Chapter Four

Emily brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek and headed for where Nate worked at a wide oak desk between the front windows. The roll-top opened with a tired squeak. An overstuffed sofa and two chairs formed a conversation area at one end. He’d loved the cabbage rose upholstery and paid extra for it to be replicated.

“You have some really nice antiques,” she mentioned before sitting.

“I can’t take any credit. Bertha left everything in place.” Her eyebrows lifted in question and he lowered himself onto the largest sofa. “Since you’re interested in the inn’s history, I can share what she told us.”

Emily tilted her head. “Thanks, I’d like that.” After a minute she walked to the sofa and tucked a pillow under his side.

He sighed with relief. It eased the weight of his arm. Nate wanted to lie down. The headache tightened around his skull. Descending the servant stairs in the back had jarred every muscle in his body. Rubbing his head, he admitted he needed to heal and quickly. He couldn’t leave everything to Liz.

She sat and waited while he organized his memories. Anything Bertha had told him could solve Emily’s mystery.

“Bertha’s father was in World War II. He came back with battle fatigue and didn’t do well with strangers. He left running the inn to his wife and later Bertha. They never had other children. He found working the farm gave him peace and he doubled, then tripled the amount of land. He had a small herd of cattle, raised his own hay and vegetables. What is called independent farming now. Being self-sufficient.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. He needed to shave. He stretched his legs out then yawned. “The family owned the inn since the Revolution. Travelers using the main road to reach northern New York or Canada needed shelter. From what I understand, the inn was open all those years. In the sixties Bertha fell in love with a Vietnam Vet. He broke her heart when he took a rifle into the woods and never came back. She left. Her parents stayed until they passed, then Bertha hired a family to live here and keep the inn going. The caretaker and his family lived on the third floor.”

“I’d like to check the records at the Town Hall. If that can history be verified…” Her voice trailed off.

His head sank onto the sofa back and his breath had deepened.

****

Nate hoped he hadn’t offended Emily when he fell asleep. He stretched before climbing awkwardly to his feet. He needed a cup of coffee. And to check that no one intended to come for dinner.

In the kitchen he found Liz and Emily circling each other like cats establishing territory. Liz frowned and tapped her fingers on the counter.

“Next time let him take a nap before he helps you. Doctor White gave him orders. He shouldn’t be exerting himself.”

“I’ll do that,” Emily replied. She rubbed her hands on her thighs.

Nate went directly to pour a cup of coffee, avoiding her gaze.

“Well, looks like your nap didn’t put you in a better mood.” Liz crossed the kitchen to stand behind the counter facing him.

Turning around, he instead stared at his counter. A variety of covered dishes crowded the surface.

“What is this?” he demanded. He detested anyone in his space and it looked like a lot of cooking had been going on.

“Apparently word of your accident spread around and folks have been dropping off food for hours. Complete with cooking instructions and recipe cards.” She laughed.

Nate examined a recipe for venison stew and another for cinnamon bread. “I didn’t hear them.”

“You were dead to the world. Emily helped me take care of it all. We were figuring out what had to be refrigerated and what didn’t.” She looked over at Emily with a wink. “We admit we may have had a taste or two.”

Emily grinned from the sink. “It’s all delicious. You should try some.”

Liz grabbed a plate from the cupboard. “Sit. I’ll fix you a bit of each.”

Nate sighed. It was pointless to argue with her; besides, his body ached even after his nap. Obediently he sat at the kitchen table.

“I’ve never tried venison stew,” he said after she set a small bowl next to his plate. “Hmm, could use pepper, maybe cumin, too, but it’s not bad.”

Liz watched him a bit too intently and he stared back. “What? I feel like there’s something else.”

His cousin lifted her hands as if to appeal to him not to be mad. “Everyone will be dropping by soon.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

Liz braced her hands on her hips. “Relax. This is all part of good old-fashioned neighborliness.”

“Wait a minute. Do I look like I’m ready to receive visitors? And the inn? Do you really think I want the general public to see this place before it’s done?” Nate pressed his hands to his temples. He didn’t know if he should laugh or scream. “Are you telling me people are coming here to eat? In my kitchen? Without a reservation?”

“This evening.” Liz nodded. “It’s not general public, it’s your neighbors.”

He slammed his palm on the counter. “No food leaves here unless I approve. Line those dishes up and get me spoons. I’ll personally taste each one.”

Liz passed him a handful of serving spoons while Emily removed the lids. Liz drummed her fingers on the counter and Emily frowned.

After tasting the first spoonful, he opened the spice cabinet and selected several jars. Concentrating, he sprinkled one spice into the pot. He tasted again. And smiled at Liz before going to the next. “Since you let this happen you’re going to pitch in and help.”

He tasted the pasta dish and reached into the spice cabinet. “This needs a touch of oregano. Get the fresh herbs out of the refrigerator. You can chop them as they’re needed. Liz, get out the rice cooker. The quickest meat to add is chicken. There’s ten pounds of thighs in the meat drawer. Wash it.”

Liz and Emily scurried to do his bidding.

Afterwards Emily peered over his shoulder and reached for the recipe card. “I’ll make notes on what you’re adding,” she explained and pulled a pencil from her pocket.

“How long do we have before people start arriving?” Nate asked. Impatiently he asked for help to tie an apron around his waist before he washed his hands.

Emily gave him a blank stare.

“Dinner is at six,” Liz declared. “We have plenty of time. Its barely five. No one expects anything fancy.”

“I expect fancy,” Nate said. “Get out the white china and crystal tumblers. Put table cloths on the tables. This will be something they’ll remember.”

In less than fifteen minutes, he’d finished seasoning the covered dishes. To his surprise there weren’t two of any dish. Two huge frying pans held browning chicken. He turned the pieces so they crisped evenly. “We’ll need a bowl of fresh salad. Make that two. There’s plenty of homemade dressing.”

Emily washed the greens in the double sink and shook off the excess water. She flashed him a wide grin when she started slicing the tomatoes. “I worked in a restaurant to pay for college books. Salad was the easiest item to help prepare.”

“You certainly have a knack.”

Her slender fingers quickly sliced and diced. He wondered how they would feel on his skin. Moving fast then slow. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. Right now, he had to concentrate on his preparations. All his time was focused on the restaurant and inn. He set out bottles of home-made dressing.

The tossed salads looked good. He placed the bowls at either end of the counter.

Satisfied, he leaned back. The food would have to be served buffet style, but people could sit wherever they chose. The women had made the place look special, adding bouquets of flowers as centerpieces. Maybe this was a good idea. Maybe not.