“Of course.” Maggie recognized the woman Trevor had called Kaye DeVore. “I’m Meg. Thank you again. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come by that night.”
“Oh, hey. There’s always room for one more. Glad we could help.” Kaye studied Meg for a minute. “You must have family in town. At least I can’t imagine any other reason to stay in Clayburn this long.”
“No . . . no family. Actually, I’m thinking of . . . moving here. I’m helping with the remodeling at the inn right now and looking for a permanent job. You don’t know of anybody who needs help, do you?”
Kaye laughed her bubbly laugh. “Honey, if I could afford it, I’d hire you myself in a flash.” Her gaze corralled her herd of children, and the slight bulge under her loose-fitting blouse confirmed what Trevor had said about another one on the way. Kaye shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t know of anyone. I’ll keep my ears open though. Are you still staying at the inn?”
Maggie nodded.
“Oh, you lucky woman.” Kaye heaved a sigh. “That sounds like heaven. And don’t think I haven’t dreamed about checking myself in to Wren’s for a few days just to get a break.” She winked. “I might even let my husband come along for one night. We could get, ahem, reacquainted.”
Maggie felt her cheeks flush, but an unfamiliar joy rose inside her. Like she’d made a new friend. Except for her infrequent phone calls to Jenn, she hadn’t had a close woman friend since Kevin made her quit her job.
“Well, I wish I could help. Maybe after I get settled, I could baby-sit some night while you and your husband go out?”
Kaye brightened. “I just might take you up on that.”
Before Trevor came to paint again the following afternoon, Meg slipped away for a walk in the roadside park by the river. It was peaceful there and a good place to think. As she walked under the shade of the cottonwood trees that grew along the uneven riverbank, Meg thought about her conversation with Kaye DeVore. An idea began to percolate. What if Wren had a special open house to celebrate the inn’s new look, and what if she invited people from right here in Clayburn to stay the night? Advertise it as a sweethearts’ getaway or whatever.
The idea wouldn’t let her go, and she was still brainstorming that afternoon while she and Trevor finished putting on the last coat of paint in Wren’s dining room. If they held an open house, they could lower the room prices enough to make it an affordable date for community couples. According to Trevor, the way gas prices were, a trip to Salina for dinner and a movie cost more than a night’s stay at the inn.
Her roller moved faster over the walls as the ideas came until, finally, she excused herself to run and get a notepad and pen off the front desk. She brought it back to the lone table in the dining room and started scribbling furiously.
Trevor leaned out over the top of the ladder. “You writing the great American novel over there?”
She gave a smug smile. “No. But I think I just came up with a pretty good idea.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing you’d get excited over, but—” She snapped her fingers. “But you could help. Would you have time to print some posters?”
“What kind of posters?”
She glanced up at him but waved a hand, dismissing him. “Never mind. I need to talk to Wren first, but I’ll get back to you.”
“Ohhhkay.”
She ignored his feigned scowl and returned to her list. For all she knew, Wren had already tried something like this to boost business at the inn. But she couldn’t help feeling more than a little excited. It just might work, and then she wouldn’t feel like such a moocher staying here.
She jotted down a few more notes, folded the paper, and tucked it into her pocket. She pushed back her chair. “You want me to take over there?”
Trevor looked down at her from his perch on the ladder. “I’m fine, unless you want to trade.” He surveyed the room. “We’re almost finished, you know it? Another day like this and you could start on your border while I put up the trim and get the baseboards back on.”
She trailed his gaze. “It’s looking good, isn’t it?”
“It really is. I know Wren’s happy as a cat in a barn full of mice. She said you offered to help her with the decorating too.”
Maggie nodded. But part of her felt a rising anxiety. The painting was nearly finished. She would probably finish the border in a couple of days. Then what?
She looked up at Maggie. “A lot of people got hurt because of my foolishness.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I got the idea when I ran into Kaye DeVore in the library yesterday.” Maggie stood across the desk where Wren was paying bills.
Wren looked up from the adding machine, her frown of concentration softening when her eyes met Maggie’s. “Ah, Kaye. She’s a merry one, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but she was telling me how frazzled she is and that she’s been tempted to check into the inn herself. And how she and her husband hardly have any time for each other with the kids and all. I got to thinking, why not?” Maggie heard her own excitement rising as she spun her idea to Wren. “We could do a special promotion. Reserve the inn for couples right here in Clayburn and the nearby small towns. Pick a weekend when you don’t have any guests scheduled, of course—”
“Ha!” Wren’s wry laugh intruded. “That would be just about any weekend from here to eternity.”
That egged Maggie on. “It would be a romantic getaway—a way for husbands to treat their wives, or wives to surprise their husbands. And they wouldn’t even have to leave town or spend a fortune on gasoline.” She forced herself to shut up long enough to study Wren’s face across the front desk. What she saw in the dear, crinkled eyes encouraged her.
“Hmmm.” Wren scooted back her chair and retied her apron around her ample waist. “You, know, with the price of gas right now, people just might consider that.”
“Oh, I think they would, Wren! I really do. Maybe you could even come up with a special price for the weekend and include a candlelight dinner on Friday night. We could bill it as a romantic retreat—sort of an open house to show off the new dining room.”
