as Maisie had said, they still looked fresh for her decorating needs.
“How would you like me to help?” Michael asked.
Mist tapped the back of a chair at one of the tables. “Have a seat here.” She waited while Michael sat down, making sure he faced the small tree in the center. “Now just close your eyes,” she said. Giving Mist a half-amused, half-reluctant look, he followed her directions. “Now keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”
Michael sat patiently while Mist placed items on the table and moved them around. “Now can I look?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Mist said.
The sounds continued: metal on the wooden surface, scissors clicking together, soft rustling of fabric. Mist focused on the decorations, not feeling a need to check to see if Michael’s eyes remained closed. She knew he wouldn’t open them until she said to.
“How about now?” Michael said.
“Not yet.” Mist smiled. Mystery added zest to life.
A few more minutes went by, filled with snipping, tapping, and shuffling. Finally Mist circled the table and stood behind Michael. “Now.”
Michael opened his eyes and remained silent for a good ten seconds.
“Well?” Mist prodded.
“It’s amazing,” Michael said. “I don’t know where you even get these ideas.”
“Imagination is a deep well that we all have within us.” Mist looked over the transformed centerpiece, pleased. White chiffon twisted around the base of the tree in multiple layers, tiny sparkling lights beneath it. Tufts of Queen Anne’s Lace rested on the branches, giving the impression of newly-fallen snow. Three small silver sleighs circled the tree, one covering the battery that fed the miniature lights.
“The sleighs are empty,” Michael noted. “I have a hunch this has something to do with the thawing decorations.”
“You just might be onto something.” Mist placed her hands on Michael’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head.
“So what’s my assignment?” Michael said.
“Oh, yes, that,” Mist said. “We’re going to duplicate this for every tree, at least the fabric, lights, and sleigh placement. We’ll clip the flowers for the tree branches just before dinner.”
“Every tree,” Michael repeated, looking around the café.
“Yes,” Mist said. “And I’ll decorate the buffet.”
“I’ll help with the individual tables,” Betty said, reappearing from the kitchen. Michael breathed a sigh of relief, and Mist picked up a long stretch of chiffon. Holding it over her head, she approached the serving area, the wispy fabric trailing behind her like a sail. Christmas Eve was coming together, just as she knew it would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Professor and Max both stood on the porch, staring out at the front yard. Clara and Andrew stood next to them, equally intrigued.
“It’s as if aliens landed and left pods all over,” Andrew said.
“Indeed.” The Professor stroked his chin.
“I must admit this is even stranger than things I see every day in Manhattan,” Max added. “And that’s saying a lot.” He’d even put his phone away to survey the odd scene.
Michael, who had just joined the group, nodded. “I’ve been to Manhattan before, and I have to agree.”
“Wow!” Kinsley said. She emerged from the hotel and joined Clara as the three men set off to investigate. “Where did those come from?” she asked. Her mother followed and looked out at the front yard along with the others.
Snowfall At Moonglow (The Moonglow Christmas Series Book 5) Page 6
