The Innkeeper's Bride

by Kathleen Fuller

  Before she took the box to one of the tables, she asked, “How is yer vatter doing?”

  “Better. He’s still in quite a bit of pain, especially when he puts any weight on his leg. He has a follow-up appointment next week with his surgeon.” His forehead creased with concern. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’d like for him to be out of pain.”

  “Me too.” She paused. “Do you think he would like to help me fold these?”

  “Sure. Nix wrong with his hands.”

  She tucked the box under her arm. “I’ll be back.”

  “Selah,” he said as she started to walk away.

  “Ya?”

  “Danki for thinking of mei daed.”

  Nodding, she smiled at him, and then she headed for the house. He didn’t have to thank her. She was glad to help his father. Although she hadn’t worked here long, the Stolls had made her feel more welcome than she’d felt in her parents’ home back in New York. If kindness and a welcoming spirit were the secret to an inn’s success, Levi and his family didn’t have anything to worry about.

  * * *

  Levi watched Selah as she left the lobby. Her shoulders had been drooping when she came down the stairs, and he was glad he’d been able to reassure her that she didn’t have to be perfect. He was far from perfect, that was for sure.

  But he had noticed that even though Selah was more relaxed around him after they’d cleared the air between them, there was an underlying tension when it came to her job. She could out-clean his grandmother, which was a feat in itself, yet she’d looked like a frightened deer when he’d asked her to show Jackson Talbot his room. And he remembered how desperate she’d been when she thought he might fire her. Clearly this job was extremely important to her.

  Nina walked into the lobby. “Selah is doing the nicest thing,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “She and Daed are folding those brochures he ordered together. He hasn’t been this happy since the accident.”

  He smiled. “Glad to hear that.”

  “I’ve been a little worried about him.” She fidgeted with one of the strings on her kapp. “I told him not to feel bad that he couldn’t help us, but he still does.”

  “You know Daed. He doesn’t like to be laid up. Remember when he burned his hand a few years ago? He couldn’t work for two days, and he just about went ab im kopp. He was also limited when he sprained his wrist the other week. He’ll be in a better mood once he’s off the crutches.”

  “You’re right.” She started rearranging the brochures in the rack. “How is our new guest? Selah said he was here, but she didn’t say much else.”

  “Seems like a nice fellow. A lot younger than I thought he would be.” From the way he’d sounded on the phone when he made the reservation, Levi had thought Jackson Talbot was a middle-aged man. “He’s been in his room since he arrived.”

  She placed the brochures about the Behalt, the Amish and Mennonite heritage center in Berlin, in the first slot of the display. “If he’s new in the area, we should recommend this place to him. I’ve been meaning to visit myself, out of curiosity.” She turned to Levi. “I’m glad you hired Selah,” she said, grinning.

  Back to her, I see. He had to make sure to measure his words, or she would start teasing him again. “Grossmutter did, not me.”

  “Still, she seems to fit right in with us, doesn’t she?”

  He flattened his gaze. “Don’t start.”

  “I’m not starting anything.” She held up her hands, her expression guileless. “I’m stating a fact. Don’t you agree?”

  “This is a trap, isn’t it?”

  Nina laughed. “Interesting,” she said, and then she walked away.

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Nix,” she called out before disappearing.

  He yanked on the hem of his sweater. Nina could be such a pain. She was right about one thing—Selah did fit in. At first he hadn’t been so sure, but now he was. He couldn’t help but smile. He was glad his grandmother had hired her too.

  * * *

  Cevilla stared out the kitchen window, watching the snow fall from the sky. What had been a gentle snowfall earlier in the day was turning into a near whiteout, the thick flakes coming down in fast clumps. She hoped Richard was safe and warm in his house.

  She gave her head a quick shake, reminding herself that she wasn’t wondering about Richard anymore. He hadn’t come by for his usual breakfast, and she wasn’t chasing him down. She washed her plate and glass from lunch and then dried and put them away. When she turned to an empty kitchen, she made her way into the living room and sat down in her rocking chair. She had lived alone for more than sixty years and had never been bothered by the silence. Now it seemed almost thunderous, but that was mostly because of the throbbing headache she’d had for two days.

  Cevilla picked up her crochet, made a few stitches, and then set it down again. She also didn’t feel like reading, not even her Bible. She had a long afternoon and evening in front of her if she didn’t find something to occupy her. Other than thoughts of Richard.

  She heard a knock on the front door, and frowning, she got up from her chair. She wasn’t fool enough to think it was Richard. But surely it wasn’t Noah coming to check on her in this blizzardy mess. Calling the cell phone he’d insisted she have for emergencies after she refused to move in with him and Ivy, he’d been in touch as soon as the snow started to fall. She was fine, she had insisted, and yes, she had enough wood to last several days.

  The knock grew louder, and she shuffled faster. “I’m coming,” she yelled, quickening her steps. She loved her nephew, but his overprotection was annoying at times. Her arthritis was also acting up with the frigid weather, which made her move slower than normal.

  Finally she opened the door. But Noah wasn’t standing there. Richard was. Stunned, she didn’t say anything for a moment. Then when she started to shake from the cold, she exclaimed, “What in the world?”

