"A nice, big wedding?" Mike asked her, distracting their hostess from the danger of the storm. "With a huge feast and lots of relatives?"
"Actually...a small, quiet civil ceremony, New Year's Day," Rachel found herself confessing as Cassie drew her into the sitting room next to the front hall. "Just his parents and mine as witnesses. We originally thought of having a big wedding, but had to scale back when the Inn was damaged last summer. Repairs are more important than parties, after all."
"Well, that's a shame," Cassie commiserated. "Mind you, the Buddhist way is about as simple as a civil ceremony can get, but most cultures like to indulge in lavish displays of hospitality and festivity. And as prominent business owners, it would also be a good way to spread awareness of just how fine your inn is, if you were to host a reception here."
She gestured at the warm oak wainscoting and pale, calico-sprigged walls lining the front parlor, with darker versions of calico-covered furniture amply cushioned for comfort. Efforts had been made to festoon the room with red and gold ribbons, artificial greenery, and a Christmas tree in the bay window off to one side. Even the Franklin stove boasted a set of sleigh bells, wrapped around the stovepipe on a metal chain that would tolerate the heat of a fire better than the velvet ribbon supporting the ones hung from the front door.
"Yes, it's very warm and inviting," Mike agreed, taking one of the stuffed armchairs while Cassie sank onto the sofa with their hostess. "Are all of the furnishings new?"
"This side of the house was badly hit in a tornado last summer," Rachel found herself explaining. "We took out a mortgage on the Inn to make the necessary repairs, since the insurance company tried to go bankrupt, and all the funds are still tied up in litigation. The house is on the Historic Registry waiting list, so we did our best to have the structure repaired very close to what it originally was, in case it does make it onto the list of important buildings for this region. But our guests prefer more comfortably padded furniture."
"Fascinating. Has it always been an inn?" the dark-skinned gentleman inquired.
"From within the first eight years of its construction," Rachel agreed, glad she had asked Steve about the Inn's history. "It was a part of the railroad expansion. There used to be a set of tracks that ran near the property line, and the owners realized that if they invested in lumber and some bed frames, they could house first the workers, then the people who traveled through here. They made sure to bill it as a family establishment, a place for the husbands to bring their wives and children, as opposed to the bachelor quarters offered in town--no single men allowed. When the railroad was built, and the main depot installed at the edge of town, they had a buggy specifically built to escort the women travelers out to the Bethel Inn so that they could sleep in chaperoned safety."
A beeping noise cut off any further explanation. Mike gave her a sheepish look as he extracted an electronic day planner from his pocket. "Please forgive me. It is time for my devotions."
"Oh. Are you a minister, then?" Rachel asked him, curious.
"No, just a faithful Muslim--you aren't going to be serving a lot of pork, are you?" he asked with a wry smile. "I realize that Iowa is pork central, of course, but while I'm not absolutely strict in my diet when I'm traveling, I do try to avoid alcohol and pork."
"Ah. Well, if you're snowed in with the rest of us through Christmas, I had planned to carry on the tradition of the famous Bethel Inn ham...but I suppose I could roast a chicken as well."
"That would be very kind of you," Cassie replied, smiling. "I know Bella would be grateful, too."
"Is she also a Muslim?" Rachel inquired politely.
"No, she's a Reform Jew," Mike corrected.
Blinking, Rachel looked between him and Cassie, who was finally unbuttoning her fluffy-edged pink coat. "A Buddhist, a Muslim, and a Reform Jew, traveling together?...Listen to me," she scoffed in the next moment, smiling ruefully. "I made that sound like the opening to a bad joke, or something. Next thing you know, you'll be walking into a bar!"
Cassie and Mike both laughed at that. Ruefully, Mike shook his head in the next moment. "As much as I'd like to continue to chat, I really do need to attend to my midmorning devotions. If I give you my debit card, could you show me to a room, and perhaps process it while I pray?"
Having been raised a Christian herself, Rachel had heard only bits and pieces about how the faith of Islam worked, but she did know those who were devout to it prayed five times a day. Though it wasn't her own system of beliefs, she would be an innkeeper's wife, and that meant welcoming not only a diverse number of travelers, but a diverse number of faiths. Rising, she nodded cordially to him, adding a smile. "I think that can be arranged. I can scrounge up another rope to go out to your car to safely fetch your bags, if you like."
