B (63:09)
Fire was already burning bright. As I laid out cups and bowls, the sun began to rise over the snowy landscape. The weekend had just begun, but it was promising to be an exciting one. Part two. Up in the ballroom on the second floor, things were nearly ready. It was Valentine's weekend at the inn and we had a nearly full house of lovebirds and sweethearts ready to clink glasses and wander into the lonely corners of our vast rooms. Today we'd served breakfast in the dining room and drawing room with fires burning in the grates and flowers on each table. Chef had made our famous coffee cake as well as cinnamon rolls and cardamom buns. We poured cup after cup of coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice. There was a light snow falling, the kind with tiny thin flakes, and the sun came out now and then to sparkle on the frozen lake. It was romantic. There was no argument there, but tonight was going to top it. Our guests were encouraged to visit town for lunch. We'd put out some soup and sandwiches in the dining room self service style, but we'd highlighted the excellent cafes and bistros downtown, the shops and sights that were perfect for idling away a winter afternoon, and thankfully most of them took us up on it because I was a bit like a parent who needed the kids out from under my feet for a bit so that I could set up the ballroom. I'd had an idea, a little cheesy maybe, but I hoped it would prove to be both romantic and fun. We were hosting a little grown up prom for our guests tonight. The ballroom was decorated with streamers, balloons, flowers, and bowls of chocolates. I was up on a ladder in the far corner behind the piano, twisting the last of the crepe paper streamers into place while my cat Sycamore chased a red balloon under a table. I'd been telling him about my own prom many years before, how it had mostly been a letdown, a night that had been overhyped for years and simply could not have lived up to all that. I'd expected that in the end I'd wished I danced more, cared less about my hair and my dress, and just had fun. Well, that's why we are having a do over, called a voice from the hall. I smiled to myself as I climbed down from the ladder. Sycamore and I had been alone at the inn for a few months now, and I'd forgotten that we could, ahem, be overheard. Chef came through the door, their hands full of a large tray of desserts. I went over to help them set out the tarts and cakes on the buffet by the window. Did you like your prom? I asked. They paused, smiling down at the treats. Oh, come on. I knew it. You had a blast, didn't you? You probably had a line of people waiting to dance with you. What can I say? I've always been popular. They laughed as they tucked the empty tray under an arm and headed back to the kitchens for more. Well, tonight everyone would have fun, would dance as much as they liked and be fed wonderful food, celebrate and hopefully fall even deeper in love with their person. Sycamore and I kept at it through the afternoon, and just as I was lighting the candles on the tables, I started to hear guests coming through the entryway downstairs, shoes clapping against the slate floor. I checked my watch and realized the band would be here soon. We closed the double doors to the ballroom as we left, not wanting guests to come peeping till we were ready. We followed the sweeping curved staircase down into the entryway, saying hello to guests as we passed them. The sun was setting and sending her rose red glow through the windows. It burnished the dark wood of the banisters and caught the silvery sparkles in Sycamore's black coat. On the central table at the bottom of the stairs, beside the giant fern I'd kept alive for three winters now, were urns of coffee and hot tea. Guests who needed a pick me up were filling mugs and we wove past them to the front office, where I'd spotted the members of the band we'd hired. There was a piano player and singer who would serenade us during dinner, and then a drummer and guitar player who would join in to get folks dancing afterwards. Sycamore loves music and had heard this band play at our Halloween party. He rushed toward them, rubbing against their legs and instrument cases. I followed and greeted them, taking their coats and leading them down to the library where they could relax and nosh on the snack plates Chef had prepared for them before they took the stage. I liked this part. Everything was coming together. Before I'd been an innkeeper. I'd never organized anything more complicated than a brunch reservation, but now I'd overseen weddings and parties, busy holiday weekends and summer fates. Tonight, I was sure, would be magical with dinner music and dancing cheek to cheek. This old place had seen lots of magic over the years, and this would be another night for the books. Part three. The busy weekend was winding down. What fun we had had. The inn had bustled with activity for the last three days. Guess, of course, our small staff, a band of musicians, florists, and Sycamore the cat. We'd served fantastic meals, poured many, many cups of coffee in the breakfast rooms, and kept the fireplaces burning through the days. Now, as guests were checking out, I was behind the tall desk in the office, sliding room, keys back into their cubbies and tidying up paperwork. I could hear maids in the halls above, vacuum cleaners running along the floorboards and doors opening and closing as one room was finished and another began. Poor Sycamore was exhausted. He lay in the inbox on the desk, his long black tail slung across the keyboard and his nose pressed against the blotter. I stopped to massage his little body. Oh, sickie, I crooned. Was