Mist watched as Betty hung the silver wreath back on the tree, this time in the front. Guests settled back into conversation with each other. Greta and Chloe escorted the girls to bed. Michael smiled across the room at Mist, who smiled in return before quietly excusing herself for the evening. Her day’s work may have appeared finished to others, but she knew it wasn’t. Miniature canvases and paint awaited her late-night attention.
Back in her room, Mist looked at the four by four squares of canvas attached to her easel, grateful Clive had created clips to hold the tiny frames. Sales of her miniature paintings had continued to increase over the past year. It was useful to be able to work on multiples at once. This evening, it would be particularly helpful.
Moving to her paint supplies, she pulled out not just soft colors, as she often did, but the liveliest: bright red, cornflower blue, deep orange, sunshine yellow and a medium green. The vibrant colors awakened her creative spirit, providing renewed energy after the long day. Invigorating, she thought. Then she chuckled to herself. Rad.
Two hours later, Mist stood back, looked at the finished paintings, and smiled. Satisfied her parting gifts for the guests conveyed what she wanted, she slipped into bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Christmas day dawned with sunlight slipping through newly falling snow, creating a magical ambiance perfect for the holiday morning. Mist rose early and set up the coffee and tea service in the lobby. She put on Christmas carols at a decibel not high enough to wake the guests, but just loud enough to welcome them when they eventually entered the main hotel area. As she returned to the kitchen, Betty joined her from the back hallway.
“Merry Christmas, Mist.” Betty’s red chenille bathrobe featured an embroidered snowman just below the left collar, with matching designs on each of two large pockets.
“And the same to you, Betty.” Mist smiled at Betty, and then turned as the back door opened. Clive stepped inside. “And the same to you, Clive.”
“The same what?” Clive asked as he removed his jacket and brushed snow off his head.
“Why, the same good morning wish for a Merry Christmas, of course,” Betty said. She poured a mug of coffee and handed it to Clive.
“Gingerbread pancakes, right?” Clive said, eyeing a large pitcher of batter on the counter.
“That’s the plan,” Mist said.
“I’m ready to start flipping anytime.”
“Clive, I dare say you flipped a long time ago,” Betty said, elbowing him. Clive laughed along with Betty and Mist. The women appreciated Clive’s recent habit of helping with breakfast, especially on mornings after a complicated dinner. “Do I hear footsteps on the stairway already?” Betty said, ears twitching. “This early?”
“And giggling?” Clive added.
Mist nodded. It would have been far more surprising if the girls had not scurried down to study the Christmas tree. Mist had noticed when she glanced into the front parlor as she set up the coffee area that a few gifts had arrived beneath the tree at some point during the night, compliments of two sneaky sets of parents.
The sounds of the girls’ voices diminished as the adults began to emerge from their rooms into the front parlor, where Clive was lighting a fire. Warm beverages, a warm fire and the warm lights of the Christmas tree surrounded the guests.
Soon the smell of gingerbread enhanced the scene. By the time Mist opened the doors to the café, most guests had already gathered downstairs. They flowed in to choose their seats and filled their plates with pancakes, some topped with butter and syrup, and others with fresh berries and whipped cream. Clive fried up eggs for those who wanted them, and Betty refilled coffee mugs and juice glasses for those who desired more. The centerpieces on the table from the previous night created a combination of casual and elegant that was perfect for the holiday breakfast.
“Ah,” Rolf said with an appreciative smile on his face. “Real maple syrup.”
“Nothing like it,” Andrew said. Clara, sitting next to him, nodded.
Jo practically bounced up and down in her chair, already finished with her breakfast. “When do we get to open presents?” she asked. Hanna and Poppy looked expectantly at their parents, waiting for the answer.
“After breakfast,” Greta said.
“Let’s just enjoy the meal first,” Chloe said. She and Greta exchanged smiles, knowing it wasn’t so easy for children to do the things adults so casually said they should do.
The girls sighed. Hanna and Poppy finished their food, while Jo continued to bounce and look toward the front parlor.
