“Go,” I said, waving my hand at her. “I’ll be fine. Most of the work is already done. If Hans’s snow prediction is accurate, you better stock up. That reminds me, I should fix something simple for dinner so our guests won’t have to venture out into the storm later if they don’t want to.”
She beamed at me as she shrugged on her coat. “You’re always so thoughtful.” She finished wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. There was a call this morning while you were out. A woman from North Carolina booked a room through the weekend.”
“Really? That’s good news. A full house.” It was rare that someone made such a long reservation during winter except around the holidays, but there would be no complaints from me.
After Shannon left, I pulled out a stockpot and found the ingredients I needed to make chicken noodle soup. That and some grilled cheese sandwiches and maybe some BLTs with my special savory sandwich spread should please the guests, especially since it was a free bonus meal.
While the broth simmered, I threw a couple more logs on the fire in the sitting room, taking a few minutes to chat with one of the single guests who was enjoying its warmth and a book. I decided to bake some cookies to brighten the otherwise cold and increasingly darkening day. It would make Iain happy, too, especially after his disappointment this morning.
A little while later when I brought out a plate of warm snickerdoodles, chocolate chip cookies, and a self-serving pot of cocoa, another couple was downstairs playing a game at a small table in the living room corner near the fire.
Mrs. Crawley looked up while she waited for her husband to make his move. “Oh, how wonderful, dear. This is just what this day needs!”
I smiled at the older woman. “Thank you.”
I put a couple of cookies on a napkin and brought it over to them, causing Mr. Crawley to beam and give me a wink. “Good thing I’m already married, or I’d be knocking on your door every day.”
I laughed at his harmless flirting.
“What did you say this game is called?” he asked as he moved a blue marble on the cross-shaped board.
I was happy to see them playing one of the traditional Appalachian games I kept out on the coffee table. “It’s called Fox and Geese. It dates at least as far back as the eighteenth century. Folks here in the mountains used to play it with white and yellow corn on a cloth,” I explained. “It’s a game they brought over with them when they immigrated, most of them from Scotland. There’s even a record of one of the English kings ordering the game in the 1400s. You’ll find a lot of Scottish influences in the mountains.”
“My goodness,” his wife exclaimed, helping herself to another cookie. “You’re so full of knowledge of the area,” she exclaimed. “I love it here. We’re definitely telling our friends about this place.” She dropped her chin and raised her eyebrows above the rim of her glasses. “Did I tell you about our Charlie?”
She had. Several times, as a matter of fact. They were on their way to visit him on the other side of the state, and I could tell she was excited to see him.
“Word of mouth is always appreciated,” I answered. Not wanting to offend her, I listened once again as she told me about their son. I loved to chat with my guests, but I’d learned from experience—since this couple arrived two days ago—that Mrs. Crawley could talk almost nonstop. She’d easily give Beverly a run for her money.
Finally, I made my escape when she took a bite of another cookie. Since all but one of the incoming guests were checked in, I spent the rest of the afternoon planning my breakfasts for the following week, making more lists, and sweeping and mopping the entranceway that never ceased to have dirt tracked in despite the rugs at the front doors.
“Mama! Guess what? It’s snowin’.” A blur of dark blue burst through the door along with a whirlwind of the flakes he was excited about.
“Iain James Dawson, what have we told you about being so loud?” My mother rolled her eyes and shook her head as she followed him into the front foyer.
“Sorry, Gramma.” His green eyes snapped to mine. “But this isbig. Tommy Lee said we’re supposed to get so much snow tonight we might get buried. He called it a lizard.”
It seemed Tommy Lee had been redeemed in Iain’s eyes since this morning with this new bit of information. I chuckled as I kneeled in front of him and helped unwrap his winter coat and scarf. “I think Tommy meant ‘blizzard,’ but I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about being buried.”
“But maybe enough to get out of school?” he asked; hopeful eyes peeped up at me from where he was sitting on the floor trying to unlace his boots.
“Maybe,” I said. “But never enough to get out of doing your homework and getting your chores done.” I looked up at my mom, who was picking up the pile of gloves, coat, and scarf my little whirlwind had dropped. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ve got to keep an eye on some food I’m cooking for tonight and am still waiting for a guest to arrive. Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”
“Of course not, honey. You know that. Whatever you’re cookin’, it sure smells good. Our guests are in for a treat tonight.” She glanced out the window. “I’m glad you thought of it, honey. I don’t know about a blizzard, but tonight is going to be dicey. It’s a night to be safe and sound at home.” She squeezed my shoulder before she carried everything toward the kitchen where the door to our quarters was.
I looked back at my son, his cheeks still pink from the cold. “I left a plate of cookies for you in the kitchen,” I told Iain. “Your favorite. Gramma will get you some milk.”
“Thanks, Mom!” His young arms wrapped around my legs. “Wow. Snow and cookies. This day is awesome!”
I laughed and shook my head, same as my mother a few minutes earlier, as he ran through the dining area toward the kitchen. Slow wasn’t in his vocabulary, no matter how many times my mama and I had tried to teach him. But he was an incredible kid who always brought light and joy wherever he went, so I could put up with a few door slams and boisterous greetings.
The guests who witnessed it were usually so charmed by him they rarely complained, although I did try to limit his activity to our quarters whenever possible. Someday, I’d have the time, energy, and finances to work on my dream of redoing the caretaker’s cottage at the back of our property so he could run and make noise with more freedom.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was beginning to worry my last guest wasn’t going to make it. Already about four inches of heavy, wet snow had accumulated on the road in front of the inn and even more on the grass. I could hear the wind howl through the breezeway that connected the inn to our residence.
Almost no one was out except for a few kids throwing snowballs and building a small snowman in the park. Most people would hunker down in their warm homes, and I’d already heard the rumor that the stores and restaurants were closing early, many already having locked up. I was glad I’d made supper for my guests.
I busied myself in the kitchen making the grilled cheese sandwiches and frying up the bacon for the BLTs. I heated up a tomato bisque I’d made the day before since I knew it was my mom’s favorite and put together a charcuterie board of various cheeses, fruits, and crackers that guests could help themselves to, along with a plate of more cookies. It wasn’t much, but I figured it was better than nothing.