  “Are you going to let me in?” he said, his voice muffled beneath a thick candy-apple-red scarf. The rest of him was covered head to toe with a padded winter coat, snow pants, and brand-new snow boots. In fact, everything had to be brand-new since he wouldn’t have needed snow gear in Los Angeles.

  She motioned for him to come in, and once he was inside, she shut the door. “What are you doing here?” she said, still shivering.

  “Checking on you.” He leaned on his cane and pulled down his hood. His cheeks were red, and his eyeglass lenses were fogging up. He was also gasping for breath.

  Alarm ran through her as she fully realized the toll walking to her house in heavy snow and freezing temperatures had taken on him. “Foolish old man,” she said, going to him and grabbing his hand, which was covered with a thick mitten. “Sit by the stove and warm yourself.”

  He followed as she led him to the chair on the other side of the stove from hers. Then he sat down and unwound his scarf.

  “Only a nincompoop would be out in this kind of weather,” she said, scolding him as her own heart rate escalated. “What if you had gotten lost? Or been frozen to death?” Fear gripped her at the thought.

  “I’m well insulated.” He breathed in, and then added, “Plus, I’m only next door. How would have I gotten lost?”

  “Have you lived so long in California that you forgot about the storms we’d get in Arnold City? Remember when that farmer lost his way going to his barn during the blizzard of ’49?”

  “Oh.” His complexion turned a little gray. “I guess I did forget about that. But no matter, I’m here now.” He looked her up and down, scowling a bit. “I see you’re fine—and also in a typical mood.”

  “My moods aren’t typical,” she huffed. The nerve of him, risking his life to check on her only to turn around and insult her. “And I’m not sure my welfare is any of your business anymore.”

  “Cevilla.” He let out a sigh, his expression haggard. “We’ve gotten off track, haven’t we? I’m not even sure how it happened.”


  She knew how, but since she held most of the blame, she didn’t point it out. “I’ll make us some tea while you warm up.” As she shuffled to the kitchen, a sliver of warmth pierced her cold heart. He did care about her. It was hard to be annoyed with him for that.

  Once the kettle whistled, she steeped their tea. Richard had bought her a cute but simple antique tea cart from Noah and Ivy’s store, which had come in handy when they took tea or a snack in the living room instead of in the kitchen. When she returned to the living room, Richard had taken off his coat and gloves and hung them on the coat tree near the front door. He was back sitting next to the woodstove reading The Budget as if he’d been here all day instead of risking life and limb to come over. As if everything between us is hunky-dory. “Tea is ready,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Okay.” He continued to read, not making a move to reach for the tea.

  Cevilla pressed her lips together. “Are you trying to rile me?”

  He peeked over the newspaper. “Perish the thought.”

  “Ooh.” She shuffled over to him and snatched the paper out of his hands. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Richard Johnson, but it stops now.”

  A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. “I can say the same thing for you.”

  “What?”

  He leaned forward. “You’ve been cranky and cantankerous, more so than usual—”

  “Than usual?”

  “And lately we haven’t had a decent conversation that hasn’t ended with you in a huff.”

  She thumped her cane against the floor. “You’re the one who took off yesterday morning, remember? I hadn’t seen you since—not until you just walked through that door.”

  “You know where I live.” He lifted his chin. The window in the living room shook from the roaring wind.

  As the winter storm gathered steam outside, Cevilla’s temper flared. “Then why are you here?” Her voice cracked, and she turned around. Bother, she was on the verge of tears. Was this how their relationship was going to end? With petty arguing? Verbally dancing around the real issues that were keeping them emotionally apart?

  “Because not only was I worried about you, but I can’t stand this tension between us.”

  She heard him get up from the chair and then the thump of his cane against the wood floor. Still, she didn’t turn around. Not while tears were welling in her eyes.

  “Cevilla.”

  Silence.

  “You picked a fine time to clam up.” He sighed. “I don’t want to be apart anymore.” He touched her shoulder. “Please. Look at me.”

  She wiped at her eyes and then faced him. Behind his glasses she could see the sincerity and depth in his eyes, the deep wrinkles at the corners creasing farther.

  “I also don’t want to fight anymore,” he said. “We’ve been apart for so many years. Good years . . . and with different lifestyles. It may sound morbid, but time between us is short. We’ve talked about that before.”

  A lump formed in her throat. All she could do was nod.

  “I know you’ve been waiting on me to make a decision. I also know you want to talk about Sharon. It’s been hard on you. I can see that now.” He tenderly cupped her cheek. When he had first done that months ago, she’d been self-conscious about her wrinkles and saggy skin. Not anymore. “Can you wait a little longer for everything to fall into place? Or is that asking too much?”

  Guilt washed over her in waves. Her impatience had struck again, turning to hard resentment in her heart. She could barely stand herself, and no wonder he hadn’t wanted to be around her. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ve been behaving terribly.”

  “Not terribly.” He moved his hand and made a small space with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe a little badly, though.”