“I remember being that excited when I was a child,” Michael said.
“Were you the type to sneak a peek at presents before Christmas day?” the professor asked. “I had a cousin who would find presents weeks ahead of time, open them, and then rewrap them.”
“Quite clever, especially if he got away with it.” Chloe said. “But I wouldn’t have done it. I prefer surprises.”
“I don’t think his parents ever knew,” the professor said.
“He must have been careful when unwrapping and rewrapping the packages,” Greta said.
“Indeed. He was meticulous. I don’t know how he managed.”
“I can barely wrap a gift to begin with.” Clara laughed. “It’s a good thing Andrew and I agreed not to exchange them.”
“The best gifts aren’t always wrapped in paper,” Mist said softly as she passed the table. “They sometimes appear as mystery, adventure, forgiveness or joy, for example. Even adversity.” Several people nodded, others simply pondered her words as they finished the last bites of their meals.
“Now?” Jo asked. She sent a pleading look toward the adults.
“Or hope,” Greta said to Rolf and the rest of her table companions before turning to Jo. “Yes, you and your sister may go on in and sit by the tree, but do not open anything yet.”
“You, too, Poppy,” Chloe said, and all three girls scampered away.
“I believe I’m ready to retire to the front room, as well,” the professor said, standing.
“I’ll join you,” Michael said, “but no chess this morning, please.”
“Agreed,” the professor said. “I would feel a bit cheeky defeating you on this lovely Christmas day.” Both laughed as they headed to the front room.
Soon, the others followed, and the glow of the fire, the sweet scent of the gingerbread house, and the enticing lights and ornaments on the tree drew them together. Once the adults joined them, Hanna, Jo and Poppy eagerly opened presents brought from home: holiday pajamas, new books, a bracelet for one, a glittery headband for another, and a variety of other items that pleased each girl. Greta and Rolf exchanged small gifts, as did the professor and Chloe. Clara and Andrew looked on, satisfied to witness the joy of the moment.
As the families finished exchanging gifts, Mist reached beneath the tree and pulled out four packages, each wrapped in burgundy velvet and tied with gold ribbon. Rather than hand them out individually, to be opened one by one, as she had on other Christmas mornings, she handed them all out at the same time: one to Clara and Andrew, one to Rolf, Greta, Hanna and Jo, one to the professor, Chloe and Poppy, and one to Michael.
“What’s this?” Rolf asked. He and Greta exchanged looks, grateful yet puzzled.
Clara spoke up. “Mist is full of surprises for her Christmas guests.”
“Charming surprises,” Michael said. He shook the package next to his ear, as if checking to see what it might be, though he’d experienced Mist’s Christmas morning tradition twice already and knew shaking would reveal nothing.
Clive, watching from the archway, grinned. “Mist, I do believe I saw you roll your eyes when Michael shook that package.”
Mist looked at Clive. “I do not roll my eyes.” But she smiled, knowing he’d caught her teasing response to Michael. “We can’t always believe everything we see.”
“Or see everything we believe,” Michael said.
“Yes, yes,” the professor agreed. “V
ery true.”
“Should we open these now?” Clara said. “Who should go first?”
“There’s no need for anyone to go first, or last, or in any order at all,” Mist said. “It’s just a little something to take home with you.”
“Let’s let the girls open it.” Greta gave the package to Hanna and Jo.
The professor and Chloe handed their package to Poppy. As the girls pulled the ribbon and fabric off the gifts, Clara and Andrew did the same, as did Michael. Everyone smiled as the miniature paintings were unveiled.
“It’s the gingerbread house!” Poppy held up her family’s painting for everyone to see.
“Same here,” Jo said, showing off a similar canvas.
“It looks just like the hotel’s gingerbread house,” Hanna said.
“How lovely,” Clara said. She and Andrew had opened theirs together, and now held it up. Michael did the same with his.
“What a wonderful gift, Mist!” Greta said. “How clever of you to give us identical houses, so we can remember the one we decorated here together.” The other adults agreed while Mist quietly watched the three girls comparing their gifts.
