by Shirley Jump
She would make it through this temporary roadblock and she’d come out all the stronger for it.
As she watched the red and gold garlands on the garden topiaries sway in the gentle morning breeze, she vowed to herself that she wouldn’t dwell on the past. This was a new chapter, a new page for her art journal.
She turned away from the window and surveyed the festively decorated room to see what she could do to help. The tables and the speaker’s podium were already set up. Someone had set out holiday themed tablecloths, silverware and china plates and arranged the eclectic mix of porcelain coffee cups, similar to the one she’d drunk from this morning, on silver trays next to the sterling coffee urn. The tables needed to be dressed and set and the food from the Chat Noir needed to be set out.
Where were her mother and Gigi?
Elizabeth lit the Sterno pots to warm the water in the chafing dishes. When she was a kid that had always been her favorite job. Gigi had supervised, but she’d let Elizabeth light the little pots. The thrill she’d felt watching the purple jelly pop into an orange-and-blue flame was a visceral memory and it warmed her from the inside out.
Making herself smile in the spirit of “fake it until you make it,” she picked up one of the tablecloths, gently unfolded it and spread it over the closest table. She smoothed the surface a little too hard, trying to get it to lie flat, and she realized Daniel Quindlin was still lurking in the recesses of her mind.
If he was living in her head, it was because she was allowing him to be there. She needed to block him out. She needed to think of something worth dwelling on.
She glanced around the dining room—she had to think of something worthy, like the women in her family who had come before her.
Those women had made the delicate linens—like the one she’d nearly rubbed a hole in as she tried to smooth it out—by hand. Each generation had taken loving care to preserve these heirlooms and pass them down. They were guardians of the legacy. To Elle, the linens and the stories attached to them were nearly as important as the inn itself. The women from whom she and her sisters were descended had taken such pride in sharing their finery—the linen, china, crystal, the silver coffee service and chafing dishes—with the guests who’d stayed at the Forsyth. It was the little touches that made people feel at home and brought them back.
Elizabeth heard the rattle of a food cart in the butler’s pantry.
“There you are,” her mother, Zelda, said, after she butted open the doors and pulled the food cart through, a smile overtaking her face. “I’m so happy you’re home, baby girl, I can hardly stand it.”
Her mother’s eyes searched Elizabeth’s face. Her unasked questions hung in the air.
Last night, Elizabeth had been too tired to get into many of the details. She’d simply said there wasn’t money to fund the art department. She didn’t want her mother to worry about her. Zelda had been through her own trials and tribulations over the years. As long as the Forsyth Galloway Inn was in the family, Elle would always have a roof over her head and food to eat, but she would never have a lot of extra money. The inn gobbled up most of the proceeds, leaving very little left over. In fact, the place was looking a little tired, like it could use some attention. They still needed to fix the water damage sustained during the last hurricane, and even her beloved dining room would only benefit from a fresh coat of paint. All it took was money.
Elle didn’t want Zelda worrying about what she would do for work if the county couldn’t place her in another position—or better yet—find a way to fund her job teaching art.
“Thanks for starting the Sterno,” Zelda said as she lowered a tray of food into a chafing dish. “On my way down to the dining room, the Gibbons, who are in room twelve, stopped me and said they needed fresh towels. I went to the linen closet to get them some, but it’s empty. That’s strange because last night when I checked, we had at least three sets of washcloths, bath and hand towels. I wonder where they went?”
Zelda frowned and raked a hand through her auburn curls. She was in her midfifties and still had a shape that most thirtysomethings would envy and a peaches-and-cream complexion that was pretty near flawless except for the worry crease at the bridge of her nose and the faint lines around her eyes.
“I don’t know, Mom. I’m sorry. There were plenty of towels in my bathroom. I’d be happy to call the linen service and arrange for a delivery if you want.”
Zelda waved her hand. “We had to cut linen service. We do the laundry in-house to save money. It’s a lot of extra work, but it’s part of the belt-tightening process.”
Belt-tightening?
Elizabeth was about to ask if everything was okay when Zelda chatted on.
“You know, to afford this renovation we’re wanting to do. But anyway, I was downstairs a few minutes ago throwing in another load of towels. I did several yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t have a chance to fold them and put them away. But I know I saw towel sets in the downstairs linen closet last night.”
“Someone must’ve helped themselves,” Elle said. “No worries. After we get the breakfast meeting set up, I’ll fold the towels for you, deliver a fresh set to the Gibbons’ room and restock the linen closet. I’m happy to help out while I’m here.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” The crease between her mother’s eyes eased a bit. It sounded as if she’d been working hard. Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to lighten her load. While her grandmother seemed to thrive in this business, her mother was more of an introvert.
“Where’s Gigi this morning?”
“Lately, she doesn’t make it downstairs until mid-morning,” Zelda said.
Gigi had been talking about retiring and turning the place over to Zelda. When she did, her mother would need to hire someone at least part-time to help her. Especially on days like this. The Forsyth Galloway was not a one-woman operation.
“You look tired,” Elle said as she took a tray of blueberry muffins off the cart and set them on the buffet. “Not in a bad way. You’re as beautiful as always. But I worry about you with this load and cutting back staff. Are you holding up okay?”
