by Judy Baer
“No, really, it is Delight,” the woman assured me.
And who’s on first?
“This is the Delight Bed-and-Breakfast, named for the family who built the home and founded the town in 1895, Marvin and Hilda Delight. Would you like to walk around outside before we go in? The tulips and daffodils are at their peak. Or are you ready to get settled?”
We voted on settling first.
I watched Chase tote my luggage up the stairs to the front door, wondering why I cannot pack lightly for a two-night stay.
It’s the decision-making process and the lack of information that stump me every time. Will it be warm or cool? Sunny? Windy? And the most important question of all—will I feel fat or thin? Will we eat out or eat in? Fancy or plain? Gourmet or burgers on the run? And what will we do? Hike? Shop? Go for a bicycle ride? I like to be prepared. Therefore, I pack as though I’m setting out on the Iditarod with a team of huskies—in case it’s unseasonably cold—and something sheer and sleeveless—in case it’s unexpectedly hot—and a little something for every weather system in between.
And then there’s my mood. Romantic—of course; playful—I might need my tennis racket; ambitious—hiking boots; or lazy—something in velour with a loose waistband. I have a large range of emotions, so, like the Boy Scout I never was, I have to be prepared.
And reading material? I stockpile books to read on vacation. One would think that sooner or later I’d realize that I never read while I’m on vacation. My eyes are busy at work all week. I read in the evening at home. I devour newspapers and even sometimes skim Chase’s medical magazines. The last thing I want to do when I’m away is read. Still, I toss a couple books in the suitcase “just in case.” One of my New Year’s resolutions—I should know better than to make them by now, but I never learn that, either—was to read the classics, those books that everyone who is well educated talks about. I, too, want to make great literary conversation at parties.
“Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina really struck a chord with me,” I’ll say, or, “Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky wasn’t nearly as hard to read as everyone says.”
Yeah. Whatever.
As I worried about the condition of Chase’s back and imagined his complete collapse under the weight of heavy reading, I made a decision. Next time I want to bring the classics with me on a two-day trip, I’m bringing the “Gettysburg Address.”
And I can’t forget the oils, scrubs, rubs, moisturizers, lotions, potions, makeup, hair dryer—just in case they don’t provide one—curling iron, hot rollers, hair spray…all despite the fact that Chase says he loves my glowing natural look and that I’m perfect just as I am. Have I bought into the beauty myth or what?
To help out, I carried Chase’s bag. This contained a shaving kit, toothbrush, two sets of extra underwear, a pair of jeans and two comfortable shirts. I could carry it up the stairs dangling it from my index finger.
The man is a saint. He wrestled my bags to the room without a whimper. He put them on suitcase stands and then returned to the hall, where I was still visiting with Mrs. Bump—yes, Bump!—our hostess. When she’d bustled away to change the potpourri somewhere or check the sheets that were air-drying on the clothesline, Chase bent over, scooped me up and—be still my heart—carried me over the threshold. I was speechless—a novel experience for moi.
If our room wasn’t a centerfold pinup from Victorian magazine, it should have been. The walls were a pale blue slate, and from the windows hung velvet draperies that would have made Scarlett O’Hara drool with envy. The woodwork was maple, as was the bed—a vast sea of white, slate and soft pink lace, linens and pillows, the kind of bed a person could get lost in and not be found until morning. Fortunately, Chase and I have the instinct of bats flying in the night for finding one another. No problem there.
I spun around to hug Chase and noticed for the first time the fire burning in the fireplace. A tiny table and two chairs sat before it. On the table was a teapot tucked snugly into its cozy. On a three-tiered tray were brownies, petit fours, miniature cream puffs and fresh raspberries in chocolate cups shaped like swans.
I bolted for Chase to hug him, but veered off when I saw the two-person whirlpool tucked into the corner behind another plethora of ruffles and lace. One edge of the tub was rimmed with scented bubble bath and bath oils. There were pillows to use behind our heads, and there was a jar of rose petals waiting to be spread across the water.