Wren’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, Meg, I like your enthusiasm. Listen to you! You’d think you had part interest in the inn.”
Maggie colored, realizing that she’d been using “we” as if she ran the place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, honey, no!” Wren patted her arm. “It tickles me to pieces that you feel that way about the inn. This place could use an infusion of creative energy.”
Relieved, Maggie launched into some of the other ideas she’d been daydreaming about since yesterday. “And maybe we could get Trevor to print up some fliers, put them up around town?”
Wren slid the desk calendar closer and took a pen from the holder. “Well, let’s look at some dates and see what we can come up with. Bart may fuss a little about putting on such a big to-do, but he’ll warm to the idea eventually.” She looked up at Maggie. “How long did Trevor think it would take to get the dining room completely finished? The last thing I want to do is plan this thing and have him still fiddling around with the trim the night before the guests arrive.”
Maggie laughed, imagining what a kick Trevor would get out of Wren’s comment when she told him tonight. “I think he’s planning to be done with his part in the next couple of days. And if you’re sure you don’t mind letting me stay here while I’m working on the border, I can probably have it done in two or three days.”
Wren snapped her fingers and started paging through the calendar. “I’ve got it! We’ll make it an after-harvest celebration. If we get a few more of these warm days in a row, the wheat harvest will be finished in a couple of weeks. The farmers will be ready for a break, their wives will be beyond ready, and everybody will have a little money in their pockets to play with.”
“That’s perfect.” Maggie gave a sharp clap.
Wren gla
nced toward the dining room. “Oh, but I’ve got curtains to hang and that drywall dust is all over everything—”
“I’ll help, Wren. I’ll be happy to help. We can make centerpieces for the tables and—” She looked around the lobby, and inspiration struck. “It’ll be too hot for a fire, but we could fill the fireplace with candles. Dozens of candles! That would make such a romantic setting.”
She turned to find Wren watching her with an odd smile. “What’s got Miss Meg cooking up romance, I wonder? It wouldn’t have anything to do with our resident carpenter, now would it?”
Maggie took in a sharp breath. “No. Oh, no. Not at all. I mean . . . Trevor’s nice and all, but, well, I barely know him. We barely know each other.”
Wren winked. “I knew Bart Johannsen for three whole weeks before I knew he was the one and only man for me. Sometimes you just know.”
Maggie wondered if Wren knew that Trevor had told her about Jack, and Wren’s youthful indiscretion. She didn’t feel right asking, but—as if Wren had read Maggie’s mind—she offered her story.
A shadow crossed her face. “Now don’t get me wrong. Bart and I didn’t rush to the altar. We took our time to really get to know each other. To make sure God had the same idea we did about our getting married. Once upon a time I didn’t check it out with God.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, that’s not exactly right. I knew what God thought about it from the beginning. I . . . I just didn’t want to pay attention. Wanted to go my own way. I was too stubborn for my own good.”
She looked up at Maggie. “A lot of people got hurt because of my foolishness.”
Wren’s confession nudged at Maggie’s conscience. “Wren”—Maggie dropped her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t get Trevor in trouble. “Trevor told me a little. He didn’t think you’d mind. He said Jack . . . is your son.”
Wren nodded, averting her eyes. “He’s my son. But I didn’t get to be his mother. Not until he was already grown. I watched him grow up from afar, and you can’t know what a joy and anguish that was all at once. We were friends for a while. Until Amy—Trevor’s wife’s accident.”
The shadow upon her countenance deepened. “It was devastating for him. And I lost him—we all lost him—over it. It’s one of the sorrows of my life, Meg. It was bad enough Trevor losing Amy and Trev. Jack doesn’t seem to see that he’s only made Trevor’s grief worse. He’s become a selfish shell of a man. But of all people, I can’t judge a man for being selfish. It was the root of my own mistake. I’d give anything to undo it.”
“Wren! You don’t have a selfish bone in your body.”
“Oh, honey I do. We all do, truth be told. Only by God’s grace—” She shook her head. “I’ve grown, I’ve grown.” Wren seemed to be far away.
Maggie wanted to touch her, to offer some comfort. But she hesitated, not wishing to intrude on Wren’s private thoughts.
After a moment, Wren came to herself and put on her old, familiar smile. “And you, Meg. I apologize if I pushed a little—you know, with you and Trevor. I fancy myself a matchmaker sometimes.” She gave a musical chuckle. “That’s gotten me into a bit of trouble from time to time, but I’ve had a little success too. Don’t think I haven’t. In fact, you can talk to Kaye and Douglas DeVore about that.”
Maggie laughed, relieved to have Wren back to her cheerful self. “Really?”
Wren winked. “Those kids of theirs—I think there’s half a dozen of ’em now—they practically think of me as Grandma.”
Watching Wren, Maggie’s whole being was bathed in warmth. Knowing that this wonderful, kindhearted woman had made mistakes in her past—the same kinds of mistakes Maggie had made—yet managed to find such joy in life . . . it gave her hope.
And look how people loved Wren. It was enough to make Maggie believe she might someday unearth the same kind of grace Wren found.
