“And she is prettier than you,” Bailey added.
At this, Marcus, who had locked eyes with Molly, ducked his head in embarrassment. “Well, I won’t argue with that,” he said. “But Molly is already doing us a pretty big favor, letting you stay in her room tonight. And I’m not sure she wants to read you the book.”
Bailey was willing to consider this parry. She took a measuring glance at Molly, who gave her a smile in return, then turned back to her dad.
“We should ask her,” Bailey said.
“Well,” Marcus said, rising to his feet. “Why don’t you go ahead?”
“Would you read the book to us?” Bailey said.
“I would be glad to read it to you,” Molly said. “It’s a favorite of mine, too.” The book wasn’t one of her own, but it was a Christmas classic, and something she often pulled out around this time of year herself.
“And tuck us in,” Addison added, not to be outdone. And probably, Molly reflected to herself wryly, knowing a sucker when she saw one.
“Now, wait a minute,” Marcus said. “Just because she said she’d read you a book doesn’t mean she’s signed up for nanny duty.”
“Tuck us in!” Bailey sang, her eyes suddenly as wide and irresistible as a puppy’s. “Will you tuck us in? Please tuck us in!”
Molly laughed. “I think that could be arranged,” she said.
“You two are amazing,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I’m going to have you come to my next salary negotiation.”
“Daddy,” Bailey said in her high piping voice. “What’s a salary negotiation?”
“Something that I hope you don’t have to worry about for a good long time,” Marcus said, beginning to shoo them toward their room.
He glanced back over his shoulder as they began to trundle along in basically the right direction. Thank you, he mouthed as they went.
Molly nodded and shook her head. “It’s no problem,” she said.
“I’ll just get them changed, and then . . .”
She nodded as he disappeared into the room that had so recently been her office.
Seemingly almost instantly, Bailey reappeared, shoving her arms clumsily but with determination through the sleeves of a ruffled pink flannel nightgown.
“Okay!” she announced, hopping around with an amount of energy that seemed to portend that the odds of her surrendering to sleep any time soon were slim. “We are ready for our stoorrry!”
But the way she sang the word “story” melted Molly’s writer’s heart. Bailey drew out the syllables with expectation.
“Yes, ma’am,” Molly said, giving a little salute as she walked into the girls’ room. “One story, coming right up.”
By now, Addison had changed into white footed pajamas.
She helped Marcus smooth a blanket out on one of the daybeds, then sat down on it while he picked up a sheet to begin to make up the second one.
Bailey took Molly’s hand, led her over, and waited for her to sit down, before clambering up onto the daybed and settling in comfortably at Molly’s side.
“All right,” Molly said, running her hand over the beautiful cover image of a silver fairy peeking out between the branches of a snowy pine. “Are you girls ready for a story?”
“Yes!” the girls chorused.
Molly glanced at Marcus, who gave her a friendly nod. Suddenly, she felt slightly shy. She was used to reading to big groups of kids, in classrooms and bookstores. And years ago, when they were little, she had read to her brother’s boys. But reading in such an intimate setting, with an adult who was a virtual stranger in the room, was a weird feeling for her.
As she started to read, however, the wonder and momentum of the story took over, as a father went through all kinds of travails to bring home the present his daughter wanted most: a Christmas pony.
“Read it again!” Bailey demanded, when Molly closed the book after reading the last page.
“Again?” Molly teased her. “Did you already forget everything that happened?”
“Maybe he’ll do something different this time,” Bailey said.
“He never does anything different,” Addison said sleepily.
“How do you know?” Bailey said. “We haven’t read it again yet.”
“Okay, girls,” Marcus said. “Molly only signed up for one story. And these girls know that one story is the family standard,” he said, with a wink at Molly. “They’re just trying to see if they can pull one over on you.”
“I can’t believe that,” Molly said, looking from Addison to Bailey in pretended shock. “You girls would never try anything like that, would you?”
