Snowfall at Moonglow

by Deborah Garner

  “Well, he chose to come here,” Betty pointed out.

  Mist shook her head. “Actually, he didn’t. It was arranged for him as some kind of corporate gift.”

  “He could have said no.” Betty shrugged her shoulders.

  “Yes, he could have,” Mist said. “But he felt obligated to accept it. The phone conversation I had with him was odd. Still, it is good that he’s here. Hopefully, it will be good for the other guests.”

  “Hopefully?” Betty repeated.

  “Energy flows between all living things.” Mist took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. “We may just have to direct the flow a little.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I believe I smell chocolate!” Clive exclaimed as he stepped into the kitchen.

  “All the way from your gallery?” Betty fought to keep a straight face. “Almost two blocks away?”

  Clive grinned. “Well, maybe I just moseyed on down here in case something smelled tempting.”

  “Seeing as it’s the day before the cookie exchange, you mean,” Betty said, chuckling.

  “Exactly.” Clive laughed as he gave Betty a peck on the cheek and swiped a cookie from the cooling rack. “I felt optimistic about the timing. It might have been ESP.”

  Mist and Betty both smiled. It didn’t take extrasensory perception to know there was a likelihood of cookies being baked the day before the annual cookie exchange.

  “I think I heard a car pull up,” Betty said. She glanced at the kitchen clock and quickly dried her hands on a holly-patterned towel. “I bet that’s Clara and Andrew.”

  “Yes,” Mist agreed. “Clara said they’d be here about this time. Their rooms are both ready. I put Clara’s favorite quilt in hers and a collection of travel books in Andrew’s.”

  “That’s right,” Betty said. “Her last postcard mentioned they were hoping to plan trips for next year. Didn’t they just return from one? I can’t remember.” Gesturing for Clive to follow, Betty and Mist headed for the front lobby, reaching it just as Clara and Andrew entered. A chilly but snowless rush of air followed them in.

  “Clara!” Betty exclaimed as she hugged the woman. “It’s so good to see you again. As well as you,” she added, turning toward Andrew, who was shaking hands with Clive.

  “Thanks,” Andrew said. He finished greeting Clive and gave Betty a friendly hug.

  “We missed you guys last year,” Betty said. “So glad you were able to be here this time.” She clapped her hands, causing Mist to smile.

  “Yes, we did,” Mist said as Clara pulled her into an embrace. “And we have your rooms ready for you. Let me take your coat, hat, and gloves.” She held out both hands as Clara handed over her outerwear. Hanging the coat, she placed the hat and gloves on a side table.

  “Clive will be happy to help with your luggage, of course,” Betty added, giving Clive a nudge in the ribs.

  Andrew shook his head. “Not necessary, but thank you, Clive. We only have two bags, and I can carry them.”

  “Oh, and about the rooms…,” Clara said as she fought back a grin. Not only was she not successful, but she collapsed into giggles.

  “Are you all right, Clara?” Betty asked, eyebrows raised.

  Mist spoke up, smiling. “I believe she’s just fine.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Andrew said, grinning. “It’s possible she’s lost her mind. Otherwise, she’s fine.” He wrapped an arm around Clara’s shoulders and pulled her close.

  Betty crossed her arms and tapped one foot, imitating a stern mother facing a couple of teenagers. “What am I missing here?”

  “Well,” Clara said, only half recovered from her fit of giggles. “We won’t be needing both rooms.”

  “All right,” Betty said, uncrossing her arms. “That’s fine.”

  “Well?” Clara leaned forward and whispered to Betty. “Aren’t you going to ask us why?”

  “It would hardly be appropriate to question that!” Betty whispered back.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Clive said. “What’s all this giggling and whispering about anyway?”

  “I believe it’s about this,” Mist said. She reached forward and lifted Clara’s left hand, allowing the overhead light to reflect off a row of channel-set diamonds in an elegant gold band.

  Betty gasped. “You got married? How wonderful! We want details! When was the wedding? When was it? Who was there? Where was it held?”

  “What wedding?” Andrew said as Clive gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. “We eloped!”