Wren moved around the desk, the open calendar in hand. “Well, let’s go find Bart and see if we can sell him on your little idea.”
Maggie laughed. “Oh, it’s not little, Wren. I haven’t told you the half of it yet.”
Wren chuckled, and Maggie followed her up the stairs, feeling happier than she could ever remember.
Meg and Wren whirled around and glared at him like a couple of crabby schoolmarms.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Trevor balanced a knee against the ladder and nailed another section of molding into place where the wall met the ceiling. He worked to the background music of Wren and Meg chattering below him in the dining room. If their banter didn’t tickle him so much, it might have annoyed the life out of him. They cackled away like two keyed-up hens, and they’d been at it for almost a week—ever since Meg had come up with the idea for some kind of after-harvest celebration at the inn. A romantic getaway for couples.
“We could make little centerpieces for each table,” Meg was telling Wren. “Something simple, but maybe with little sprigs of wheat, to go with the harvest theme.”
Wren squealed her approval. “Oh, yes, Meg! Bart’s flower garden should have some good things blooming by then. Daisies for sure and maybe some zinnias for color.” Wren sounded more excited than Trevor had heard her in a while. Meg was good for Bart and Wren.
She was good for him too. He couldn’t remember when he’d last enjoyed someone’s company the way he did Meg’s. He raked a dusty hand through his hair. Well, of course he could. Amy.
But Meg made him feel alive again. Ready to go on with his life. He’d started waking up in the morning looking forward to the day and coming home at night to sleep like the proverbial log. He had watched her, day by day, move closer to the truth, closer to understanding God’s love for her. How he longed for her to finally take that step into the Father’s arms.
Meg twirled around, eying the room as if she were planning to remodel. “Could we get a few more tables? So we could have romantic little tables for two.”
“Good grief, child! How many people do you think we’re going to rope into this event?”
“I think you’re going to have to turn people away and plan for a second weekend.”
Wren let out a belly laugh. “Well, I doubt that, Miss Meg, but I sure like the way you think.” She went to the windows that overlooked Main Street. “We’ll get the curtains back up as soon as Trevor’s done in here, but it’s going to be dark outside when we have the dinner. I wonder what we could do with the windows?”
Trevor hollered down from his perch on the ladder, “You could put up Christmas lights.”
Meg and Wren whirled around and glared at him like a couple of crabby schoolmarms.
“You know, the little colored lights that twinkle.” He made a twinkling motion with his fingers. “Like you put on the Christmas tree?”
As if on cue, Wren and Meg exchanged identical looks—expressions anyone else would have taken to be contempt—or worse. But he knew better and fought back a smile.
Wren propped her hands on her hips and bored holes in him with her eyes. “Listen, buster, you stick with the construction and let us girls handle the decorating.”
He reined in his laughter and offered a sharp salute. “Yes ma’am.”
Meg dissolved in giggles, and Wren chuckled along with her. They lowered their voices, whispering together.
He stopped hammering to catch Meg’s comment.
“You know . . .” She glanced his direction.
He pretended to be preoccupied with fitting a piece of molding flush with the ceiling.
“Don’t tell Trevor I said so”—Meg put her head close to Wren’s—“but the Christmas lights aren’t a half-bad idea.”
“Hey,” he shouted, feeling triumphant. “I heard that!”
More giggling. More whispering. He rolled his eyes—not that anyone noticed—and went back to work. These two were on a mission, and apparently he wasn’t invited.
Maggie woke to a low rumble on Main Street outside her window. She squinted at the clock, rolled out of bed, and hurried to the window
. A parade of mammoth machines—some type of monster tractor—rolled past, followed by several dump trucks and the usual weekday traffic of pickups bringing up the rear. Must be the harvest crews she’d heard so much talk about.
She dressed quickly and went out to the hall to see what was going on but stopped short of the lobby when she saw Bart and Wren, heads bent over the desk where Wren had been paying bills yesterday. They seemed oblivious to the commotion outside. At first Maggie thought they were praying, and she back-pedaled quietly out of sight. But she listened to their low voices for a moment before she became aware they were discussing business matters.
Maybe Wren was still trying to win Bart over to the idea of the open house. Bart had listened politely when she and Wren talked to him about it last week, but Maggie could tell he wasn’t completely convinced.
She turned and started quietly back to her room, but her ears pricked when she heard her name. She stopped and paused in the hallway, just out of sight.
“It makes no difference to me, Wren.” Bart’s newspaper rattled as he unfolded it. “You’re the one who’s always wanting to do things by the book. I don’t know . . . does the IRS recognize the bartering system?”
Maggie listened to the tinkle of the spoon in Wren’s tea, a morning melody that had become as familiar to Maggie as the clock ticking on her nightstand.
“I don’t know, and I’d just as soon not find out.” Wren lowered her voice, and Maggie had to strain to hear her next words. “And don’t you go looking it up either, Mr. Encyclopedia. The IRS can say what they like, but if I want to have a sweet young woman as a guest in my home, I’ll have her, and I’ll have her for as long as I please.”
Wren meant her! Maggie was touched almost to tears.
Remember to Forget Page 21
