Gingerbread at Moonglow Read online

  Sally leaned over from the next table. “Trust me; your local thrift store will be happy to take those items off your hands. I’m always excited to see new things come into Secondhand Sally’s. And other people are happy to find them.”

  Mist sat down in the saved seat next to Michael, relaxed but poised, her hands folded and resting in her lap as she listened to the debate. “Less is more,” she said quietly. Her voice barely registered above the surrounding conversation, but those at the table heard her.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “It’s true. Look at how little we have with us here in Timberton, yet we lack for nothing. We’re just used to having our possessions around us at home.”

  “Well, I’d gladly get rid of my pots and pans if Mist would come home with me and cook every night,” Clara said. “But I doubt the people of Timberton would appreciate me taking her away.”

  “And you’d need to bring her back every Christmas,” Andrew added.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “Too many people would miss her.”

  “I’d sure miss her,” Bill Guthrie piped up, waiving a biscuit in the air.

  “You’re not going anywhere, are you, Mist?” Clive frowned. He’d only heard part of the conversation as he delivered a drink refill to a guest.

  Mist smiled. “Of course not, Clive. This is my home.” Michael reached over and took her hand. She kept her eyes focused on the others at the table, but did not pull her hand away.

  “We’re just talking about getting rid of things we don’t need,” Clara said.

  “Downsizing,” Andrew added. “I believe that’s the current term”

  A burst of giggles erupted from the girls’ table. Mist turned toward them and smiled. All three were hunched forward, more intent on whispering than eating.

  “Something about a cute guy they all like in a new band,” Clive explained. “I heard them when I walked by.”

  “They grow up so quickly,” Clara said. “We all do. I remember being that age as if it were just a few years ago, not decades.”

  “And what cute boy musician would you have been giggling about back then?” Andrew asked. Everyone at the table watched Clara.

  “Oh, that’s easy. That cute boy musician was Elvis,” Clara said. “Though Frankie Avalon was right up there, too.” She glanced shyly at Andrew, as if she’d just divulged her secret past.

  Betty passed the table and paused. “Mist, you should eat something. How about letting me fix you a small plate from the buffet?”

  “I’m fine, but thank you.” Mist stood up, surprising herself when she released Michael’s hand, as if she hadn’t realized they’d been touching at all until that moment. “I nibbled earlier. I want to be sure the guests are taken care of right now.”

  “There’s no use arguing with you,” Betty said, smiling. She moved on to other tables, picking up dishes from those who were finished, and encouraging other diners to go back for seconds.

  As Mist moved toward the kitchen, she stopped at tables along the way and listened to the talk among guests. The professor and Rolf discussed current events, while Chloe and Greta weighed the pros and cons of moving versus remodeling. Maisie nodded politely while Clayton’s mother disbursed parenting advice as Clayton attempted to remind his mother that the child had yet to be born. Millie encouraged Glenda and Marge to participate in an upcoming fundraiser for local schools, to be held at the library in mid-January. Gift certificates for the local beauty parlor and candy store would be a good draw for the event’s raffle.

  Maisie stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, please, Mist, let me serve the dessert.”

  “Of course!” This would give Maisie a good reason to escape the parenting discussion, and Mist had one more mission she felt pulled to accomplish. All the talk of houses and homes over dinner had left Mist thinking about Hollister. Although he had come to accept Room Seven as his own, almost always slipping in the back door and staying overnight, she doubted he would ever come to a community meal. The answer to this conundrum was simple: she would take the meal to him. Not just the leftovers she always placed in the refrigerator in his room each time she served other people who dined at Moonglow, but an actual holiday meal, decorations and all.

  Mist pulled a wicker tray from a slim cabinet below the kitchen counter and set it on the center island. She prepared a plate from the buffet, covered it with foil and placed it in the center of the tray. Above the plate, she set a faux candle with an LED light and battery in a votive that matched those in the dining area. She then arranged evergreen strands and pine cones to the sides of the votive holder, placed silverware elegantly on a red linen napkin and took the tray downstairs.