"Oh, there'll be no need," Cassie reassured her, rising from the sofa as well. "They're out in the hall."
Rachel headed through the greenery-framed door, frowning softly. Sure enough, three sets of bags rested around the foot of the coat rack, like presents around a Christmas tree. One set was vinyl pink, one set was cloth black, and one set was leather brown. She was sure they hadn't brought their luggage in with them, and reasonably sure she hadn't heard the front door open and close...somewhat sure? Maybe Bella had directed the other two to bring in their bags while Rachel was distracted with the tale of the Inn...
Shaking it off, she picked up the brown cloth bags and mounted the stairs. "This way, please; I presume you'll each want separate bedrooms?"
"Of course," Mike agreed. "When you've traveled together for as long as we have, you tend to want some privacy now and then."
"Have you been together long, then?" Rachel asked next, leading him toward the bedroom overlooking the front of the house. "Oh, the bathroom is that door there, conveniently labeled as such. There are two more further down the hall, each with its own sign, in case this one is busy at some point."
"Yes, I see," Mike confirmed, nodding his head at the carved and painted sign. "We've gone on holiday voyages like this one for many years now. Sort of a hajj of friendship, as it were--I've already been to Mecca, so that journey is complete. We travel for other reasons these days."
"I hope you don't mind our Christmas celebrations," Rachel offered politely, entering the bedroom and crossing to the four-poster bed, setting his two suitcases on the padded bench at its foot.
"Why should I? Christ was one of the most important Prophets to appear before Mohammed's time. The traditions of Christmas celebrate the exact same spirit of unity and brotherhood that the followers of Islam embrace at this time of year--in fact, today is the last day of hajj on our holy calendar," Mike added, smiling at her. "Not to mention the Winter Solstice, an important holy-day for those who revere nature. Though the coldest days of winter still lie ahead of us, today is the darkest, longest night, the shortest, dimmest day of the whole year...and it is a time when all of us in the Northern Hemisphere are reminded that, no matter how bleak things look today, tomorrow will be a little brighter than today, and the day after will be even brighter than before.
"And so here we are," he stated, spreading his arms with a smile. "Bringing you customers for your business, when it seems likely that the storm has chased everyone else away."
Her cell phone rang, startling Rachel. She hadn't realized what a mesmerizing speaker her guest was until then. Pulling it out of her pocket, she flipped it open. "Bethel Inn, how may I help you?"
"Rachel? This is Bill Pargeter. I just wanted you to know that my granddaughter and her family have arrived safely at my house. It's going to be a tight squeeze, what with my two daughters and their own broods, plus my grandson...but I wouldn't put a rabid dog out in weather like this, let alone make 'em drive all the way out to your place. I'd shoot the rabid dog to put it out of its misery, but I wouldn't put it out in this weather."
Rachel made a face at the wall. So much for tomorrow being a little brighter than today... "I'm glad to hear that Joseph, Mary, and the baby are
safe and sound at your place, Bill. Thanks for letting me know."
"Wait, there's more!" Bill's voice interrupted her before she could tell him good-bye. "I know Mr. Harrod's being, well, the backside of a front-ugly cow right now about that mortgage of yours. Joseph and I talked it over, and we're both in agreement. We're gonna pay you the full price for their ten-day stay, half from him, an' half from me. That's on the hope that this storm will be less severe than the weather guys keep claiming it'll be. By paying you a retaining fee, they can at least guarantee a room to escape to, once it's safe to drive again--and no arguing, young lady. Consider it a Christmas gift from the Pargeters and the Stoutsons, a thank-you for hosting little packets of our family whenever we have 'em over for a holiday.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get off-line so my own daughter can teach me how to use that newfangled computer-thing she got me for my birthday last month. Beth says there's a way we can transfer the money to you online, so you'll get it into your account right away. Richie's a good enough boy, but that father of his would have him cuttin' corners an' driving the Inn into bankruptcy."