  “Just three days ago!” Clara added. She looked at Andrew and beamed. He returned the same devoted look.

  “Well, what do you know?” Clive said, nodding with approval. “Newlyweds here for Christmas. What a great way to spend your first married holiday together.”

  “Exactly what we thought,” Clara said, her eyes sparkling.

  Betty turned to Mist, eyebrows raised. “Did you know about this?”

  Mist shook her head. “Not until Clara handed me her gloves a few minutes ago. I saw the ring when she took them off.”

  “Well, I say this calls for a celebration!” Clive said, turning to Betty and Mist. “Do you ladies have any of that fancy bubbly stuff around?”

  “I believe we do,” Betty said, heading to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of champagne.

  “Yes,” Mist confirmed, turning back to the newlyweds. “Maybe you’d like to settle in and then join us down here? Between the two accommodations you have booked, I suggest Clara’s room. It’s a little larger and gets wonderful light. The quilt is lovely too.”

  “Oh, yes!” Clara said. “I love that beautiful cathedral star pattern with all the holiday colors. I fell in love with that quilt the first time I saw it.”

  “Lead the way,” Andrew said. Grasping the two suitcases after turning down another offer of help from Clive, he followed Clara up the stairs. Mist and Betty returned to the kitchen.

  “Who’s that man pacing outside on the sidewalk?” Clive asked. “I noticed him when Clara and Andrew entered. He was waving one arm around and had a cell phone pressed to his ear with the other.” He attempted to grab a cookie, but Betty swatted his hand away.

  “He’s one of our guests this year,” Betty said as she blocked access to the cooling rack of cinnamon cookies. “I believe his name is Mr. Hartman. Isn’t that right?” She directed the question to Mist.

  “Yes,” Mist said. “I’m quite sure that’s who it is.”

  “You’re quite sure? Isn’t he registered under his name?” Clive made another unsuccessful attempt to swipe a cookie.

  “He hasn’t registered yet,” Mist said. “He’s been occupied with phone calls. But I recognize his voice.”

  “From when he called to make the reservation,” Betty added, seeing the confusion on Clive’s face. “Mist spoke with him then.”

  Clive rubbed his chin. “Well, he certainly seems… as we used to say… uptight.”

  “When people lead a hectic life on a daily basis, it can be difficult to wind down and relax,” Mist said.

  “He’ll come around once he gets involved with activities here, I’m sure,” Betty said.

  “Yes, involved…,” Mist mused. “Come to think of it, I have a very heavy order to pick up at Maisie’s Daisies. I think I’ll head there now.”

  “I didn’t realize flowers were heavy, but I’ll be happy to help.” Clive started toward his coat, which was hanging on a hook near the kitchen’s back door.

  “Thank you, Clive, but not this time,” Mist said as she grabbed a forest green cape from the same area. “I believe I’ll have enough help for this particular trip. You and Betty go enjoy the champagne with Clara and Andrew.” She wrapped the cape around her shoulders and smiled as she slipped out of the kitchen and headed for the front sidewalk.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A few soft gray clouds hovered above as Mist stepped out of the hotel and descended the front steps. Tufts of snow left over from the week before dotted the
ground to each side of the walkway, just enough to verify the time of year but not enough to form the white blanket that visitors dreamed of. Mist sent silent wishes into the air in hopes the weather forecast of a storm would be realized.

  Max Hartman looked up from a phone call as Mist approached. He covered the cell phone with his free hand and asked if he could help her, just as she expected. She knew any business-trained person would do the same thing, often expecting a polite no in return. Thus the courtesy would be extended and fulfilled quickly and properly and business could continue uninterrupted.

  “Yes, I would love some help,” Mist said, well aware this was not the answer Mr. Hartman was hoping for.

  “Sorry, but I have to finish this call,” Mr. Hartman said, feigning—or so Mist surmised—disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to help with whatever request she had.