Addison got up with a sigh and padded over to the second daybed, which her father had just finished making up, complete with the stuffed tiger, which Molly was surprised to see was actually the older girl’s toy, not Bailey’s.
But Bailey wasn’t yet ready to admit defeat.
“Daddy,” she said, borrowing her sister’s tone of command, which she was likely all too familiar with. “You have to leave.”
“I do?” Marcus said with a laugh. “And why is that?”
“Because Molly is tucking us in,” Bailey said.
Molly smiled, seeing the opportunity for some negotiations of her own.
“I can’t tuck you in if you’re not in bed,” she pointed out.
Instantly, Bailey scrambled under her covers, then peered up at her dad. “Okay, Daddy,” she said. “Time to go.”
“I don’t have to go,” Marcus told Molly.
“Oh, no,” Molly said. “I think I’ve got this well in hand.”
With a smile, Marcus leaned down to kiss first Addison, then Bailey. “All right, girls,” he said. “Sleep tight.”
“Good night, Daddy,” Bailey said, hanging on to his hand for a few more seconds so she could give it one last kiss.
“I’ll be right downstairs,” Marcus whispered to Molly. “In case you need reinforcements.”
Molly nodded as he slipped out the door.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT,” Jeanne said, her eyes wide. “It’s like a miracle.”
“Well,” Daphne Hines said, “I like to think that every nasturtium blossom and head of lettuce is its own little miracle. But a whole big pile of them, that actually takes a lot of work.”
Jeanne grinned at Daphne, and then looked down at the bunches of fresh chives in her own hands.
“Can you spare another two or three of these?” she asked.
“Heck, take them all!” Daphne said. “Lord knows how long it’s going to be before anyone else can find their way down my drive. And once these things pass, you know . . .”
“They’re past,” Jeanne said.
“You’re doing me a favor,” Daphne said, “taking them off my hands. I hate to see things go past and not get used. And if I had to sit in my house for the next week, just watching all these chives and lettuce and squash go past ripe to rotten . . .”
“I have a whole inn full of guests who are going to be absolutely delighted to help you with that problem,” Jeanne said.
Tim, who had been outside, carrying yet another carton of greens and vegetables out to the sleigh, came into the greenhouse at the far end. He started to make his way down to them through the long, narrow paths between table after table of fresh produce. Daphne had somehow coaxed it all into being, safe under the arched glass of her greenhouse, despite the chill of the Vermont winter.
“Is that it?” he asked, his voice almost cheerful.
“No!” Jeanne said, her eyes wide with delight. “Look what else she just showed me!”
She held up the bunches of spiky greens in both hands.
“Fresh chives!” she said. “In December. In Vermont!”
Tim’s face crinkled in a smile. “Will wonders never cease?” he said.
“And parsnips,” she said, pointing to a stash of the white, carrot-shaped roots that she and Daphne had piled on a nearby table.
“And red potatoes,” she added, r
attling a bushel basket on the floor with her foot.
“They’re not quite ready yet, but I’m going to let her take them.”
“By which she means they are the sweetest fingerlings I think I’ve ever seen,” Jeanne said.
“And you have seen your share of fingerlings,” Tim added.
“That’s because no grower in their right mind would sell them when they’re this young,” Daphne said with a grin. “There’s no possible profit in it. Not if you want to charge a sane price for a potato. But,” she said, raising her hands in a shrug, “it’s Christmas.”
“I can’t believe you have all this,” Jeanne said. “And that you’re letting us have it. Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Daphne said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m an old softie. It’s easy to get just about anything out of me. What I can’t believe is that you were able to shake down Hiram Fletcher for half a sleigh’s worth of meat and cheese. That man treats his freezer and smokehouse like they’re the Vermont outpost of Fort Knox.”
“I helped Hiram out around his place this summer,” Tim said. “So we got to know him.”
“Well, what in the world did you do for him?” Daphne asked. “Build him a magic table that makes sausage on command?”
