Room at the Inn for Christmas

by Mary Connealy

  “Burt Wilson and his wife still live on their place. Burt taught me how to trim the trees and keep them looking right and I found a trucker who’d haul them down to San Francisco and sell them for a fortune. I think in the next five years I can really make some inroads in the land loan, clear all that debt up.”

  “But that must take a huge amount of time. How can you still help here at the inn?”

  “Some times of the year are frantic; the trimming in the summer is the worst. In the fall I hire a crew to come out and cut trees and get them ready to ship. Then it’s a mob right after Thanksgiving for a while with folks coming out to cut down their own trees, but now it’s all done and quiet. This is the easiest time of the year. Mostly growing trees is a quiet business.”

  “I can imagine it is.” Mandy felt the peace of the night ease into her bones. The singers were somewhere near singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.” All her anger and tears were under control.

  “And you still have the cattle?”

  “I’ve expanded the herd a little. I’ve got a couple of bulls that make me money siring champion calves, and I’ve found a market selling those champions around for club calves.”

  “Club calves, what in the world is that?”

  Shaking his head, but with a pleasant smile, he said, “They’re just some fancy little calves that are bred for 4-H shows and to use as breeding stock. That’s enough talk out here in the cold. Are you ready to go back in now and stop being a vandal?”

  “I don’t know if a person can vandalize their own property.”

  “I think you’ve just proved you can.”

  Mandy smiled. “Yes. This helped, thank you. I’m so exhausted from the tears, I think tonight I just needed to let off a little steam in a less soggy fashion.”

  “Next time, try going for a brisk walk in the snow.”

  But there wouldn’t be any snow if she went back to LA. As they meandered back toward the inn, she let her thoughts wander to the past, hoping, like she’d just seen Cart do, she could find those old memories a comfort rather than a source of pain. As they went inside and headed back for her rooms, she did have a flash of memories but not as far in the past as she’d expected to go. Not her past with Mom and Dad. Her past with Cart.

  She knew why she’d stayed away. As they entered her room, she hung up her coat, then went to look at that box of ornaments for a minute, gathering her thoughts.

  She’d never come back because Cart was gone—or rather gone from her chance at a relationship.

  “You know, whatever was going on in Dad’s head, I had another good reason to stay away. A darned good one. I wasn’t about to run after a married man.”

  “I told you I’m not married.” He sounded bored with the topic.

  “That’s not the point. I thought you were. But what about you? Sure, I never came back to find out about a married man, but you knew I was single and you never came to find out about me.”

  “I couldn’t leave here, Mandy. What would I do in the city? And I didn’t want to make you come home if you didn’t want this life.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she considered that. He’d never even asked. He’d shown some interest in her since she’d come back, but how did that make up for the man not bothering to even try to contact her when she chose to stay away?

  Mandy saw before her a very stark choice. Stay here at the inn. Pursue whatever was between them. Maybe she could even end up married to him. A man who hadn’t cared enough to come after her.

  Or get out.

  She was left with the real reason she shouldn’t stay. Because she might end up slipping into marriage with a man who didn’t love her, not when loving her presented any challenge.

  A woman might be justified in being less than flattered, less than optimistic, about any future they might share. What if some other challenge came along? And of course it would.

  It gave her a deep sense of the need to protect herself from more rejection, more pain. And that meant she had to choose “get out.”

  She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “My flight is still scheduled for tomorrow. It’s a late-afternoon flight, so I’ll be here most of the day and can go through the inn, the books, make some final calculations. Then I’ll call Benji and list the inn.” She’d put off doing it earlier. “I’ll close it while it’s on the market. I might as well get out of business before the first of the year so we don’t have to deal with account books for the next year. We’ll close at midnight December thirty-first. I’ll hire an assistant back in LA to cancel reservations. Benji can arrange for a local plumber to winterize the inn so the pipes don’t freeze when we turn off the heat.”

  Cart’s jaw got more and more rigid as she spoke. When she fell silent with her plans, he said through clenched teeth, “So that’s it? You’re not even giving it a chance? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and you’re going to spend it on a plane, alone?”

  “I think . . .” For a second she wasn’t sure if she could go on. Her throat was full and the words choked off. Breathing in slowly, she went on. “I think I’ve given this inn too much of myself already. It’s all out of chances.”

  The inn and you both, Anthony Carter.

  “You’re not the first woman I’ve known who couldn’t see herself making a life in this town.” He stepped back and with a flourishing sweep of his arm he waved at the boxes of ornaments. “Have at your temper tantrum, Mandy. Those pretty things are yours to do with as you wish, and so is the inn. Even if that means destroying it. You were just getting a good start on the ornaments and tomorrow you can finish off the inn. Sorry I interrupted.”

  He turned and stormed out of the room, closing the door with a firm crack. Seconds later the back door opened and snapped shut as he left.

  What had he meant about her not being the first woman? Had he been involved with someone else? Had this other woman left Heywood because she didn’t want the small-town life?

  That might explain why a man wouldn’t come after a woman who’d chosen the city, but it also meant he hadn’t spent all these years pining for her.