“Oh, honey, I’m fine. This place is just...” Zelda’s words trailed off and her brow furrowed again. “It’s fine.”
She smiled, but Elle detected a certain note in her voice. She decided to take another tactic.
“Then, if everything here is fine and you’re tired, that must mean you’re keeping secrets.” Elle laughed. “Is there a man who’s keeping you up late? Because something’s keeping you up.”
She wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but she was half-serious.
Zelda snorted good-naturedly and smiled. “Heavens no! Are you kidding? I have no time to meet men. At the end of the day, I go up to my room and fall asleep in front of the television every night because I’m too tired to move.”
Zelda had suffered an acrimonious divorce several years ago and hadn’t found anyone else. Elle understood why her mom would be gun-shy. The split had been painful. Elle hadn’t exactly been gung ho to fall in love again after Roger. So, she understood her mom’s hesitation.
“Darn, I was hoping there was a man,” Elle joked.
Zelda ignored her. “Doesn’t the food smell good? Looks like Moriah outdid herself this morning.” Zelda lowered a pan of mini quiche into one of the chafing dishes. Elle did the same with the biscuits and a pan of bacon. Since the inn didn’t have a restaurant and only offered a continental breakfast to guests, Moriah West of the Chat Noir Café, a fixture in downtown Savannah, catered most of the events at the Forsyth that required substantial food.
Zelda picked up the tongs and helped herself to a quiche before Elle could cover the dish with a silver lid.
“Taste test,” Zelda said before taking a bite. “We need to make sure the food is as good as it looks. In fact, why don’t you fix yourself a plate and go in the kitchen and
have breakfast? I can handle things in here.”
“You are changing the subject, mother.” Elle put her hands on her hips and raised her right eyebrow in a challenge. “I hear they have speed dating every Tuesday night at Jack’s downtown. Why not give it a try?”
Zelda shook her head and cocked a brow, mirroring her daughter’s expression. “I’ve got too much on my plate with everything that’s going on with the inn. But bless your heart, you seem to be interested. Why don’t you go ahead and do it? You can tell me all about it afterward.”
“Since I’m only visiting, it wouldn’t do me any good, but I’ll go if you’ll go. I’ll be your wing-woman. We could ask Gigi to hold down the fort.”
Being from out of town was a valid excuse. There was no sense in meeting men who lived in Savannah when she was in Atlanta. Then she wondered how long it would be before she was ready to put herself out there again. There’d been one guy, Heath Jordan, a high school chemistry teacher—sort of the mad scientist type. They’d dated for about six weeks, but then Elle had started feeling claustrophobic and called things off. There was no sense in hanging on if she saw no future. It was ironic that she couldn’t find chemistry with a chemistry teacher. But she hadn’t. In fact, the thought of sleeping with him—and running out of excuses why she wouldn’t—was what had finally driven her away.
Chemistry was important.
And darn if her traitorous thoughts didn’t rip right back to Daniel Quindlin and his broad shoulders. Her cheeks burned at the memory of seeing him in the park.
Okay, so the wedding—or the almost wedding—had been years ago. She wanted to believe she’d moved on, and until she’d seen Daniel, she’d believed she had. She wasn’t pining over Roger. They hadn’t talked in years. But if she was completely honest with herself, she still struggled with one burning question. Why had Daniel been so hell-bent on talking Roger out of marrying her? Even to the point that he’d nudged him to run out on her at the altar?
What had possessed Daniel to be so mean? But when she’d pressed Roger for an explanation the one time they’d talked after the wedding, he’d told her he simply didn’t love her enough to spend the rest of his life with her. That single stinging sentence was all she needed to know. She convinced herself that she didn’t need Daniel’s motive for pushing him. The bottom line was that Roger was the one who had made the choice to walk. As bitter as it was to swallow, it was probably the biggest favor anyone had ever done her.
That didn’t mean she had to like Daniel Quindlin or let him taint her return to Savannah. Roger was long gone, a mere footnote in the annals of her life. The last she’d heard, he was in California. His parents had sold their home in Savannah and moved. There was no chance that she’d run into anyone from the Hathaway clan. While she was home, she’d steer clear of the places she might run into Daniel. As if they’d frequent the same places.
Inwardly, she rolled her eyes.
“Did you roll your eyes at me?” Zelda asked.
“What? No!” Ugh, had she actually made that face? “I have a lot on my mind. If I did, it wasn’t directed at you. I’m sorry if you thought it was.”
“Oh, honey, I know you’ve got a lot to sort out with your job. It sounds like everything will be okay. I’m sure it will sort itself out in the long run. We sure could use your help and we might even be able to pay you a little bit. I’m sure we could scare up the funds.”
“No, Mom, I’m fine financially. I have savings. I’m sure it will be fine. But you know what? While I’m waiting for my reassignment, I could stay and help you and Gigi out. It seems like you could use an extra set of hands.”