“Chase, this simply could not be more perfect.” I love this man. “You have outdone yourself this time. I am absolutely blown away by this.”
He took me in his arms and buried his nose in the dark mass of my hair. “Anything for you, Whitney, you know that. I love you so much.” His voice caught as he spoke. His incredible blue eyes grew a little misty, as did mine.
We took a nap after devouring the tea, and it was nearly five o’clock when I awoke. Chase was sprawled on the bed, one arm thrown up by his head, the other rising and falling slowly as it rested on his belly. His hair was tousled, and he reminded me of a little boy.
I slipped out of bed, leaving him to rest while I went to the windows. Delight sits on several acres of oak, maple, pine and fruit trees. Mrs. Bump and company had strategically placed wrought iron benches and swings around the house. A curving trail led from bench to swing to fountain. One could meander at leisure or sit and read or sketch anywhere on the property.
Despite this pastoral setting, the B and B is only a few minutes’ walk from downtown, as I discovered when I asked to see brochures or pamphlets on what there might be to do in the area. That is, if we even wanted to leave our room.
“There are a dozen little shops within walking distance,” Mrs. Bump said as she efficiently dusted a display of old china. “Full of lovely little things you don’t need. That’s why people enjoy coming here. There’s nothing practical or sensible or even familiar. Delight and the surrounding area are a little world of their own.”
“I love it. What do people usually do when they visit Delight?”
“There are nice trails, if you enjoy walking. Sometimes in the evening I play the piano and we sing. There is a local string quartet that practices in the parlor. They’re very good. We have music most evenings from seven until nine. There’s a reading room in the tower which is quite comfy. If it’s cool, I build a fire in the grate. It’s also a wonderful spot to watch the sun rise and set. There’s a salt lick at the edge of the property, so deer come by for a visit. It’s such fun when the fawns are born, to watch them follow their mothers.”
Delight is definitely delightful—bordering on bliss, even.
“There is a well-known quilt shop in town,” Mrs. Bump continued placidly. “If you are a quilter, you could lose yourself there for hours.”
“I might, but I’m not sure my husband would be up for it. Where do you recommend we eat dinner tonight?”
After she handed me a list of restaurants and pointed out two of her personal favorites, I took the information back to our room.
Chase was awake and looking warm, rumpled and very desirable as he leaned back on the mound of pillows he’d piled behind him on the bed. He was reading from the same list Mrs. Bump had given to me.
“Hey, darlin’, are you as hungry as I am?”
“Starved.”
“Getting away is good for the appetite.”
We ate at a tiny Italian restaurant where the owner was also the chef and his wife acted as hostess and waitress. They both bussed dishes on the side.
After much laughter and enough pasta to feed a small village, Chase and I shared tiramisu and drank espresso in tiny cups.
“Can this get anymore perfect?” I purred, feeling like Mr. Tibble after he’d eaten a can of tuna. “Everything that’s been concerning me at home has simply vanished—Kim and Kurt’s adoption woes, Mitzi and her desire to get pregnant, the office…”
Chase put a finger to my lips. “Leave it where it was, Whitney. This is about us.”
“And wh
at about us?” I intertwined my fingers with his.
“The two of us are perfect together.”
He studied me so intently that I finally began to squirm. “Chase?”
“I was just wondering what you’d look like with a baby in your arms. I think it’s time our family of two became three.”
My response surprised even me. An emptiness I hadn’t known existed in me filled as if warm, soothing liquid were flowing into a hole in my heart.
With all this fuss and flutter going on with Kim and Mitzi, I’d made my own feelings about having a baby secondary. Someone, I’d told myself, had to hold those two together. Besides, what would Harry do at Innova if all three of us were pregnant and giving birth at the same time? But now all the minor doubts and questions were washed away by this warm, nurturing sensation in my heart.
“Three,” I told Chase, “is my new favorite number.”
Chapter Sixteen
Saturday, May 1
Wouldn’t you know it? I finally have a day to sleep in, and I’m wide-awake.
