Zelda looked thoughtful as she rinsed the cup she’d washed, handed it to Elizabeth and dried her hands on her apron.
“Don’t you get tired of things always being the same?”
Elle blinked at her mother.
The question went against her grain. As an art teacher, she had lessons to plan, classes to teach, projects to grade and supplies to order. She lived by herself, but she had friends and a book club and she did volunteer work, as well as grocery shopping, meal planning and prep and house maintenance. Routine was the only thing that allowed her to keep all the balls she juggled in the air.
A sharp pang pierced her gut as she remembered that the main thing that kept her so busy—her job—had been crossed off the list. She was unemployed until further notice.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, placing the cup in line with the others on the trestle table in the middle of the large kitchen. “Sometimes sameness can be...comforting.”
Zelda scoffed. “Sameness is a prison. No, I take that back. Sameness is a death sentence. Sameness is a—Elle, are you crying? What’s wrong, honey?”
Ugggh.
Elle looked up at the ceiling, trying in vain to blink back the tears. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do this. She didn’t even know where the tears came from. She’d almost convinced herself that all these changes that were being foisted on her were for the best. But now it suddenly felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under her.
Her mother was at her side, putting her arms around Elizabeth, pulling her in for a hug.
Zelda held her like that for a few minutes, patting Elle’s back, before saying. “Sweetie, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make us a pot of tea and I want you to talk to me.”
Zelda tore a paper towel off the roll and handed it to her. Elle blew her nose and sat down on a bench at the trestle table.
Her mother put the kettle on and joined her at the table. “What’s going on, honey?”
“The situation with my job is a bit worse than I let on last night.”
Zelda nodded. “I wondered about that.”
“Why? Was it obvious?”
“No. On the contrary. You’ve been pretty stoic since you got home last night. Even so, it didn’t escape my mom-radar that something wasn’t right.”
As Elle filled in the details she’d left out last night, about how she could be unemployed for the better part of the year, her mother nodded along sympathetically.
The kettle whistled. She squeezed Elle’s hand and got up to brew the pot.
“Earl Grey or Darjeeling?”
“Let’s visit with the Earl,” Elle said. “I’ve got the cups.” She reached over and claimed two of the pretty china cups they’d washed and dried. Zelda returned with the white teapot with pink roses. That teapot held so many memories. When she and her sisters were growing up, anytime there was a problem or a celebration, their mom would put on the kettle and brew tea in that same pot.
Boy, the stories it could tell if it could talk.
Elle smiled at the thought.
Zelda set the pot on the table, turned over the tea timer and set to work putting together a plate of cinnamon scones that were left over from the breakfast. There wasn’t much a perfectly brewed cup of tea and a good scone couldn’t cure. The sight of the comfort snack on the table between them warmed Elle from the inside out.
As they waited for the tea to steep, they helped themselves to the scones.
“Is there any chance that they’d hire you to teach art at another school?” Zelda asked.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Not until next fall. Unless an art teacher quits during the next semester. Art teacher jobs are rare since they’re electives and the county has slashed the budget. Our school foundation was funding my position for the short-term, with hopes that the county would make room for it in the budget. My principal is trying to place me somewhere doing something else, but she can’t make any promises.”
“If they can place you what would they want you to do?”
“Teach an elementary grade or possibly work as a reading or curriculum support staff.”
“The teaching might not be bad, but the other makes my eyes glaze over just thinking about it,” Zelda said.
Elizabeth frowned at her mother, and Zelda held up her hands in surrender.
“I know, I know. They’re important jobs, very honorable jobs, but Elle, I can’t see you being happy planning curriculum.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind teaching, though.”
“But would you love it?”
“I love kids. You know I do.”
“But would you really want to get roped into doing something your heart really wasn’t in?”
“Mom, I have to make a living.”
“I know you do,” Zelda said. “But what about your art? You’re so talented. Teaching art took you away from making your own art, but at least you were still immersed in helping kids be creative. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you something? That you need to focus on your own creativity.”
“Mom, you know how difficult it is to make a living as an artist. That’s why I went the teaching route.”
“And what have you created in the past six years since you started teaching?”
She was right. After Elle spent so much time planning and grading art projects and papers for the kids, working on her own painting was really the last thing she wanted to do in her limited spare time. Since the wedding fell through, she’d all but abandoned her own art, except for the occasional page she did in her art journal.
Zelda leaned in and placed her folded hands on the table. “Hear me out, okay? What if I knew of a way for you to work as an artist and make money?”
Elle sipped her tea, trying not to look too skeptical before she heard her mother out. Zelda was one of Elle’s favorite people in the world. She was a great mother, always there for Elle when she needed her. Like right now, which was why instinct had guided Elle home in her moment of crisis. But at the same time, Zelda wasn’t always the most practical person. In her quiet way, she was often flighty and free-spirited, both traits that Elle loved about her mother but also made her dubious about taking career advice from her.