it hard to have so much fun, all those people telling you how handsome you are, wanting to pet you and give you treats? He purred thickly, and I lifted one of his legs to free the stapler from underneath him. He would sleep all day. I stepped into the hall and saw the last couple of guests coming down the stairs. There was a sparkle about them as they smiled at each other, their hands clasped between them. This weekend had obviously done them good, and I took a bit of pride in whatever part we had played in that. As they stopped to hand over their room keys and fill to go cups from the urn in the entryway, they thanked me for the special event we'd hosted the night before. We had a fancy dinner in the ballroom with musicians and beautiful decorations, a kind of grown up prom. I didn't have a great time in high school, one of them confided in me, and I feel like I got a do over last night. I nodded, smiling brightly. That's the nice thing about having some space from those moments, right? I said. We can rewrite them when we're older and own the best version. He slung his arm around his partner and nodded, and I saw them out to their car in the drive. On the way back in, I sighed, realizing that the inn was now empty. Besides her caretakers, I'd loved the weekend too, but it was a relief to know no one needed anything from me for a bit. I stopped back into the office to put away that last room key and scooped Sycamore into my arms. Like the baby he was, he trusted me completely. And if there was a better feeling than being trusted by a small animal who'd had a rough start in life, well, I hadn't yet found it. We walked through the hall and into the drawing room dining room. The sun was bright today, and the rooms were lit with an echoing shine as it bounced off the snow. I'd need to put away the sugar bowls to launder the tablecloths and sweep the floors, but there was no rush. I went through to the hall again, stuck my head into the stairway down to the kitchen. Chef, I called. Are you busy? Do you have time for a little adventure? There was silence for a second, then a low call back of should I bring cookies? Duh, I said, and waited till they arrived, still in their apron with a plate of treats. I turned and led them down to the library. With Sycamore still in my arms. I dropped Sicki on the sofa and went back to the door. I looked up and down the hall. The vacuums were still going upstairs and probably would be for the foreseeable future. I closed the door and turned toward Chef. At the Halloween party, something was revealed to me. I was well aware I was being a little dramatic and mysterious, but I was having fun. Chef nodded and extended the plate of cookies to me. I took one, cross hatched on its dark brown top with tine marks. A chocolate peanut butter, Chef said a little breathlessly. Well played, I replied. So, my friend with the gray cat. You know her, right? Cinder's mom? Yes. She pulled me in here and told me the inn had a secret and it was ready for me to learn. She didn't know exactly what or how, but after a minute or two in this room, she asked me if there was some question I'd been carrying around about the inn. Chef had taken a large bite of their cookie but had forgotten to chew. So caught up in the excitement, the story, I took a deep breath and told them that sometimes, out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the first innkeeper, That I'd been looking through old pictures and newspaper clippings for her, that I felt a connection to her. Maybe it was just the house and the job we'd both done. I walked over to the fireplace mantel and took the ring of keys from my pocket. I held up the small iron key I'd been given that Halloween night and fitted it into a hidden keyhole just under the bracket on the side of the mantel Chef let out a satisfying gasp and jumped to their feet. Is this really happening? Yep, I said as I grasped the key with both hands and turned it forcefully. A panel in the wall beside the bookcase moved back and slid away, revealing the bottom step of the hidden stairs. The first time I'd gone up those stairs, I'll admit the hair on the back of my neck had stood up, but I quickly learned that this wasn't an eerie place, but a protected one. It felt now as I led the way, Chef behind me and Sycamore at the rear, like showing your childhood bedroom to your best friend for the first time. I was excited. The stairway itself curved as it climbed, not quite a spiral, but definitely hugging along the inner walls of the house in a way that disguised its existence. At the top. It opened into a small room about the size of one of our guest rooms, But instead of a chest of drawers and a bed, there was a large desk and a straight backed chair. Along the walls there were shelves lined with books and several large trunks. Chef, who still held half of a cookie in their hand, gulped as they looked around and stuck it into the front pocket of their apron. Sycamore, who by now had spent plenty of time in this room, jumped up onto the ledge in front of the single window, looked out. What is all of this? Chef asked with wonder in their voice. Well, it took me a while to understand, but I think the first innkeeper was a kind of archivist. All these books. I trailed my fingers across their spines. They're full of local people's stories, and the trunks have pictures and family trees, maps and histories. We stared at each other for a second. Stories like folk stories? Some, but plenty are just the stories of people's lives. Like, look at this. I picked up a book that was open on the desk and turned it around to show this whole book is about people's birthdays, how everyone celebrated.