Not that I mind. I like mornings and I particularly like watching my husband sleep because he’s so relaxed and peaceful. I haven’t seen him that way much in recent weeks, not with his schedule at the clinic and the hospital. Determined to get the most out of every minute, I took a shower, dried my hair and slipped into one of the fuzzy white terry robes provided by the B and B.
Mrs. Bump—or one of the little Bumps—had placed a carafe of coffee and a copy of USA Today outside our door.
When I’d read the paper, breakfast was still an hour away. Chase was sleeping soundly so I decided to take a morning prayer walk. I slid into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a thick hooded sweatshirt and slipped out of our room.
Grabbing a granola bar as I went by the dining room buffet, I headed for the walking path and started down the rock path, feeling a little like Dorothy on her way to Oz.
“Good morning, Lord. This is an amazing day. Thank You for Your creation and all that is in it. I’ve been thinking about Mitzi and Kim a lot this morning. They both want to be mothers so much. Could You help Kim and Kurt through this adoption process and find the perfect child for them? You know where that child is, Lord. I ask that finding him or her be made simple for them.
“And Mitzi…we’ve talked about Mitzi before. She’s wacko, but I can’t help loving her anyway. Bless her and, if it is Your will, I pray that she will have that child she dreams about.
“We’re a pretty funny bunch, Kim, Mitzi and I, all focused on having children to love. You know what’s best and I leave it all in Your divine hands. Your will be done.”
Then I put in a good word for my parents. I also brought up Harry, Betty and Bryan at the office, who are not Christians but are not averse to it, either, and for Chase.
“He’s been tired a lot lately, Lord. He’s working too hard. He is an amazing doctor, but it can’t be easy, seeing patient after patient, being steady and comforting when people are upset or frightened. I know the responsibility of making wise decisions for these people weighs on him day after day. Take care of him, will You?”
By the time God and I were done chatting—and it really is like chatting for me, a conversation with a beloved friend—it was time to go back to the B and B for breakfast.
Easier said than done.
Intent on prayer, I hadn’t watched where I was going. The path I’d followed had somehow disappeared without my noticing it. I stood in a thin stand of paper birch trees in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how I’d gotten there.
First things first. I checked my pocket to make sure my granola bar had not fallen out on the trek. I imagined myself parceling it out, oat by oat, to my frail, famished body as I wandered aimlessly in the woods of Wisconsin. Then, to fortify myself, I opened it and gobbled it down.
So much for preventing myself from starving to death.
Wishing for a cup of Mrs. Bump’s strong black coffee, I decided to follow my footsteps backward in the soft earth. Quickly the way became stony and my footprints disappeared. As I paused again, a squirrel descended from the branches of a tree to study me as he hung vertically on the bark, his tail flicking and his nose twitching. The insides of his ears were white and his eyes were alert. His entire body quivered with interest—surely it couldn’t be fear. I was shivering with that.
I do not like being lost. When I was five, I ran away from my mother in a shopping mall. While she looked at purses, I decided to visit a toy store we’d passed earlier. I was fine for a while, investigating an indoor pond filled with pennies, peering into garbage cans and staring at the mannequins in store windows. I discovered a dollar bill on the floor, sat down by it and waited patiently to see if anyone would pick it up. When no one came, I claimed it for myself, thinking that with cash, I could do some serious shopping in the toy store. Unfortunately, the toy store had disappeared. I couldn’t find it anywhere. In fact, nothing looked familiar, and suddenly shopping for purses didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.
Worse yet, I had no idea where I’d left my mother. The indoor shopping mall had grown since I left her. It seemed gigantic. There were stairs and escalators everywhere. As the vivid, pulsating colors and deafening chatter whirled around me, I began to feel as though I’d just come off a Tilt-A-Whirl. I wanted to throw up.