Zelda squealed and hugged Elle. “My middle baby girl is going to be home for the holidays. You know there is nothing in the world that makes me happier than having my girls home and I’m not sure Jane can get away from the restaurant long enough to come home this year. That’s peak season for her. Oh, Elle, you couldn’t give me a better Christmas present than being here. Just wait until I tell your Gigi. However, I’ll pass on that speed dating. You and your sister Kate should go. The best thing you could do for yourself, missy, would be to start having fun again. The sooner the better.”
No. Not the sooner the better. Zelda must’ve read it in her eyes, because she had a look on her face.
“What?” Elle asked. “Now you’re the one making faces.”
Zelda sighed and shook her head.
She thought about telling Zelda that she’d seen Daniel Quindlin in the park and asking her how long he’d been back in Savannah, but she didn’t want to talk about him.
“Who’s meeting here today?” Elle asked.
“The Savannah Women’s Society. It’s their monthly meeting. Only this one is special.”
Ah, the esteemed Society Ladies, as everyone called them. She should’ve known.
For as far back as Elizabeth could remember, the Society Ladies had had a standing date at the Forsyth. They even had a dainty hand-painted announcement posted at the foot of the veranda steps, in fancy script: The Savannah Women’s Society meets here the first Saturday of every month except January and July. All are welcome.
“Really? How so?”
Zelda’s eyes lit up. “Well, the hot topic on the agenda is the group’s annual benefit. You know how they award a grant every year to fund a rehabilitation project in Savannah’s historical district? Guess who is this year’s worthy recipient?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“This year it’s none other than the Forsyth Galloway Inn.” Zelda clapped her hands.
“Seriously? I didn’t know they funded businesses or private residences. I thought they’d stick to not-for-profits.”
“There are only so many statues and monuments that need fixing. So they expanded to include all properties on the historical registry. The work we want to do here is not just cosmetic. We’re still doing repairs after that tree uprooted and landed on the roof during the last hurricane.”
“Mom, the hurricane was several years ago. I thought insurance covered the damage. Why haven’t you fixed it?”
“Well, insurance did give us some money for repairs, but not nearly enough. Plus, you know how it is when you fix up one thing—it makes everything else look tired and shabby. It’s like a domino chain. We fixed the leak, but there wasn’t enough money to replace the wallpaper and refinish the floors where water warped the boards and discolored the finish. Oh, well, there’s a whole long list of things that we need to do around here, and you know how expensive repairs and renovations are. That’s why we’ve been tightening our belts and doing a lot of the day-to-day upkeep ourselves. We applied for the Women’s Society grant and we got it. The only problem is your Gigi and I have completely different visions of how the remodel should go. I’ll have to tell you all about it later, after the meeting. We could use your voice of reason. But right now we need to finish getting things ready because this is the meeting when they’re awarding the check. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“I’m so glad I could be here,” Elle said, setting a bowl of fruit salad next to a tiered tray of scones and Danish pastries. “I hope they enjoy the breakfast.”
“And to that end, I need to go check on the coffee. I just brewed some fresh. Want a cup?”
“No, thanks, I had a cup before I came down,” Elizabeth said as she stepped back to admire their buffet handiwork. Everything was in its place. All they needed to do was fill the urn with coffee, and they’d be ready to welcome their guests.
After her mother left, Elizabeth glanced around the room, and saw for the first time its tired floral wallpaper and yellowing white wainscoting. In her mind’s eye, the place had always been lovely. Now that Zelda had mentioned it, Elle could see what her mother meant about the decor being a little tired and in need of some love. In its day, the Forsyth had been the crowning glory of the neighborhood. Now the
old girl resembled a grand dame who was showing her age. Yet, despite her wrinkles and sags, she still stood regal and proud, beloved by those like Elle, who cherished her timeless grace.
Maybe the Forsyth needed a little reno-Botox. Nothing invasive or reconstructive. Because the place was beautiful as she stood, wrinkles and all.
Elle’s gaze snared the photos in silver frames on the wall and fireplace mantel. There were pictures of every ancestor who had lived here and managed the inn before her Gigi and mother. Someday she and her sisters would have their photos up there, too.
She took a deep breath and let the warmth of the memory of all those generations of independent, successful businesswomen—her people—wash over her. Coming home had been the right thing to do. It was a privilege to have such a birthright, a place like this to come home to when she needed to figure things out. She was happy to have the chance to help her mother and Gigi. After all, the best way to forget her problems was to be of service to someone else.
With a renewed sense of purpose, she left the dining room on a mission to fold the linens and deliver fresh towels to the Gibbons. She didn’t get very far, because the first person she saw when she stepped out of the dining room was Daniel Quindlin.
Her heart did a sudden flip in her chest and the sensation had her hand fluttering to her throat.
He was standing in the lobby at the front desk, looking freshly showered and dressed after his run through the park. A crop of stubble had accumulated on his face, but not enough to be a beard.
Seeing him again up close made her remember that he was tall. How was it that today he seemed bigger and more menacing than she’d remembered? Maybe the sight of him there, invading her sanctuary, was making her feel fragile and vulnerable.
Well, she needed to get over it fast because she’d never considered herself breakable a single day in her life. She hadn’t broken when Roger had left her at the altar, and she didn’t intend to start now.
But Daniel loomed, dark and dangerous, like he’d come for her.