“He’d been trying to get his old milk filter running, and he was afraid if he couldn’t figure it out, he’d have to buy a new one.”
Daphne shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Farm machines,” she said. “Any one of them will set you back a year’s profit.”
“I figured it out for him,” Tim said mildly.
Jeanne looked at him, remembering how effusive Hiram had been in his praises of Tim’s talents as a handyman. And Hiram was not exactly an effusive man by nature. But Tim made it sound as if he hadn’t done much at all.
“Well,” Daphne said, “all you needed to do was tell me about that poor girl, with her good-for-nothing groom running off at the last minute. If that girl has a broken heart, she needs to eat!”
She gave a deep belly laugh, and patted her own substantial girth as she did. “That’s not how I got this, though,” she said. “My problem is I eat when I’m sad, and I eat when I’m happy.”
As she spoke, Tim carefully settled the parsnips atop the fingerling redskin potatoes, and covered them with the chives.
“You got a blanket out there for those?” Daphne said, her expression suddenly serious.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tim said.
“That’s good,” Daphne said, nodding. “Those chives are skinny enough, they might just freeze out in the open on your way home. But at least you don’t have to worry about refrigeration,” she said brightly.
“No,” Jeanne agreed, “that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Last one?” Tim said, hoisting the basket.
“Last one, but one,” Daphne said, patting Jeanne on the shoulder. “Come with me, honey,” she said, nudging Jeanne down the greenhouse aisle toward the door that connected the greenhouse with the Hines family home.
“I’m going to send her home with half a dozen jars of my apricot balsamic preserves,” she said.
“Oh, Daphne,” Jeanne said. “I couldn’t.”
“That’s right,” Daphne said, grinning back over her shoulder. “You couldn’t refuse!”
A few minutes later, Jeanne and Tim’s faithful draft horse, Magnus, bobbed his head in greeting as Jeanne stepped out of the Hineses’ house. Daphne waved goodbye to Tim while Jeanne tried her best to keep her balance as she wrangled a six-jar box of jam down the front steps, which were nothing but faint mounds under the huge snowfall.
When she hit what seemed like solid ground, she slogged her way through the knee-high snow, then stretched to pass up the box, while Tim leaned down to collect it from her.
As she climbed into the front seat of the sleigh, he stashed the jam carefully under the blanket, among their other many treasures: a side of high-grade beef, bacon, sausage, three kinds of cheddar, and an experimental Brie, along with piles of lettuce, crisp radishes, squash, several pounds of cranberries, and even half a bushel of apples.
Jeanne smiled happily as Tim straightened up and flicked the reins, spurring gentle old Magnus into a hopeful trot that dragged the sleigh forward with him, almost silently except for the faintest singing whisper on the loose snow.
“This turned out even better than I thought,” she said.
Beside her, she could see Tim glance over. His expression was happy, too, but he clearly had a comment he was holding back, despite the relief in his eyes.
“This was a wonderful idea,” she said, sliding her arm through his. “Your idea.”
At a tug of the reins, Magnus pulled a bit to the left to stay on Daphne’s drive, causing the bells at his halter to ring.
Jeanne actually giggled. “It’s almost too perfect,” she said. “When I first saw this old sleigh, I think I might have had visions of filling it with food and driving to our neighbors’ one day. But I don’t think I imagined there would be actual jingle bells involved.
“And this sleigh looks incredible,” she added. “I mean, sky-blue upholstery. I couldn’t have picked anything better myself.”
“I know what you like,” Tim said, pressing his lips together so he wouldn’t look too self-satisfied.
“Thank you,” Jeanne said, squeezing his arm.
“Honestly,” Tim said, as they slid on through the darkness, “I’m just glad we found a real reason to use this thing. I was afraid it was just going to be one more fix-it project I did that didn’t really fix anything.”
“I think you could say this one actually saved the day,” Jeanne said, squeezing his arm again.