Even now, in my thirties, I had that same panicky little-girl feeling. Back then, I’d resolved the problem by bursting into tears and wetting my pants. A mall security guard had found me, bought me ice cream and paged my mother, who, in minutes, had come dashing hysterically toward me, tears streaming down her face.
She’d taken me home, changed me into dry undies and sent me to bed to think about what a naughty thing I’d done by wandering off. I remember cuddling into the cocoon of my bed, believing it was the best place on earth. And I’d sucked my thumb and fallen asleep.
Frankly, I felt like crying, wetting my pants and sucking my thumb today, too, but it just didn’t seem practical anymore. I am a capable, responsible, smart individual, I reminded myself. I am resourceful. I have a master’s degree. I can do the New York Times crossword puzzle in one sitting, and without a dictionary. I can make a soufflé that does not fall before it gets to the table. I have made croissants from scratch, knitted a sweater and made a replica of the Eiffel Tower in Tinkertoy pieces.
“I can do this,” I muttered as I surveyed the landscape. “This is easy. Just remember what you went past on the way out here.”
Engaged as I’d been in prayer, I hadn’t really looked.
This was obviously the time for a little more prayer. I petitioned for help in finding the way home, protection from coyotes, bears and moose stampedes and anything else I thought could happen in the wilderness. I prayed especially for a calm head.
And fast feet.
I do know that the sun rises in the east, and that it had been at my back as I’d walked, so I turned to face the sun and headed in that direction. If I didn’t find the B and B, at least I’d eventually reach the Atlantic Ocean.
A sudden rustle and a flapping sound caught my attention. Off to my right, staring at me as hard as I was staring at him, was an enormous wild turkey. He craned his neck upward until his beady little eyes appeared to pop out of his featherless head, on either side of a long brown stick of a neck. He made a sound that made my insides sink.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—I have a wellspring of knowledge about the wild turkey. My mind flew back to the report on wild turkeys for which I had received an A plus in fifth grade, and I scanned my memory banks for information.
Turkeys come down from their roosts at daybreak, so it made perfect sense that we had crossed paths. A reason to stay in bed late from now on. Young toms often act aggressively in mating season, which is—gulp—in May.
I’d probably stumbled onto some sort of turkey dating scene and there were a dozen young, hormonally active males preening for cute young hens that might cross their paths. My long-ago report had als
o said that tom turkeys like to fight among themselves for domination of the flock and sometimes don’t differentiate between their turkey brothers and children or people too frail to run away from them.
Tom—we went quickly to a first-name basis—eyed me speculatively, plumped his chest and let his wings fall toward the earth. He was flaunting his best qualities for me, in the hope I’d think him a worthy mate. Showing off, just like any other man.
I spun into action, stamped my feet, flapped my arms and yelled, “Go away! Bad turkey, bad turkey!” Not optimum verbiage, but in the heat of the moment it would have to do. Then I started to run.
Screaming, flapping and stomping, I didn’t see Chase until we collided.
He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a little shake as I yelled “Bad turkey!” into his face. My wings—er, arms—dropped to my sides.
“You saved me!” I flung my arms around him and clung to him with a desperation matched only by the passengers on the deck of the Titanic.
He cuddled me close, patted my back and asked, “From what?”
I turned to point out King Turkey Kong, but there was nothing there. “He was attacking me!” I babbled. “A turkey! I was lost in the woods and thought I’d never find my way out. I ate my only granola bar. I could have starved to death or been eaten alive.”
“Whitney, this land belongs to the Delight B and B,” he said, patiently and with far too much amusement in his voice. “If you’d walked to the back of the property, you would have seen a potato chip factory and a warehouse that stores pumps and equipment for swimming pools.”
Oh.
So I wasn’t so far out in the wilderness after all. Steps from potato chips and swimming pools? How humiliating.
“Mrs. Bump has breakfast ready. I came to tell you to come in.”
“Good,” I said brightly, eager to be far away from the site of my humiliation. “I’m starved. Let’s go.” Tonight I’d be dreaming of big red turkey wattles and a tom streaking out of a tree to peck my eyes out.