“Wait,” Poppy said, looking closely first at the painting she held, and then at the one in Jo’s hands. “They’re not exactly the same. See, Hanna?” She pointed to the doorways in the two paintings. You have two beds inside your house, right next to each other.”
“So we can be close together,” Hanna said, giving Jo a big sister hug. “Or …” She paused, and both girls looked at their parents, smiles fading. “It might be one for each room.”
“Are you saying … you’d rather share a room?” Greta looked at Rolf, and then back at the girls.
“Could we?” Jo said. “Could we share a room? I’d miss Hanna if she slept in a different place.”
“Can we please?” Hanna added.
“Of course you can,” Rolf said, and Greta nodded. “We can save building the extra room for another time.”
“What’s in your house, Poppy?” Hanna said.
“It looks like a table with … three tea cups on it,” Poppy said.
“What’s that under the table,” Jo asked.
Poppy squinted at the table. “That’s Figgy!” she squealed.
The professor and Chloe laughed. “Well,” the professor said, “I can’t imagine a better home than one with three cups for English tea, plus a sock monkey.”
“This is brilliant, Mist,” Chloe said. “You found us a perfect home.”
Mist smiled, knowing their home would be made of much more than canvas and paint.
“Look closely at ours, Andrew.” Clara held the painting while Andrew fished his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket.
“There’s nothing inside,” Andrew said, looking first at Mist and then at Clara.
“But look at the outside,” Clara said, pointing to a spot next to the door.
“Looks like a key hanging on a hook,” Andrew said. “A shiny key.”
Clara nodded. “Yes, as if it’s brand new.”
“An empty house with a shiny new key …” Andrew mused. “There’s an idea. Instead of choosing between our two houses …”
“We could sell both houses and downsize into something new,” Clara said. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“A new beginning, in a new home,” Andrew said. “It’s something to consider.” He put his arm around Clara’s shoulders as she turned toward the one person who had not said anything so far.
“What about yours?” Clara asked Michael. “Can you see anything inside the house?”
“As a matter of fact, I can,” Michael said, looking at his painting closely. “I see a fireplace, a chair, and a small table with a stack of books.”
“Sounds like that would make it a home for you,” Greta said. “I’ve seen how much you love to sit by the fire and read.”
“Reading is a passion of mine,” Michael said. “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t intrigued by an unopened book, even as a child. The pages inside always represent something: knowledge or mystery or another world altogether. That’s why I chose to teach literature, because I love to read.”
“Hear, hear,” the professor said. “My motivation, as well.”
“So the home in your painting is in New Orleans,” Rolf said.
“For now,” Michael said. “But I’ve applied to a few different universities lately, so we’ll see. But wherever I go, there will be books.”
Betty glanced at Mist, whose shoulders rose slightly. Had anyone else made the movement, it wouldn’t even pass as a shrug. Yet coming from Mist it indicated Michael’s interest in other teaching positions was news to her.
“Well,” Clive said. “I’m about ready to build a good snowman.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“I want to help,” Jo said, jumping up. Hanna and Poppy rose, as well.
“Jackets, girls,” Greta said.
“And mittens and hats,” Chloe added.
“My vote is for a lazy day,” Rolf said as the girls ran off for their outdoor attire. Some of the adults seemed to share his enthusiasm for resting.
Mist silently agreed. The last few days had been hectic A little down time would be relaxing for everyone, guests and hosts alike.
“I believe I’ll make some hot chocolate to go with everyone’s lazy day.” Mist said. “It will be out in the lobby, along with a tray of cookies.” Heading for the kitchen, she couldn’t help but smile. The guests were content, and a peaceful day stretched ahead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Betty took a sip of coffee and looked across the kitchen’s center island at Mist. “This is one of my favorite and least favorite afternoons.”
Mist nodded, her hands wrapped around a mug of green tea. “I understand. The day after Christmas feels like something special is over, yet it’s also the beginning of something new: the stretch into the new year.”