“Well,” Tim said, “I guess some stories do actually have happy endings.”
As he said it, Magnus balked, then reared back slightly.
In the moonlight, Jeanne could see the shadow of a fox dart across the snow.
Then the sleigh, which hadn’t braked when Magnus did, ran straight into the big horse’s rump. It wasn’t moving fast enough to hurt him, but it gave him such a scare that he charged forward a few yards, dragging the sleigh along with him.
Jeanne felt a sickening drop as the sleigh left the even path of the drive and began to slide down the grade.
“Whoa, Magnus, whoa!” Tim said, pulling the big horse to a stop.
Jeanne surveyed their position, relieved to see that they had only drifted a few feet off the path.
But when Tim turned Magnus’s head back toward the road and prodded him into action, the sleigh didn’t budge.
Confused, Magnus turned his head toward them again, as if awaiting further instructions.
“Come on, Magnus,” Tim said, flicking the reins again. “Just put some heart into it.”
This time, the big horse truly did strain, the muscles of his powerful back popping and his hooves sliding in the snow as he scrambled against the weight of the sleigh. He continued pawing the ground and trying to yank the sleigh forward until Tim pulled back on the reins.
“Tim,” Jeanne said. “Why’d you stop him?”
“If he could have pulled us out,” Tim said, “he already would have. Something else is wrong.”
“Maybe if you just give him another chance,” Jeanne suggested.
Tim dismissed her thought with a single shake of his head. “Nope,” he said. “It’s not Magnus’s fault. Something else is wrong.”
He hopped down into the snow, which went up past his knees in the hollow of the ditch beside Daphne’s drive, and began to slog around the sleigh. The runners were totally lost in the deep snow, which came up almost to the lip of the sleigh itself on the side that listed the most into the ditch.
“Is it stuck on something?” Jeanne asked, twisting around so that she could see his progress. “What can we do to get it free?”
“If I knew that,” Tim said, annoyance creeping into his voice, “do you think we’d still be here?”
ALONE IN HER ROOM, curled up under a thic
k cream-colored wool afghan, Audrey hit connect and waited for her Skype to come up with Jared’s image on the other end.
As the application hissed, bouncing through the wires to connect with Jared, and letting her know it was still in action with a little singsong tune, she smiled at the leap in her heart.
Over the months of their separation, those sounds had become so connected with seeing him and talking with him that she reacted to them the way she reacted to hearing his knock on the door: a little flush in her cheeks, a little thrill of anticipation, a little jolt of happiness, just to know he was there.
But some part of her was amused at the fact that she now responded to the sound of an Internet connection like a twitterpated teenager.
And some other deep part of her, one she very rarely let out, ached over the fact that this was what she and Jared had been reduced to: faces on screens, in moments stolen at odd hours. She missed seeing his face in person, kissing his cheek or giving him a squeeze. She missed the deep comfort of companionship, long hours spent together without having to say or do anything in particular. She missed just sharing jokes or thoughts or observations as they came up, instead of having to keep up the constant conversation of a call.
Tonight, from the disappointment of not getting to see him over Christmas, that part was still raw and stinging.
But then Jared’s face appeared on the screen, and she forgot everything she had just been thinking.
“There’s my favorite girl,” Jared said, grinning. “Man, you look beautiful, baby. How are things up there?”
“Where are you?” Audrey asked, squinting at a dazzling array of colored lights in the background.
“Orlando!” Jared announced, as if he were delivering the news that he was standing on the front porch, just waiting for her to open the door.
She could tell that he thought of it as some kind of big victory, but all she could think of was how far away Orlando was from Vermont.
“East Coast, baby!” Jared said. “You won’t believe what I had to do to get a seat on this last flight. We may have to have a conversation about it if anyone ever comes claiming that we owe them our firstborn child. Plus,” he said, “they’ve got some pretty great light displays here on the concourse.”
The White Christmas Inn Page 9