"Th-thank you!" Rachel stammered, too shocked by the generosity to protest. Not that she had much of a chance for it, since the old farmer hung up before she could even try. Returning the phone to her pocket, she blinked a few times, then drew a deep breath and let it out. With the income from six guests, plus the income from the Stoutsons...they would have enough to pay the mortgage for this month, and their other bills as well. Their savings had been whittled down during the months Steve and she had spent doing all those repairs, unable to operate the Inn. With the boys replacing the Platz brothers, they'd not only have the mortgage and the electricity paid, but enough set aside to start feeding those depleted accounts.
Maybe today was one of the darkest days of the year; it had certainly been darkening metaphorically around her and her fiance up until this point, as well as physically. But with one phone call and six unexpected visitors, Rachel felt like the sun was finally returning to her and Steve's life. Remembering her guest, who was rolling out a small prayer rug taken from one of his suitcases, she quickly murmured her excuses and left the room, giving him privacy for his faith.
Six guests...God bless them all, Rachel thought, amazed that she would find herself thinking such a thing after the way the boys had arrived. It's going to be interesting, entertaining that many when they can't go off and visit other people. Maybe some party games in between meals? She could still do a quiche for supper, if she stretched it with cheese and vegetables and added a few more dishes, but Rachel also had a much bigger lunch to plan. Head full of ideas, she returned to the kitchen.
Two
STEVE WASN'T SURE WHAT TO MAKE OF THE WOMAN, BELLA. Ignoring the biting, breath-stealing cold, she used her muff to dust the snow off the front of the rounded lump that was her car, extracted the crowbar with black-gloved hands, and trudged alongside him and Joey through the increasingly deep drifts without any problems, despite the slenderness of her frame. Joey, bundled up once again, kept slipping her glances, too. Of the three of them, she seemed almost happy to be out in the deepening drifts. Sandwiched between the two men, she forged onward, somehow guiding them in what had to be the straightest line Steve had ever seen anyone take in a blizzard, as if drawn by some sort of beacon.
Not that there was much to see beyond the swirling, falling snow and misty white puffs of their own breath, of course, but when something reddish-gray loomed up out of the grayish-white surrounding them, it took Steve a moment to realize the reddish thing was the plastic of his newspaper box, advertising the name of the local tribune, and the gray bits belonged to the metal mailbox and the weathered-wood post supporting both. The object looked oddly short, until he realized how deep the drifts had packed up under their feet.
The snow was coming down even harder now, blowing sideways in disorienting swirls before angling the other way. Without the rope playing into the distance behind them, Steve doubted they would be able to make it back at all, straight-line march or otherwise; he couldn't even see the far side of the road from here. From the way the cold seeped into his boots and gloves, how the wind stole into every gap and sucked heat from every thin spot in his clothes, if they didn't make it back to the house, they would freeze to death. No, Joey was right; this wasn't the way anyone should die.
"My guess," Bella enunciated over the hissing of the wind and its swirling burden of flakes, "is that they pulled out of the driveway, then slid into the far side of the ditch. Which way would they have turned, do you know?"
"The nearer of the two is Pete's place," Joey offered, speaking over the scarf wrapping the lower half of his face. "Off to the left."
Bella and Steve looked at each other. He looked down at the rope in his hands. Having already tied two lengths together, he took the third coil, knotted them stoutly, then handed her the rope and put her on the end. "Let's check that way first. I'll take point. Joey, you take the middle and make sure you hold my hand, and Miss Bella, don't you let go of either him or that rope!"
"Don't worry; you can trust me," she returned stoutly.
Hoping that everyone, sensible or otherwise, had found shelter and gotten themselves off the road, Steve inched out across the highway, trying to spot signs of the ditch on the far side before he found it the hard way. If it weren't for the mittened hand gripping his, he wouldn't have known he wasn't alone. The world had turned white and violently empty with the onset of this blizzard. Cold seeped through his clothes in little patches of discomfort. All he wanted to do was go back and warm up by the woodstove, cuddling on the couch with his soon-to-be wife and a hot cup of cider, rich with spices.