  “That’s no problem at all,” Mist said, and he nodded in a predictably courteous manner. Much to his surprise, she added, “I’ll be glad to wait.” She folded her hands in front of her and leaned against the sturdy brick column that held the hotel’s mailbox. Mr. Hartman paced away and then back again, only a few short phrases clear enough to hear. “Yes, overnight express!” “Insist on fifteen days.” “Not acceptable.”

  If Mist had been wearing a watch—she never did, feeling time to be fluid—she would have estimated the call to continue another ten minutes. And the next call—Mr. Hartman held up his index finger to indicate one more—another five. Finally, done with immediate business, he slipped his phone into a pocket and turned to Mist. “How may I help you?”

  “We haven’t had a chance to meet yet,” Mist began. “I believe you’re Max Hartman. My name is Mist. We spoke when you called to make your reservation.” She reached out to shake his hand, and he perfunctorily returned the gesture.

  “Misty, is it?”

  “No, just Mist.”

  “Well then, how can I help you?”

  Mist smiled in a way that might have seemed patronizing coming from anyone else. From her, it appeared to be more of a calculated expression to break the ice. For extra measure, she tilted her head slightly to the side. A slender silver earring with a dangling crystal of rose quartz brushed her shoulder.

  “I need to pick up an order just down the street.” She gestured in one direction with her arm, and the two began to walk. “What is your favorite flower, Mr. Hartman? In the winter, that is.”

  “Call me Max, and my favorite… just a moment.” The man pulled his phone out in response to an abrasive ringtone. He looked at the caller ID, hit Decline and put the phone away. “You were asking… my favorite flower? Is that what you asked?” His expression told her he was sure he’d misheard.

  “For winter,” Mist clarified. She clasped the front of her cape and pulled it together as a gust of wind kicked up. “Your favorite winter flower.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Pick one anyway.”

  “Those, I guess.” The man pointed to a row of poinsettias outside Pop’s Parlor. Mist remembered Ernie, the night bartender, ordering them from Maisie a few weeks before. Some of the regulars had ribbed him about the display. But the traditional holiday plant added color to the frontage of the otherwise-drab local watering hole.

  “Poinsettias, nice,” Mist mused. “Personally, I like red dendrobium.”

  “Red what?”

  “Dendrobium. Such a lovely orchid. And parrot tulips, white, especially.” Mist waved to Marge as she passed the candy shop, then indicated their destination on the other side of the street: Maisie’s Daisies.

  “Quaint little town,” Max said as he looked around, his tone reflecting neither compliment nor criticism.

  “Yes.” Mist chose not to comment further, letting him draw his own impressions. Instead, she stepped inside the flower shop. Max entered just behind her.

  Maisie emerged from the back room, summoned by the bell on the shop’s front door. She wore a white sweatshirt that had seen better days and overalls dusted with potting soil. A twig jutted out of her purple-streaked hair, one sole leaf dangling from the end. “There you are,” she said. “I was getting ready to bring your order over to the hotel.”

  “No need,” Mist replied with a sly smile. “Mr. Hartman here was kind enough to offer to come pick them up.”

  “How wonderful,” Maisie said, turning her attention to Max. “Mist works so hard to make the holidays perfect for all of us. It’s always nice to see her get help.”

  “My pleasure,” Max said, both awkwardly and formally.

  “Give me just a minute. I’ll bring everything out.” Maisie disappeared into the back, and Max took advantage of the break to pull out his phone and send a brief text. Maisie soon returned with a large cardboard carton. Tiny tips of evergreens rose an inch or two above the top, approximately a dozen altogether. She placed the carton on the counter. “I just finished repotting them individually.”

  Mist reached into the box and pulled out a tiny tree about six inches tall. It rose from a basic plastic pot not unlike those that could be found at any garden center.

  “They’ll need to be watered,” Maisie pointed out. “I suggest early in the day, giving them time to drain before putting them on the tables.”

  “Good advice.” Mist laughed, imagining water seeping toward guests’ place settings during the elegant Christmas Eve dinner.