  “Was Hollister there” Betty asked when Mist returned to the kitchen.

  “Not yet,” Mist said. “But he will be.”

  “When?” Betty asked, puzzled by Mist’s certainty.

  “When he’s ready to come home,” Mist said. “We all come home when we’re ready.”

  “And until then?” Betty asked.

  Mist pointed to the chocolate tarts, ready for the dinner’s finale. “Until then, we enjoy dessert.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “It’s amazing.”

  “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “What a fantastic idea.”

  Mist stood in the archway, watching. Long after the chocolate tart had been served and dinner dishes put away, the crowd of townsfolk and hotel guests lingered in the front parlor. Adults sipped coffee, brandy, or both while the younger crowd stirred hot chocolate with long peppermint sticks. Marge and Glenda admired the display of pomanders in a basket on a low table. Jo showed hers off to the ladies, explaining how she’d poked holes in the orange in order to insert the whole cloves. Rolf, an accomplished pianist, rolled out one carol after the next as those with voices both fair and not-so-fair belted out lyrics to old-time favorites.

  “It’s really wonderful!”

  “Like a fairy tale.”

  “So clever, so creative!”

  Throughout the evening, no matter how impressed people were with the exquisite tree, the seasonal music and the overall joyful atmosphere in general, one thing dominated it all: the gingerbread house.

  “I just want to take a big bite out of it,” William Guthrie said. He’d exchanged his fringed jacket for a popcorn and cranberry garland from the Christmas tree, and looked as festive as everyone else.

  Clayton, who’d stayed at the hotel with Maisie after his parents retired to his house, chuckled. “I don’t recommend it, Bill. Not unless you have a good dentist.” A round of laughter followed.

  Clive put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Better take his advice. There’s plenty of solid wood hiding under that gingerbread, and a few tough nails, as well.”

  “I don’t know,” Rolf called over from the piano. “Maybe he should try it out. We could all sing along.” Pounding out a short introduction on the piano, he soon had the entire room singing “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.” Those who weren’t singing were laughing or patting Bill sympathetically on the back.

  “Very funny,” Bill said, laughing, too. “I’ll stick to Betty’s glazed cinnamon nuts. Those are safer.”

  “And delicious,” Greta said, directing her comment to Betty, who stood near the Christmas tree, half-exploring, half-hesitant to look too far inside the branches. “I meant to ask for the recipe, if you’re willing to share it, Betty.”

  “Of course!” Betty said immediately. She turned toward Greta quickly, as if caught doing something forbidden. “It’s so easy to make, and great for little gifts. I’ll send a copy of the recipe home with you.”

  Michael, who had been sitting near the fireplace, as usual, walked over to the arched doorway and stood by Mist, a conspiratorial smile on his face as he lowered his voice and spoke. “Is Betty doing what I think she’s doing?”

  “Definitely,” Mist said. “I’ve seen her by the tree three times. He hid it well this year.”

  Cliv
e’s custom-made ornament for Betty had become a tradition. He never let on in advance what it would be. Only people who’d seen the ornaments from previous years had clues, and those were few: it would be silver, with a Yogo sapphire in it somewhere, and it would be a different design from previous years.

  “Give me a hint,” Michael said. “You and Clive are good friends. You must have an idea what this year’s ornament will be.”

  Mist gave Michael a look of mock disapproval. “Why, Michael Blanton, you should know I wouldn’t divulge an important secret like that, even if I knew!”

  Michael leaned closer. “Ah, I see … does that mean you don’t know?”

  Mist smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

  Michael propped his arm against the archway, in front of Mist. “Then you do know.”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  Mist ducked under Michael’s arm and slipped away, laughing.

  Betty had curbed her curiosity and stepped away from the Christmas tree. Hanna, Poppy and Jo all sat inside the gingerbread house, taking turns poking their heads out to see what the adults were up to. There was enough holiday spirit in the hotel to fill a town ten times the size of Timberton.