She swallowed the sip of tea and set her cup back on the saucer. She took care to infuse a smile into her voice before looking at her mother and saying, “What do you have in mind?”
Zelda’s green eyes lit up. “I want to turn the inn into a Zen-based artists’ retreat.”
She beamed. Elle blinked at her.
She didn’t have to hear any more to connect the dots. This was the crux of Zelda and Wiladean’s redesign stalemate. It had to be.
“Is Gigi on board with this idea?”
Zelda swatted the air as if she was shooing away Elle’s question. She sat back and crossed her arms.
“You know that your grandmother and I have very different visions for the direction of the inn,” Zelda said. “We’re investing a pretty penny into this renovation and I think she should be more open-minded. She’s talking about retiring this year and signing the inn over to me. She says she doesn’t want me to have to wait for her to die before I get my turn running the place.” Zelda frowned. “I appreciate that, but don’t you think she should let me run the inn my way?”
“And your way is turning the place into a Zen-based artists’ retreat?”
Zelda nodded. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful? Come on, Elle, you’re an artist, you should see the beauty in it.”
“Mom, I’m not taking sides,” Elle said. “But don’t you think that’s a pretty far departure from the Forsyth Galloway Inn’s legacy?”
“But Elle, you should take sides. This is your birthright, too. You’re an artist. I thought you’d be excited about us offering artists’ retreats.”
Elle sensed that she wa
s about to step onto a minefield. All she needed was for her mother to tell Wiladean that Elle was on board with the artists’ retreats. Elle was intrigued, but it was a big leap away from how their ancestors had always done things, miles away from the centuries-old business model on which they’d built their modest success.
“I’m not taking sides,” Elle said. “But I would like to hear what you have in mind.”
Zelda smiled and sat forward again. “I was thinking of ways that we could set ourselves apart from the hundreds of bed-and-breakfasts in this town and, poof, it came to me. Savannah is an artistic community. Offering a place for people with artistic sensibilities to stay and create while they’re here would not only be different, but it could be a big draw—pardon the pun.” She chuckled and looked proud of herself for the clever play on words. Then she reached out and touched Elle’s arm. “Think about it. We could organize art-themed excursions and programs. We could turn the dining room, with all those beautiful windows and all that glorious light, into an open studio where people could draw and paint. We could hold classes out in the garden and turn one of the detached guesthouses into a classroom. Here’s the best part—you could teach those classes.”
“Mom, I’m an elementary school art teacher.”
“Stop selling yourself short, Elle. You’re a talented artist. People would pay good money to take classes from you. Plus, you’re a native daughter of Savannah and a graduate of SCAD. I’ll bet the college would partner with us.”
“Mom, the college has no shortage of guest lodging. I mean, Magnolia Hall is right down the street.”
“Yes, but as far as I know it’s only for visiting artists and people here on official college business. We could cater to a segment of the market that’s not being served.”
She had a point. It was an opportunity to grasp an underserved section of the tourism population.
“Why is Gigi so opposed to the idea?”
Zelda waved her hand in the air again. “She can’t get past the Zen part.”
Elizabeth should’ve known. Gigi was as traditional as a Sunday roast.
“I’d also like to offer spa services and yoga classes. And tea.” Zelda held up her cup. “How fun would it be to get Daniel Quindlin to build us a little tearoom?”
It happened again. Elle’s stomach did another flip at the mention of Daniel’s name. Only this time it was an extended version with a little stutter step at the end. She put her hand on her stomach to calm the ridiculous feeling.
“Maybe Jane would even come home and run a tearoom for us,” Zelda mused.
Elizabeth’s sister Jane was a pastry chef and was living her dream in New York City. She was in charge of desserts at celebrity chef Liam Wright’s über-hot restaurant, La Bula. Jane’s star was on the rise. Fat chance she’d leave the big time to come home and open a tearoom in a bed-and-breakfast with an identity crisis.
“Honestly, Mom, you had my attention when you were talking art, but adding the spa and tearoom seems like you’re muddying the waters a bit. Is it a spa or an artists’ retreat?”
Zelda raised her chin. “I want it all, Elle. Why can’t I have it all?”
Wasn’t that the age-old question? Didn’t everyone want it all? Whatever all was.
“I’m not saying you can’t have it all, but you’re courting two different markets with the spa and art retreat.”
Suddenly it hit her.
“Would you ask Kate to run the spa?”
“If I had my girls here to run the place with me, life would be just about as perfect as it could get. And to me, that’s the definition of having it all. I mean, the three of you will inherit the place after I’m gone...or after I sign it over to you. You’ll carry on the family legacy. I can’t think of a better way for y’all to learn the business.”
Zelda looked so hopeful, sitting there with her wide green eyes and her soft auburn curls framing her pretty face and falling around her slight shoulders, that Elizabeth hated to be the one to give her a reality check.
“Have you talked to Jane and Kate about your plan?”