“I was sorry to see the Webers leave so early this morning.” Betty said, “But they had an early flight, so they had no choice. I thought they’d have to drag Jo out of the gingerbread house, though.”
“So true.” Mist smiled. “She really didn’t want to leave.”
“And the professor, Chloe and Poppy left right after brunch,” Betty said. “Speaking of brunch, Clive didn’t come by. It’s not like him to miss a meal.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Mist said. “I saw him sneak in for coffee this morning. And three blueberry scones were missing right after that, from the tray I had just set out.”
“I doubt he went hungry, then.” Betty laughed.
“No, I’m sure he didn’t,” Mist agreed.
“Interesting how everyone arrived the same day this year, and are leaving the same day,” Betty said.
“Each year is different,” Mist said. “It will always be that way, and always a surprise. We never know what changes time will bring.”
“At least those families have the miniature paintings you gave them,” Betty said. “That was a clever idea.”
“It seemed appropriate. They all worked on the house together, and they all face decisions about their living situations.” Mist sipped her tea and put the mug down. “Now they’ve had a chance to look inside and think about what they want, what they need.”
“I hope this hotel will be their Christmas home for years to come, regardless of where they settle during the rest of the time,” Betty said.
“Some will return, and some won’t.” Mist’s words lingered in the air like wind deciding whether to change direction or not.
“Clara and Andrew will be back, I think,” Betty said. “She’s been spending Christmas here for years.”
“Yes, they plan to come back.” Clive’s voice surprised them. Buried in thought, they hadn’t noticed him appear in the kitchen doorway. “At least that’s what they said. They’re in the front hallway getting ready to leave.”
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Betty said as she stood.
“We should go see Clara and Andrew off.” Mist followed Betty to the lobby, picking up a small cellophane bag of cookies on the counter on her way out of the kitchen.
“Wonderful,” Andrew said as Mist handed him the package. “I can’t get enough of Timberton’s cookies.”
“I hope you’ll come back for more next year,” Betty said.
“We plan to.” Clara hugged Betty and then Mist.
Goodbyes said, Clive helped carry their luggage out to their rental car.
“So we have one guest left,” Betty said.
“Yes, so we do.” Mist moved to the archway, looked into the front parlor, and then turned back to Betty. “He’s not in his usual reading spot. Are you certain he didn’t already leave?” Mist felt a feather-light catch in her voice as she spoke.
“Maybe he’s packing,” Betty offered as Clive came back inside.
“Are you talking about Michael?” Clive said. “He went out for a walk, down toward the gallery, I think.” He looked at Mist, dressed in a long skirt and light gauze-type tunic. “It’s kinda chilly out, so bundle up if you decide to go out, too. You know, for example, if you decided to go for a walk or something.” He winked at Betty, a gesture Mist didn’t miss.
“Perhaps I will,” Mist said. “Since you suggested it …” She disappeared briefly, and reappeared in her heavy, hooded cape, wearing an old-fashioned hand muff with a thick fur texture.
“That thing’s not alive, is it?” Clive teased.
“It’s faux fur, Clive,” Betty said, laughing.
Mist paused on her way to the door. “You never know. Life is unpredictable.” She extended the muff quickly toward Clive and then pulled it back in one smooth move, causing him to jump. Leaving Betty and Clive in near hysterics, she headed for the gallery, grinning mischievously all the way.
The street was almost empty as Mist walked toward the gallery, since most residents of the small town were enjoying a day at home with family. Knowing Clive had decided to stay closed for a holiday break after Christmas, she expected to find Michael ambling somewhere between the hotel and gallery, or perhaps over in the town park. Instead, she was surprised to see the gallery lights on, although the “closed” sign hung in the front window. As she approached, the lights went off, the door opened and Michael stepped out. He pulled the door closed and turned, clearly happy to see Mist standing about ten yards away.
Gingerbread At Moonglow (The Moonglow Christmas Series Book 3) Page 8
