by Bud Crawford
chapter fifth
Ellen slowed to let Geoff catch her. They climbed side-by-side up the six steps onto the porch. "A house, you'd ring the bell," he said, "a motel you'd just walk in."
"Silly," she said, pulling the door open and jingling the attached bells, "it's been figured out." As the door closed behind the darkness inside deepened.
"Hello, folks. Welcome to Juniper House." A deep voice rumbled from across the room. A large bald man in a ruffled blue shirt sat behind a roll-top desk turned diagonally. The foyer wasn't really dark, once their pupils had adjusted. The wainscoting was dark, wrapping all the way around, but the upper walls and floor were light. It was less bright than the brilliant sunshine on the porch behind them and less bright than the parlor opening directly ahead. Separating stairs, maybe ten feet apart, marked the transition. The parlor furniture all had a lightness to it, French Provincialish, Ellen thought. Half-a-dozen groups of comfortable chairs and sofas, light in color, on tall legs that showed the polished oak flooring underneath. There were just a few small rugs, beige with yellow trim. Fresh-cut flowers arched up from hand-blown glass vases, one on every table in the room. Light came indirectly from three sides: through the etched glass door behind them, and sidewards from windows at the landings of the twin stairs. Most of the light in the parlor came from the back wall: several windows and two double sets of french doors opened onto a patio that stepped down into the gardens of the back yard. There was a carriage house just visible that had been converted into guest rooms on the upper floor. The other guest rooms were on the second floor of the main house. The kitchen and dining room opened off the parlor to the left. To the right was the innkeeper's apartment.
"Alistair Vingood. I'm pleased to meet you." He had stood, stepped across the room with his hand extended to Geoff. "The Fletchers, I presume?" he shook Geoff's hand, pulled his feet together and bowed slightly to Ellen, took her extended hand in his huge paw, lowered his head for an air kiss. She felt the brush of his moustache, but not his lips. "Geoffrey and Ellen. I remember from your too-brief visit, two years ago, almost, was it not?"
"And, of course, we remember you," Ellen said. He had the largest head she had ever seen, oversize even on his tall powerful frame, yet he had a gentle, oddly florid manner. And standing again in the pretty entrance, she remembered how comfortable the parlor had been, the quality of the one breakfast they'd tested, and the eclectic tastefulness of the guest rooms. She had contrived to see several of them, here as in the other inns.
"I hope you will not have to depart precipitously on this visit, Ms. Armstrong."
"You see, Mr. Vingood ..."
"Please, Alistair"
"You see, Alistair, in my line of work there's always a choice. Announce yourself, and you run the risk of receiving atypical treatment. Or sneak under the radar and see how the average visitor is treated. And, please, call me Ellen."
"We certainly were pleased with your report on Juniper House. It has brought us good will and many guests. And I was glad to have a happier explanation for your abrupt departure than the tale of the failing relative. I was suspicious of that story, afraid we had displeased you."
"And I'm sure you shared your story of the disappearing guest with the other innkeepers and you were all sure something fishy had happened."
"Indeed, and our suspicions were confirmed when the article came out, with the unrecognizable photograph of 'Ellie Armstrong'." He turned to Geoff and smiled, with real pleasure. Geoff wasn't sure why.
"Why don't I go get our bags?" Geoff asked and moved towards the door.
"I must help. We all shall go." Alistair stepped between them and out onto the porch, holding the door. Ellen, then Geoff followed down the flagged walk, bordered with bright flowers, tulips and crocuses and pansies. A huge old oak tree shaded the grass to their left, a huge maple to the right. Along the sidewalk, and along the full-width front porch were the twin tight hedges of juniper from which the house took its name
"Aren't you afraid of losing these to a late frost?" Ellen pointed to the flower beds.
"We already have done, but there are thousands of bulbs along here. More will emerge and we're always adding forced flowers from our little greenhouse."
"It isn't a fake picture," Ellen said. "Just one from several years ago, with stagey make-up and different hair. My own hair, but styled in a way I no longer do. I'm glad the final result of the article was good for you."
"Yes, very good. Something you might be interested to know, my fellow innkeepers also reported good results. You put Juniper House first in your ratings, but managed to say nice things about everywhere you stayed, in what must have been a very busy week."
"Not about everywhere. There were a couple of places I didn't include. But a negative report based on a one-night stay, that might simply have caught somebody's worst day of the year, I would never do that."
Geoff had opened the van and begun setting bags on the sidewalk. He pushed them aside to help a little girl in a red dress riding on a red tricycle get through their clutter. She stopped a few feet past them, turned herself around, and watched with wide unblinking eyes.
Alistair looked at the tangle of wheels and handlebars remaining in the van and said, "We have a bike rack in the garden, quite secure, that you're welcome to use."
"Don't worry about these guys," Geoff said. "I know it looks like they've crashed in a heap, but they're resting comfortably. They'll be fine." Two road bikes and two mountain bikes lay on their sides, rear wheels flat on the floor, front tires upright, handlebars interlaced.