  Rolf started to slow the tempo of the musical selections, calming the crowd with a medley of “Silent Night” and “Away in a Manger.” A few guests stood near the piano, others wandered away to enjoy the music from one of the room’s cozy seats.

  Hanna and Jo emerged from the gingerbread house and headed for a basket of cookies, each choosing one before exploring the ornaments on the tree. Noticing that Poppy remained inside the sweet structure, Mist approached it, lifted her skirt just enough to be able to kneel down without pulling the fabric, and looked inside. Poppy sat in a back corner, staring at the floor. “Mind if I join you? If you’d rather be alone, that’s fine, too. Sometimes I like to be alone, so I’ll understand.”

  Poppy looked up. “Come on in.”

  Mist crawled in and sat in the opposite corner. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “My, this house smells good – like licorice and peppermint.”

  Poppy nodded. “I love it. I want to stay in here.”

  “Tonight, you mean?” Mist thought quickly, doubting the professor and Chloe would go for the idea.

  “No,” Poppy said, shaking her head. “I want this to be my real house.”

  “But you’ll be getting a new house soon,” Mist said, watching the girl. “And I’ll bet it’s bigger than this one. Just a guess, you know …” Mist let her voice trail off, as if pondering this thought.

  Poppy laughed, and Mist was relieved. “Of course it will be.”

  “I think that will be more comfortable, don’t you?” Mist said. “I can’t quite see both of your parents living in this house with you. “

  “It would be crowded.” Poppy pretended to take Mist seriously for a moment. But she lost heart and looked dejected again. “I don’t want just a new house. I want my old one. I liked it. My room was just the way I wanted it to be.”

  “Change can be difficult,” Mist said. “And this is a big one for you: new country, new school, new friends and a new home.”

  “We don’t even have one yet. Mum and Pop have barely started house hunting,” Poppy said. “I’m tired of staying in hotels, though I like yours. What if we don’t find a good house?”

  “Oh, you will,” Mist said without hesitation.

  “How do you know?

  “Sometimes I just know things,” Mist said. “I can almost see it … at least I think I can see your room … what is that on your desk?”

  “My computer,” Poppy said. “Pop and Mum said I could have my own computer, so I can email my friends in England, and they can email me back.”

  “Ah.” Mist nodded. “That’s what I thought. And what’s on your bed?”

  “That’s Figgy,” Poppy said.

  “Figgy? Tell me about Figgy.” Mist waited.

  “He’s a sock monkey,” Poppy said. “I’ve had him since I was little.”

  “How did he get his name?” Mist asked.

  “I know it’s silly, but I just liked it because it sounded funny.” Poppy smiled.

  “That’s a perfect reason.” Mist nodded again, and then tilted her head, thinking. “So how would you get that desk, bed, computer and Figgy in here?” She looked around the four-by-four interior of the gingerbread house.

  Poppy sighed. “You’re right. I guess I’ll have to be patient.”

  Mist smiled. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  Chloe stuck her head in the doorway. “There you are, Poppy. What are you two discussing so seriously?”

  “We’re talking about my room in our new house, Mum, how Figgy will be right there on the bed in my room,” Poppy said. “Mist says she sees it.”

  “Ah,” Chloe said. “Well, I think you and Figgy will have that soon. Your father has several places in mind. He did some searching online while we were still in England. We’re going to go look at them right after Christmas and you can come along to help us choose which house will be best for us all.”

  Poppy lit up. “OK!” She started to leave, but paused. Turning to Mist impulsively, she threw her arms around her in a fierce hug and then crawled out of the structure.

  “Well. That’s unusual,” Chloe said. “She’s at that age where she only wants a hug when she has a bellyache or some boy she likes doesn’t like her back. You must have the right kind of magic. Thank you.”

  Chloe scooted out of the house to join Poppy in the main room.

  Before Mist could crawl out of the house, Jo ducked in, followed by Hanna.