“Well, no. Not yet. I wanted to bounce it off you first. You’ve always been the voice of reason around here. And I wanted to come to a meeting of the minds with Gigi before I did that. But she’s being so difficult. Elle, will you help me? Will you help me convince her that this is a good idea?”
The problem was, Elle didn’t know if it was a good idea. Even though the Forsyth Galloway Inn was desperately in need of a good facelift, the old girl was still 85 percent booked until after the first of the year. There was obviously a market for traditional bed-and-breakfasts in Savannah. Maybe they shouldn’t mess with a good thing?
“So, did you mention any of this in the meeting with Daniel Quindlin?”
Zelda toyed with the scone she had been picking at since they sat down. Finally, she looked up and shook her head. “We didn’t get to the point of talking specifics because Gigi and I can’t seem to agree on anything. To tell you the truth, I think Daniel left feeling a bit frustrated.”
Oh, he had. Elizabeth recalled the conversation and the strange, flustered breathless way she’d felt when she was talking to him. Certainly not the way that most women would act around the guy who’d caused them to get dumped.
Yes, that was what she needed to remind herself when Daniel Quindlin’s handsome face made her stomach go all fluttery. He ruined your wedding. He ruined your life. Okay, so that was a little dramatic. But not so long ago, he’d disliked her so much that he’d urged Roger to break it off.
One could argue that the only reason he was being polite now was because of the work he’d been contracted to do on the inn.
“Maybe you should put the renovation on hold until you have a better idea of what you want to do.”
“Absolutely not,” Zelda insisted. “Every day that we haven’t established our new identity is a day that we lose business.”
“Maybe so,” Elizabeth said.
But every day that they held off on the renovation would be a day without Daniel Quindlin in her personal space while she was trying to figure out what she would do next.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey. Anything.”
“Why did you hire Daniel?”
Zelda answered with a bemused smile. “Why not?”
“He’s always had a reputation for not being the most reliable person. You know, after everything that happened with his grandmother and her house.”
And the wedding. Did everyone get amnesia in the tractor beam of Daniel’s smile?
Elle sipped her tea, which had cooled to room temperature.
“Oh, Elizabeth, that was so long ago. He was just a kid. People change as they grow up. You of all people should know how important it is for people to not hold past mistakes against people.”
She choked on her tea and coughed as she tried to talk. “What is that supposed to mean? What have I done other than trust the wrong man with my heart? You know, scratch that. It’s a good thing that we didn’t get married, because that would mean that I’d married the wrong man. So, I don’t care what other people think, Mom. I mean, we’re not living in the Victorian era.”
“Well, I was using that as a contrast. People grow and change. Just like you’ve grown and changed. He has cultivated quite the clientele around here. He does great work. He’s quite sought after for renovations of old houses like this.”
“But does he do Zen? I really don’t remember that being on the menu of historic Savannah properties. Somehow, I think that tips the power in Gigi’s favor.”
“That’s not fair, Elizabeth.” Her mother only called her Elizabeth when she was mad at her or frustrated or the conversation was serious. “He’s a good guy, but I don’t want to talk about him.”
Good. I don’t, either.
“How did we get off the su
bject of you, Jane, Kate and me running the place together?”
“Running the place? We weren’t talking about the four of us running the place...only helping out. Gigi is running the place. And then you’ll run the place.”
Zelda nodded and didn’t answer Elle’s question.
“Well, Gigi needs to know that regardless of how she renovates, when it’s my turn to run the inn, I’m going through with the changes I have in mind. It would be a shame to waste money.”
As much as Elle didn’t want to take sides, her mother had a point. If Gigi wanted to retire, she should set up Zelda to run the place the way she wanted. In the meantime, maybe they could reach a happy medium that would work for both of them.
Yes, it might work...
“You know, you may be onto something, Mom. Maybe you and Gigi could meet in the middle. Let her keep the interior and exterior of the inn true to its roots, and give the new art focus a trial run while I’m home. We could do a test and see how an art class is received. I know you’re already mostly booked through next year, but you could advertise a class and I could put together some local art tours and start getting the word out. Maybe you’ll be able to fill the fifteen percent vacancy and maximize profits?”
Zelda hopped up and threw her arms around Elle. “I knew I could count on you to see the big picture. Will you please talk to Gigi about it? She will listen to you, sweetie.”
* * *
The next morning, Daniel parked his truck on Hall Street, the road that ran along the south side of the Forsyth Galloway Inn. Wiladean had called and said they were ready to give him clear marching orders as to the direction of the remodel. She wanted to sit down with him and lay out everything. He wanted to get the project started. Even though she’d requested the meeting at short notice, he was happy to rearrange some things to fit her in.
He still felt beholden to Wiladean for taking such good care of his grandmother and brother, letting them stay at the inn after the house had burned down. Others in town weren’t so nice about it. While the years had taught him to let go of anger and not hold grudges, he’d never forgotten those who were kind to him and his family when they were in need.
A Down-Home Savannah Christmas Page 5