"But please do park your van in the back. It's really too narrow here. Go to the end of the block, turn left and pull in the driveway. More private, more secure. Unless you are going out immediately?"
"We were hoping to join you for tea, if we're not too late," Ellen said. "We'll probably walk downtown for dinner. Geoff?"
"Let's lug the bags in, then I'll park." They had not brought airport luggage, so it was all handles and shoulder straps. Geoff got the two heaviest bags, Ellen and Alistair the rest. At the bottom of the porch steps, Geoff was last. He turned and saw the little girl still watching. When he waved to her, she turned and pedaled quickly back up the sidewalk.
"You're on the second floor, left side, in the back: the Saffron Suite. We may as well go straight there now, if everybody is ready." Alistair led them up the steps. "We have all your information from the on-line registration. I'll need a signature in the register, sometime. Tea is at four-fifteen, but we're flexible. It depends on who comes. I'll leave you to settle and go see to the fixings." He had opened the door to let them in, leaving the key in the lock.
"We'll be down in a few minutes." Ellen pulled out the key and closed the door. The walls were light yellow. Gauzy gold curtains covered the windows. Heavier gold drapes were tied open. Between the windows, a door out to the shared balcony. Bed to the right, a small oak writing desk and a roughly matching ladder-back chair to the left. Two easy chairs with a round pedestal table along the windows. The bathroom, which Geoff had immediately occupied, opened just to the left of the door they'd come in, with a closet to the right. The king-size bed filled most of the room, walnut headboard rising up the wall past a generous pile of pillows. The bedding was yellow, but with a rose tint. Bedside tables were maple, aged to a soft tan, a lamp on each. A television set, she assumed, perched inside the large mahogany object, fan-doors on top and dresser drawers below, that loomed up at the foot of the bed. The floor was bare, wide dark pine boards. Three tufted rugs, with floral centers and borders in burgundy and gold lay beside and at the foot of the bed.
A good room, the Saffron. She looked in the closet. Extra pillows and blankets, ironing board and iron. A dozen wood hangers hung free. Everything clean, solid, simple. Nothing pretentious, except maybe the media cabinet, but what can anybody do with those? Her bladder began to twitch.
"Hey, you in there," she knocked her knuckles on the paneled wooden door.
"All flus
hed." Geoff opened the door and stepped out so she could step in.
"A tub! There wasn't a tub last time, and it's a five-footer! This will be a good trip." She turned to look at Geoff.
"Did you bring your salts?" he asked.
"No, but Asheville will provide. Go park, then meet me here, so we can go together down, sir."
"I really do want to see Stephanie, and for you to meet her. But it's quite strangely weird. I need your understanding." He put his hand on the guestroom doorknob.
"I'll cover you, as always. Don't worry. Of course, if it's called for, I may cause grievous harm later. Park, my beloved."
~
"Alistair is running a little late," Mary-Beth said to her sister.
"New people moving in, he's been with them." They sat side-by-side on a narrow sofa in the parlor, waiting for the Juniper House afternoon tea. "Soon as they're downstairs," Beth-Ann said, "he'll start serving." Like her sister, she spoke softly, inaudible from any distance. They were dressed, not identically, but very similarly: frilly flower-print dresses, neck ruffles, bodice ruffles, shoulder ruffles, wrist ruffles, well-cut, good fabric. The print was pale, old-fashioned, with long sleeves and ankle length skirts. There were half-sheet binders open on the table in front of them, a little bigger than a sheet of standard paper sideways. They referred to pages as they spoke, looking over spread sheets, address lists, sales histories, balance sheets, product specs. The binders were thin, the covers wrapped with fabric similar to their dresses. Closed, they looked like diaries.
"I'm happy with the Cavallutos." Mary-Beth said. "We need an Asheville operation, we won't find anybody better."
"I agree," her sister said. "We can't expect perfection. They'll be good enough."
"The inversion is interesting, he's the salesman, she's the back office. He'll be booking orders, handling all the CRM."
"Women are weird that way, present company not excepted. Normally we ignore a man's opinion is these areas, blank him out. But when presented with one who seems even slightly knowledgeable, we're suddenly sure he's a serious expert, and take his word over a much smarter woman's."
"I hope, conceding you're correct, that's changing. Woman cook, man chef, I know, but it's eroding. We're astronauts, soldiers, judges."
"Main limitation for Cavallutos, lack of history. We'll have to monitor closely, not just the figures. I'd anticipate one of us returning every month for a while."
"What do we set for territory?"
"Don't want to limit them unduly, but it's a two-year commitment. We should be conservative. I think stick to the two-eight-eight zip-codes, that's pretty much Asheville city limits. Reserve the two-eight-sevens, the rest of western North Carolina. Increase their scope later, if it looks like they can handle it. Or find somebody else.
"Good. No point giving up more than necessary. I'd expect a squawk, though."
"We note the squawk, won't be a deal killer. What do you anticipate, first year?"