  “Poppy says you know what the room in her new house is going to look like,” Hanna said, a skeptical look on her face.

  “News travels fast,” Mist said, but understood the three girls had a new kind of quickly whispered communication that almost needed no words.

  “She doesn’t even have a new house yet!” Jo exclaimed. She was almost short enough to stand straight inside the gingerbread house, and she put her hands on her hips to emphasize her point.

  “That’s true,” Mist said. “But we don’t always have to see things up close to imagine them.”

  “So what do you see in our rooms?” Hanna said.

  Mist thought a minute before speaking. “I see bright colors, a lively environment, though not extreme, just invigorating.

  “In … vig…” Jo frowned, trying to repeat the five syllable word.

  “Invigorating,” Mist repeated.

  “In-vi-go-ra-ting.” Jo glowed as she spoke the word successfully. “What’s it mean?”

  “Giving you energy.”

  “Like a magical zap!” Jo’s face lit up.

  “Yes,” Mist said. “That’s a good way to put it: bright colors to give you a magical zap of energy. Thank you, Jo. I will think of it like that now.”

  “We just have boring stuff in the room now, nothing bright. What else do you see?” Hanna asked. “Besides this weird zap stuff you guys are talking about.” She sat cross-legged and propped her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her hands.

  Mist closed her eyes, not for dramatic effect, but to verify what she believed she saw before stating it. When she opened them, she said, “I see two beds.”

  “That can’t be right,” Hanna said. “They want to build another room. So we’ll only have one bed in each room.”

  “Yeah,” Jo added, her voice lacking enthusiasm.

  Mist nodded. “Yes, I heard about that. But I still see two beds.” She paused. “Do you two want your own rooms?”

  Hanna and Jo exchanged looks. Jo moved closer to Hanna and sat down beside her. Hanna put her arm around her younger sister. “We used to beg Mom and Dad for our own rooms,” Hanna said, and Mist thought she saw tears in her eyes.

  Jo sat next to her sister and head butted her shoulder. “Now we kind of want to share. So we can talk and stuff.”

  “I see,” Mist said. “Maybe that is why I see two bed
s.

  “One room with bright colors,” Jo said. “That sounds rad.”

  Hanna rolled her eyes. “Nobody says ‘rad,’ Jo.”

  “Maybe they do,” Mist laughed. “Maybe ‘rad’ is an easier way to say ‘invigorating.’”

  Greta stuck her head into the gingerbread house. “There you girls are. It’s getting late. I’d say another ten minutes, and then bed. Clive is calling everyone over to the Christmas tree.”

  “All right,” Hanna said. She turned to Jo. “Let’s go see.” The two girls crawled out, Mist right behind them.

  “It looked nice and cozy in there,” Greta said. She smiled as Mist stood up and straightened her skirt.

  “Yes, very,” Mist said. “Especially after we rearranged the furniture.” She left Greta peering inside the empty gingerbread house, a puzzled look on her face.

  Mist found Clive by the Christmas tree, ready to reveal the special ornament he’d designed for Betty, who stood beside him, blushing at the attention from the small crowd that had gathered. Clive reached through the trees branches to a section in the rear that was thick enough to hide this year’s small treasure. He pulled it out and handed it to Betty.

  “Oh, Clive!” Betty exclaimed. “It’s beautiful!” She held the ornament up for everyone to see. A sterling silver wreath dangled from a satin ribbon. Tiny red sapphires dotted the wreath in haphazard locations, giving the impression of sparkling berries.

  “It looks like the wreath we made on the gingerbread house,” Jo said. “Except you can’t eat this one.” A soft round of laughter followed her comment.

  “I just love Christmas Eve,” Clara said. She and Andrew stood near the tree, arm in arm. The other guests agreed.

  “It’s a special evening,” Betty said, “thanks to all of you for being here with us.”

  “Special, indeed,” the professor said. “Which we owe to you and Mist, Betty.” He paused, and then grinned. “And even to you, Clive.” Again, laughter filled the room.

  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.