  She sat thinking about her dad and Cart and her life, in a silence so complete she might’ve been deaf.

  But it wasn’t deafness. Instead she was just completely and totally alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday, December 24

  Christmas Eve

  She didn’t make the appointment with Benji, but he wasn’t a busy man and this would be a hefty commission. She was sure she could reach him and have him over on short notice—though she didn’t dare to leave it too late on Christmas Eve.

  She spent the middle of the day going through the inn, including the books. What she found there, how valuable the inn was, confused her enough she phoned and changed her flight. She had to spend more time going over things. She hadn’t delayed calling due to any indecision on her part, she just knew what a final step it was, and she wasn’t up to taking it yet.

  And then Angel made the star cookies with the date filling.

  Only when Mandy bit into them did the deep assurance of her decision begin to thin. The chocolate star cookies had murmured “home” to her and she considered them the inn’s signature Christmas treat.

  But these took her away. These cookies said Mom, Christmas, childhood, love. That rocking horse ornament had nearly done it, but she’d been so upset she’d resisted the wash of sweet memories.

  As she took a second bite of the delicate sugar cookie, two layers thick, with a sweet date filling, her heart warmed until it burned in her chest. She’d been doing routine things, helping, but now she wanted almost desperately to have baked these herself.

  Rolling out dough and cutting the shapes had been one of her favorite Christmas activities.

  Angel was in one of her vivid, flamboyant Christmas outfits. Mandy had worn a bright blue sweater with a beautifully draped cowl-neck and the same black pants she’d worn yesterday. She hadn’t packed much and she had one outfit left. She hadn’t planned
to stay through Christmas, but she’d packed one spare change of clothes. She held that one clean outfit back just in case she spilled a cup of coffee down the front of her shirt or Dipstick jumped up on her with dirty paws.

  It was Christmas Eve and there was plenty she could do back at work. She could always keep busy at the Halston. But she had weeks of paid time off she never took, and she’d warned them she might be delayed. They wouldn’t expect her, and they’d manage without her. She told no one, and since Angel didn’t know the time of her flight and Cart wasn’t around, there were no questions to answer.

  There were sixteen guests staying at the inn. Eight rooms, each rented to a married couple—most of them older, staying here while they visited family in the area for Christmas. Not all of them were coming for tea and they had said so this morning at breakfast, but four couples planned to show up. It was common for guests to have dinner plans, tours, family gatherings, that kept them away. And even these eight folks had plans later, to attend church and spend their evening away. Most folks stayed here for a place to sleep because they’d traveled here to be with family and their families’ homes didn’t have enough spare bedrooms. So they woke up, ate breakfast and were gone until bedtime.

  This smaller group was in a festive holiday mood. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra was on the iPod music system. “Carol of the Bells” played quietly in the background as folks chatted and laughed. Mandy got to know them much better. Many of them returned year after year. They offered their condolences for her father and were so complimentary about the beauty of the inn, the stunning decorations and the delicious tea and sweets that Mandy realized she had made her decision to leave while hurt and angry.

  She remembered what Cart had said about a chance to pick a different life. A single, independent woman didn’t pick a career or reject one because of a man. Mandy had let herself be hurt by Cart and her father, but the house shouldn’t suffer because a man—or better to say two men—didn’t want her.

  In the lush light of a flickering fireplace and a brilliantly lit Christmas tree with—of course—a star on top, the spirit of the season caught hold and she set aside her confused thoughts and let herself enjoy the moment.

  She made her way around the room, talking and smiling with her guests as she offered each another cup of fragrant tea. Amid the chorus of delight over the lavishly decorated Victorian parlor and the sights and sounds of Heywood, there was a real camaraderie. Nothing like this happened at the Halston Beverly.

  At last everyone seemed to have their fill of tea and cookies and the guests wandered on to their next activity. Mandy returned to the kitchen with the dirty dishes to find Angel puttering around.

  “That’s the last pot I need to take in.” Mandy set the stacked tray down and lifted the pretty round teapot. It’d been one of her mom’s favorites, painted with holly and berries and with an ornate handle that looked like a stout English ivy vine.

  Angel smiled as she stored leftover cookies. They’d used matching china cups and saucers for tea and small dessert plates, all part of the set that included the teapot. These were antiques and it might’ve been foolish to use them and possibly break one, but it was worth the risk to share something so lovely. Now they had to be washed gently by hand.

  The peace of the afternoon helped Mandy relax. She realized that what she’d most wanted to know from Cart he’d never told her. She drew water and poured in soap to wash the delicate china.

  Angel got a dish towel and came beside her to dry.

  “Can you figure out what Dad was thinking?” Mandy sank her hands deep into the sudsy water, scented with lemon. The dishes needed little attention. So it was easy to wash and talk at the same time.

  Mandy remembered Cart saying he thought it was about him. Was that a man thinking he was the most important thing in the world? Or a man who’d been truly hurt?