"I never do, too much variability in set-up and run-up times for a new shop. Two or three years in, quarter-million, easy. We give them the rest of the region, and they're prepared to work it, I think a half-mil is in reach. Almost three hundred thousand people, with good demographics, from our standpoint."
They had been holding hands as they talked, looking at their binders from time to time, watching each other's eyes carefully. They weren't whispering, and there was no vehemence in their conversation. From close enough it was entirely clear. From across the room no one but a lip reader could make out their words.
~
Honoria Staedtler wasn't a lip-reader, but she had learned a little from her deaf aunt half-a-century ago. It was business they were discussing. That much was clear if she focused on the lips. Just looking, they could have been remembering beau's lost in the Great War. How fun, Honoria thought, I love things not quite what they seem. They're twins, aren't they? They had arrived yesterday after tea but hadn't come down for dessert, so she hadn't got a look at them until now. Honoria was knitting a very fine alpaca yarn on circular needles. It would be a sweater in a day or two. She peered at the women over wire-rimmed glasses perched low on her nose. They were just one-and-a-quarter magnifiers. She didn't need them. But she thought they went well with her gray hair lifted in a high bun, the fountain pen and the little leather notebook on the table in front of her.
More guests than the last time she'd stayed at Juniper House. There was a family of German tourists in the Carriage House. Alistair said they were on a day-trip down to the waterfalls. Two new couples, one arrived hours earlier, the other just now hauling their bags up. And, look, two men coming down the right-hand stairs. Also a couple, she'd say, the way they carved space. Very sturdy looking fellows, middle thirties, work-sturdy not play-sturdy. The red-head with the goatee kept his eyes down; the sandy-haired one looked directly at her and smiled. She smiled and nodded back. Still more fun.
Before the men found a place to settle in the parlor, Alistair poked his head in from the dining room and invited everyone to come find a table for tea. Still no sign of the other couples. Honoria gathered her things. To be honest, she admitted, her props.
~
Stephanie wasn't sure how Harold would react, meeting Geoff. Or how she would handle meeting Ellen. Eighteen years since Geoff had dumped her, still as fresh as yesterday. Her ten years with Charlie Digg and their divorce two years ago, that was ancient history, no scars, no hurt left, from Charlie. He was a jerk, but he wasn't mean. They were almost friends again, since the divorce. But Geoff was yesterday. She had been broken and bewildered, and there'd been nobody to go to. Geoff was her only male friend. They'd been so locked into each other, she didn't have any close female friends, either. Her brothers had helped, except since they wanted to tear off Geoff's arms and legs, they'd put her into the not-very-welcome position of defending him. Mom and dad reminded her they'd said no good could come from living together unmarried. Dad had actually used that horrible phrase, getting the milk for free. Pretty much that left her her. After a long and painful while, she'd come to see Geoff's point. An appendage, was what he'd called her, that was as bad as the cow and the milk. But she had stopped being a separate person, he was right about that, defining herself entirely by her connection to him. Could she have got over that, staying with him? He had seemed so big, she just let herself disappear inside him. So, getting dumped had been a good thing? Probably. They couldn't have separated and kept on as friends, not then, not possibly. He'd just gone completely away, enlisted in the army, of all things. She'd never seen him after that night, until now, bringing his bags up the flagstone walk with Alistair and Ellen.
Those electricians are here again, maybe they're celebrating an anniversary, too. Harold wouldn't like it. He wasn't prejudiced, exactly, but they made him uncomfortable, like they were doing something to him, just being who they were. Seems like the twenty-first century was time to get over all that, but it's not something anyone else can do for you. Like getting over Geoff, for her. Growth hurts. She didn't love Harold the way she'd loved Geoff, that was a one-time thing; but she and Harold were making their lives work.
Would Harold like her news? In theory he'd be thrilled. But you can't just love the idea of a child, you have to love whoever pops out. Dealing with that is what it's all about. Well, they'd handle it, more growing up for both of them.
Okay, check list: fresh clothes, makeup's clean, hair's good, lay on a little bling. Roust Harold out of his Wall Street Journal, and walk on down to destiny. Anyway, go get us some tea. She really would be seeing Geoff and Ellen in a minute or two. Wait, pee first, always pee first..
chapter sixth
Geoff opened the guestroom door and gestured Ellen into the hall. She had changed into a crisp linen shirtwaist dress, jade bracelet, emerald ear studs, and dark green pumps. He looked down at his jeans and scruffy shoes. Maybe he should change for dinner.
Ellen went first down the stairs, turned left into the parlor, then left agai
n into the dining room. There were six tables for four, two were empty. Seven people looked up and smiled as she came in. A man and a woman sat by a window that overlooked the gardens behind the main house. Two men in their thirties sat at the other back table reading, one a book, one a magazine. A short alert elderly woman sat at the table beside them, knitting a tiny yarn with tiny needles. Two central casting old-maid aunts sat holding hands at the near end, by the door; she almost missed seeing them as she walked past. Ellen crossed to the table where the man and woman sat, turned her back to the wall, facing around to Geoff.