  “I’ve always said I want your decision about the church to be between you and God. But I keep inserting myself in it.” She took his hand. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course. But you haven’t answered my question. Can you wait? And can we enjoy being with each other until the time is right? Because I don’t think I can handle these arguments and the tension between us.”

  “I don’t like it, either. I can wait. As long as it takes.”

  He hugged her. “Thank you,” he said, and then he took a step back. He glanced at the cart. “The tea is probably cold by now. I’ll give it a warm-up.”

  She nodded, and he pushed the tea cart back to the kitchen. He looked a little silly, his tall, lean frame hunched over while he used his cane with his other hand, making steering the cart a little awkward. Adorably awkward.

  There she went again, acting like a besotted schoolgirl. But that’s how she felt sometimes when she was around him. Then she had turned into a spoiled brat, which she was determined not to be anymore. He would make a decision about the church in his and God’s time. And when he was ready to talk about Sharon, she would be ready to listen.

  She lifted her head and closed her eyes. Help me have patience, Lord. I don’t want to lose him. But if I keep trying to rush things, I will . . . and I don’t know how I could live without him.

  Chapter 9

  When Jackson arrived at Stoll Inn two hours earlier, he’d been glad he had plenty of work to do. He hadn’t signed any contracts yet, but he’d been in touch with a few people about his web and IT services. Two people had asked for proposals, which was a good sign. With a dose of luck and lots of hard work on his part, he would get his business off the ground. The competition was strong in his field, but all he needed were a couple of clients and some great references to stand on his own two feet.

  Despite all that, he hadn’t made much progress on the proposal and website mock-up he was working on, because his gaze kept drifting to the window. He was fascinated by the big, fluffy flakes falling at a steady pace. He’d seen plenty of snow before, even the heavy snowfalls common during northeastern Ohio winters. But there was something about sitting in a quiet room watching the snow, surrounded by silence except for the hum of his computer. Work was the last thing he wanted to do, so he gave up.

  He shut down the laptop and set it on top of the bookcase, remembering his father’s scheme. As much as he didn’t want to give his father any ammunition against Stoll Inn, he knew if he didn’t tell him something, Dad would come out here himself. Jackson might as well get a feel for the place, and he had to admit his curiosity was piqued.

  He grabbed his coat and went downstairs. The lobby was still empty. Wasn’t this their opening weekend? They must have done more to get out the word than put that one ad in the paper. Maybe the weather had something to do with the lack of guests.

  He turned and looked at the woodstove. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in front of a real fire, but the burning wood and crackling flames reminded him of camping with his parents when he was a young kid. Those were happier times. Will I ever be that happy again?

  “Would you like some banana bread? I made it fresh today.”

  He turned and saw a squat, grandmotherly woman looking up at him, holding a plate laden with thick slices of banana bread. That was what he smelled when he arrived. It looked delicious. “Yes, please,” he said, taking a slice.

  “I’m Delilah Stoll.” Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Welcome to our inn.”

  “Jackson Talbot.”

  She gestured to a table against the wall. “There’s fresh coffee over there if you’d like. Decaf and regular.”

  He glanced in the direction she pointed and saw two black carafes and small baskets with creamer and sugar. Spoons poked out of a small, light-blue piece of crockery. Instead of the Styrofoam cups his father’s hotel provided, white ceramic mugs stood available on a tray.

  “We also have tea bags, hot water, and fresh local honey. Feel free to help yourself.” She paused. “Unless you’d like me to get a beverage for you.”

  “I can get it myself.” He usually drank coffee, but tea sounded good.

  “I�
��ll just set this over here, then.” She put the plate of banana bread on the table and then turned around. “Enjoy your stay. If you need anything, let us know.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Placing the banana bread on a napkin, he made himself a cup of black tea and poured a liberal amount of honey from the squeeze bottle next to the small basket of tea bags. Then he took a bite of the banana bread. Wow. Soft, moist—even still warm.

  When he finished his snack, he put on his coat, hat, and gloves and opened the front door. The burst of cold air that slammed into him almost took his breath away. He wouldn’t be able to stand out here for long, much less walk around and inspect the grounds. Even if it were warmer, the thick cloud cover and increasing snow would make the late afternoon seem almost like nightfall. And that was despite the sensor light that turned on when he stepped onto the porch and the single pole light sure to come on in the parking lot.

  Jackson stayed outside as long he could stand the whirling wind and frigid cold, and then he hurried back inside to warm up. The lobby was still empty, but he was glad for that. He sat down on the comfortable sofa in front of the woodstove and took off his winter gear, laying it beside him. He stretched out his legs in front of him, more relaxed than he’d been in a long time. No construction, no dust, no dirt, no loud noises. In fact, this was the cleanest place he’d ever seen.

  Stoll Inn was looking better and better to him. Perhaps his father did have something to worry about.

  * * *

  After she finished folding the brochures with Loren, who had fallen asleep with one of them half folded in his lap, Selah spent the rest of the day making sure the inn’s mudroom was clean and pristine. Jackson wouldn’t see the mudroom, of course, but that didn’t stop her from making it spotless. She made one last survey of the space and then picked up her small bucket of cleaning supplies. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was fifteen minutes past four, and her day didn’t end until five when Christian was expected to pick her up.