  Maisie stepped around the counter and lifted the box into Max’s arms. “Let me get the rest.” She disappeared into the back again, emerging with a gigantic vase of Queen Anne’s Lace, which Mist took in her arms. “These have a vase life of three to seven days, even longer if cared for properly. I’ll stop by tomorrow to cut the stems and add fresh water and floral preservative. They’ll be fine for Christmas Eve.”

  “Perfect,” Mist said, admiring the tiny white flowers. “So delicate, like snowflakes.”

  “Then you’ll have snowflakes whether the storm comes in or not,” Maisie said, “at least inside the hotel.”

  “The snow will come,” Mist said, setting the potted tree back in the carton with the others.

  Maisie held the door open so she and Max could carry the order out. “I’ll see you at the cookie exchange. Tell Betty I’m bringing lemon nut bars. I’ve had to hide them from Clayton and Clay Jr., just so they won’t disappear before I have a chance to share them.”

  Mist laughed. “I imagine there are cookies hidden all over town.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you do with these,” Maisie said, indicating the small trees. “Quite a change from the fancy array of flowers you’ve ordered other years.”

  Mist thanked her and followed Max, who had already stepped outside. Looking back at Maisie, she smiled. “Sometimes change is the most important order of all.”

  The short walk back was uneventful, aside from one delay while Max set the carton of small evergreen trees down on a bench to check another incoming call. Seeing a new car pulling up in front of the hotel, Mist gestured in that direction. Not receiving an acknowledgment from Max, she continued on her own, holding the vase of flowers close to protect it from the wind. She reached the car just as the driver’s door opened.

  “So, this is the Timberton Hotel,” a lightly accented voice murmured as a woman stepped out of the car. She stood no more than five feet tall and hardly appeared to weigh more than the flowers Mist held in her arms. Her light gray hair was cut short in a practical style that spoke of ease and efficiency. She wore a light winter coat and fur-lined boots, both obviously new.

  “You must be Nina Pereira.” Mist shifted the vase in her arms to offer her hand in greeting.

  “I am,” Nina said. She shook Mist’s hand, opened the back door of the rental car, and pulled a suitcase from the back seat, which Mist offered to take.

  “I can carry it,” Nina said, adding herself to the list of guests who were taking care of their own luggage.

  “You’ve had a long trip, all the way from Brazil,” Mist said. “We’re de
lighted you’re here to spend Christmas with us.”

  “I read about your hotel and café online and knew it was the perfect place for winter,” Nina said. “And I see…” Her voice trailed off as she looked around, both pleased and disappointed. “You have a little snow.”

  “More will be coming,” Mist assured her. “A storm is moving in tonight.”

  “Welcome,” Betty called, having just stepped out on the front porch. Seeing the vase of flowers in Mist’s arms, she escorted Nina inside.

  “We have a lovely first-floor room for you,” Mist said. With her one free arm, she set a registration card and pen on the counter.

  “Very convenient for sneaking out at night for treats here in the lobby,” Betty added, pointing out the bowl of glazed cinnamon nuts.

  “Those look tempting!” Nina said. “I may just have to enjoy one or two.”

  “Or three or four,” Betty suggested. Both she and Nina laughed.

  The sound of the front door opening was followed by Max’s rapid entrance, the carton of evergreens in his arms. “Where should I put these?” he asked, his cell phone adding a muffled ringtone from his coat pocket.

  “Excuse me, Nina,” Mist said, turning toward Max. “A table in the café would be great. Thank you.”

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Betty said, lifting a key from a hook behind the registration desk. “Mist seems to have her hands full.” She turned back to Mist and winked as she added, “With flowers, of course.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Closing the café doors for privacy and concentration, Mist took a look in the evergreen carton and then surveyed the room. The miniature trees, no more than seedlings, were exactly what she’d envisioned, and she felt grateful that Maisie had been able to bring them in. Potted carefully for interim use as decorations, she and Betty had plans for them after the holidays.

  Moving from one table to the next, she placed a pot on each table that seated two to four people and three down the center of a long table for twelve, choosing shorter trees for the dining tables so that guests would be able to see each other. She placed the taller trees along the buffet. Once she added special touches, those would form a backdrop for the Christmas Eve feast.