  “Do you th-think”—Mandy hesitated to say this out loud, but it had to be said—“that Dad wanted . . . uh . . . thought there was something between Cart and me and he didn’t approve? Could Dad have done this to keep us apart?”

  Angel wiped a plate dry and set it with a quiet click on a stack. The cups stacked up and the silverware dripped in the dish drainer.

  “Mandy, I’ve been thinking about this ever since you told us your dad made excuses to keep you from coming home. I know how much he loved you and missed you, what’s more, how much he loved the inn and worried about what would happen to it when he could no longer take care of it. To me this circles back to your mom.”

  The delicate plate Mandy had been washing slipped between her fingers and hit the water with a splash.

  Grabbing for it, Mandy kept it from crashing to the bottom of the sink.

  “Be careful with that.” Angel whisked it out of Mandy’s hands, rinsed it and wiped it gently.

  “How could this have anything to do with my mom?” Rita Star had died eighteen years ago. It had been terrible when it had happened. But they’d healed, all of them. Dad included.

  Or had he?

  “Your dad loved four things in this world, Mandy. He loved God first and foremost and he loved the inn. But he also loved you and your mother. I think . . . well, he didn’t say it in so many words—we both know he wasn’t a talker—but I really do think your dad believed the inn killed your mother.”

  “What?” Mandy whipped her head around to stare at Angel. “Mom loved this place.”

  “Yes she did, and she was more than up to the task of handling it. When I say it killed her, that’s too harsh and I suspect your dad knew it—which is part of why I can only guess at this. But she died of breast cancer, and your dad has said things, just a very few things in passing, that I never took seriously about your mom neglecting her health because she was so busy.”

  “But that’s a normal sort of regret to have, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, as long as it remains normal. But I think your dad never really healed from losing her. His grief was arrested, or maybe it just went too deep. This inn was his family’s heritage. It was his wish that they run it. And yes, your mom was willing to follow her husband where he led, and she loved this life. She was a nurturing woman; a nest builder, she loved decorating and haunting auctions and flea markets looking for pieces that fit perfectly in each guest room. She met everyone with a smile. Being an innkeeper was a perfect fit for her.”

  Thinking of what a perfect match Mom was for this inn reminded Mandy of more precious memories.

  Angel went on, “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t really busy. Your dad believed, after she died, that he was to blame because he didn’t force her to get to the doctor.”

  “But Mom was an adult woman. She should’ve been having regular checkups, but not finding time, well, that was her decision.” Mandy handed the dripping teapot to Angel and began draining her sink.

  Angel wiped, then took the stacks of plates and cups and returned them to the shelves. Mandy scrubbed out the sink once it was empty.

  “But that’s all part of why he couldn’t stop blaming himself—and the inn. Living right here, he knew exactly how hard it was for him to get away for more than a day. You know that, too, because he got away to visit you far less than he’d’ve liked to.”

  “But I offered to come home. He didn’t have to get away.”

  Angel put the last of the dishes away, then waved her towel at Mandy. “You’re making my point, though. He chose a life that made it hard to come see you and kept your mom from regular checkups and that’s what led to her death.”

  Mandy wrung out her dishcloth and hung it over the edge of the sink to dry. “So he saw himself as . . . saving me?”

  “Maybe, or maybe he didn’t see it as that black-and-white of a choice, he just wanted something different for you. He saw the inn he loved as a huge responsibility he didn’t want to force onto your shoulders. I think if you’d insisted he’d have let you come home, but it had to be something you wanted as passionately as he did.”

  Hadn’
t Mandy thought something similar last night? That she should have insisted on visiting. And if running the inn was what she wanted, she should have forced the issue.

  “I guess your dad . . . set you free. And telling you Cart was married, well, he knew the two of you had always been friends and maybe he saw deeper than most and knew it could be more. And if that developed, then you’d be stuck here for good.”

  “Stuck? But I wanted to come home. I always planned to.”

  “I think he just wanted you to have a chance to try something else.”

  Mandy leaned her hip against the sink and crossed her arms. “You think he told me lies out of kindness?”

  Angel tilted her head and lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “You have to admit it worked. If you’d really wanted to come home, wouldn’t you have done it? Why not say you didn’t care about money? Why not demand he let you come home, promise to live frugally, and pour yourself into growing the business and making it more profitable? You could have said you’d get a second job here in Heywood to make ends meet.”

  Mandy couldn’t remember for sure, but she thought she’d said some of that, but had she said it hard enough?

  “And as for Cart, you accepted him as being lost to you, married to someone else, without a word of protest. And you never once came home, not even to see an old friend and meet his wife and these children you seemed to think he had.”

  She’d protested in her heart; Mandy knew that. And she didn’t want to see who Cart had married. It’d hurt to even imagine it. And then the very good job offer had come, and she’d gotten very busy putting all her energy elsewhere. It all added up to her being a coward. Too scared to come home and face Cart. Too wary to come home and insist Dad move aside and make a place for her at the inn.

  Angel came to her and pressed a strong, gentle hand on her wrist. “It’s Christmas Eve. Come with me to church, then come spend the evening with me and my family. You shouldn’t be alone here.”