It was her cider that had first made him realize he was in love with her. They had met in college in business class. He had offered to buy her a cup of coffee and chat in his dorm room, and she had countered with an offer of home-brewed cider in her apartment. An offer that he had ended up accepting several times. The spices she used reminded him of her eyes, cinnamon-warm and nutmeg-bright. Their courtship had progressed slowly, since she had accepted an internship for two years at a hotel down in California after getting her MBA, with a minor in the hospitality industry. But Steve had been willing to be patient.
Stress over their finances had dampened some of their prewedding enthusiasm, and certainly curbed their original, pre-tornado plans for a better wedding. Inching his way across a snow-obscured road, Steve just wanted to get back to her. But there were two young fools somewhere out here. He couldn't leave them to freeze to death.
His feet found the edge of the ditch, blanketed into a mere dimple by the drifting snow. The moment he felt the curve, he shifted to the left, crowbar in one hand, the other tugging Joey behind him. It didn't take more than another two minutes to find the truck, though at first he couldn't make out what he was seeing; tilted firmly on its side, Dave's black pickup sat under an obscuring blanket of white at least three inches deep. Part of it was due to the way the wind swirled snow up off the road, driving it until it hit the vehicle and formed the start of a snowdrift, but part of it was just the heavy, icy downpour of flakes all around.
"Here it is!" Steve told the others, restraining the impulse to hurry to the front of the truck. With the road slick from compressed snow underneath the freshly deposited stuff, he didn't want to risk stepping wrong and twisting an ankle, or worse. As soon as he was even with the back of the pickup bed, he whacked the truck with the crowbar, clanging metal against metal. "Hopefully, that'll wake 'em up!"
"I'll stay at the bumper with the rope," Bella told him, releasing Joey's hand. "Don't go further away than you can touch this thing, or you'll be lost!"
Nodding, the two men moved up along the length of the truck. They reached the door, designated by a peak in the blanketing white that was the side mirror, and heard a thumping and yelling noise from within. Scraping the snow from the window, Steve saw Dave and Pete inside. With Joey's help, he cleared off the rest of the snow
, finding the door handle. It seemed to be stuck. Joey took the crowbar from him and, with Steve gripping the latch to release its lever, helped to pry the thing open. Dave helped by shoving from the inside.
Holding the door open against the wind, Steve watched as Joey assisted his two friends in scrambling out. It was awkward, since the moment Dave released his seat belt, he slid right into Pete, who yelped at being squished. But the boys sorted themselves out. Gesturing at the back of the truck, Steve shouted over the wind.
"Bella's at the back of the truck. She's got a rope that'll lead us right back to the Inn. Everybody, grab hands and work your way back there together. Don't let go!"
Joey took point, pulling Pete along behind him. Dave hesitated a moment, then gripped Steve's hand. "Thanks."
Steve almost didn't hear the words, but knew it must have cost the younger man a bit to say them. He held his tongue, saving his breath and his energy for the trek back to the Inn. He let Bella take the lead, reeling in the rope as she walked steadily through the thickly falling flakes, retracing their path through the snow. Joey had one hand tucked into the belt wrapped around the waist of her overcoat, the other forming the rest of the chain of men. All Steve had to do was follow in the wake of the others, holding Dave's gloved hand as he trudged through the gap in the drifts that had been churned and trampled into their path home.
INSIDE THE FRONT ROOM, CASSIE PEERED THROUGH THE glazed front of the woodstove. The flames were burning merrily enough, but eventually the fire would die down. Peering at the logs stacked in the nearby basket, she smiled and selected a rounded one, then used a nearby pot holder to open the metal door.
Long ago, the people of the Scandinavian lands had ceremonially lit a log like this one--only much, much bigger, the entire trunk of a tree--to celebrate Thor, god of lightning, at this time of the year. The object was to burn a single tree for the entire length of the old celebrations. The Celts had also lit a log much like this one as well, to entice the sun to grow strong once again, shedding more and more light. But the tradition involving flames she thought most fondly of, as she tenderly placed the rounded bit of trunk into the heart of the fire, was the one Bella would think of, too: that of the miracle of the temple lamps, in the ancient land of the Hebrews. At the darkest time of the year, it was important to remember that light would come back into their lives, no matter how gloomy things might seem.