Ginny Buck stood in her kitchen not knowing what to do next. The kitchen looked as if a bomb of flour detonated, with huge white splotches covering the jet black and stainless steel stove and the pale gray tiled floor. Ginny could barely pull herself away from Sylvene, but work waited for no one and there would be no dinner or dessert if she didn’t get a move on now, but that little girl reminded her so much of Athena when she was that age—that most wondrous age especially at Christmas time.
Sylvene was fast asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace. The hike and sleigh ride wore her right out, and when Ginny came into the living room bearing mugs of hot chocolate, the little girl was already in dreamland.
“Here,” said Ginny to Jolene, who was half asleep herself in the chaise by the front bay window.
“You go up to your room and rest for a while. I’m just in the kitchen, and Moonlight is right by Sylvene’s side. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I could use a rest on that amazing bed,” Jolene said, gratefully eying the mug full of a wonderful smelling chocolate.
“Of course you can and you should,” said Ginny. She grabbed the crutch Jolene had been using and held her arm out for Jolene for balance as she helped her up the few stairs to their room.
“There, get off your feet,” Ginny said, placing the crutch by the bed with the steaming mug of chocolate on the bedside table. Jolene could maneuver going downstairs with little difficulty, but going up was another story, and she needed just a little bit of assistance.
“Thank you so much, Ginny,” said Jolene, as she hopped onto the feather soft queen-sized bed. ”You’ve been so kind to me and Sylvene, I only wish I could help out in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense,” Ginny said, tucking the covers under Jolene’s legs.”You didn’t come here to be kitchen help—you came here for a much-needed vacation, and that’s what you’re going to get. You rest up and later we can all set the table for dinner. How’s that?”
“I’d love nothing more,” Jolene answered, giving Ginny the thumbs up.
“And don’t worry about Sylvene. She’s in good hands. And paws.”
“Thank you, Ginny.”
Ginny closed the door and went downstairs. She gently patted Moonlight’s silky golden head who looked up at his mistress through sleepy eyes. Moonlight’s siblings, Mermaid and Meringue, were already sleeping in front of the fire. Meringue was pregnant and rested as much as she could in the days before her delivery which would be around New Year’s Day. Meringue hadn’t been eating much and was restless until now, which made Ginny wonder if her due date wouldn’t be sooner. She made a mental note to call Dr. Ruthmon to make sure she was in town for the holidays, and if not, which of her staff would be available should the time come sooner.
“You watch over her and your siblings, sweetheart. I’m just in the kitchen.” Ginny leaned over and kissed Moonlight, who responded with a kiss of his own. She then knelt in front of the fire and patted Mermaid and Meringue’s downy heads before returning to her kitchen duty.
She finished mashing the potatoes for the evening’s dinner of shepherd’s pie which would go into the oven in about an hour. The only guests at the moment were Jolene and Sylvene with one other guest arriving Christmas morning. Ginny decided she wanted a smaller guest list this Christmas at the Inn. Usually, the Inn accommodated ten guests at the holidays, but this year she was just not in the mood to cook and cater to an inn full of Christmas guests. When Wanda Basz, Ginny’s long-time friend and devoted employee, decided to open a new chapter in her own life, Ginny knew this Christmas was going to be different.
“You know how much I love you and the Inn, Ginny,” Wanda said one June day as they were folding clean towels for guests who would be arriving later that afternoon.
“I just won’t get another opportunity like this again. I’m pushing seventy, and well…”
“I’ve pushed seventy, so I certainly know how you feel.” Ginny gently patted Wanda’s hands, reassuring her that she understood it was time for Wanda to move on.
“Heck, if I got an opportunity to spend the next year in Poland, I’d leave here too.”
Wanda stacked the ivory towels in a neat pile. ”I was so happy to receive my cousin’s letter. We’ve been pen pals for decades, but both of us have been so busy with our lives. Now the kids are grown, well, a nice long visit was what we both wanted. We’re free to travel, so that’s what we are going to do. A year traveling Poland and beyond. Then I’ll be back. I promise.”
“I want no such promise, Wanda, do you understand me? I hope you meet a handsome Polish count and become countess of some castle I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. When do you leave?”
“I’ll be here for the Fourth of July barbecue and then I fly out the night of July 5th. There was no way I was leaving before Independence Day.”
Ginny rolled out a pie crust thinking that was six months ago, and that was when Ginny closed off the Christmas reservations, with only a reservation for Savannah Brady and one other guest. Athena wasn’t coming this year due to a horseback riding competition which started on Boxing Day, so keeping it smaller seemed like the right thing to do.
“But we have Sylvene and Jolene this year,” she said, and as if on cue, Mermaid padded into the kitchen. Mermaid in particular stayed close to Ginny, especially when she was in the kitchen, as some kind of scrap always conveniently fell right on the floor before Mermaid’s nose.
Sylvene. Jolene. Savannah. Matthew was very brief on the phone about her, but she knew in an instant, she was special to her younger son. Ginny already knew that when Savannah changed her long-held reservation from her own name to the Siddons girls. Savannah had made her reservation right before Wanda broke the news of her departure, and she had been the only guest to request a monthly payment plan. All of her previous guests would just charge it and forget about it, but obviously Savannah had to be careful with her money, and her payments always arrived right on time. Ginny had just received Savannah’s final payment when Savannah phoned to change her reservation.
Now, through some strange coincidence, or not, Savannah was coming as Matthew’s guest, and she would be staying in the carriage house. Ginny stood at her kitchen window gazing at her beloved carriage house.
It will be nice to have it occupied again, she thought as she turned back to her pie crust. As much as she loved the cooking and the baking and the general running of the inn, this year seemed peculiar to her, and she not only felt Wanda’s absence, but her husband Michael’s as well. Although Michael had been gone for quite some time, it was at Christmas, especially, that she felt the emptiness without him. It was Michael who was the true heart and soul of The Blue Spruce Inn, his dream turned into a reality with nothing but hard work and sheer determination.
Ginny noticed a restlessness in Michael when Matthew started kindergarten. She sensed his increasing dissatisfaction with his work as a marketing executive for a top Boston investment firm, working long hours, not to mention many weekends, keeping him away from his home and family, and Ginny knew Michael was becoming more wistful for a place like his Brightmore, New Hampshire roots.
“The air is always stale in Boston, Ginny, and nearly impossible to look for constellations in a winter sky. The city streets are littered and crowded. If we lived in the suburbs, the boys would have a big yard to run in, and we could get one of those golden retrievers you are always talking about. We could actually live.”
Ginny had put her arms around her husband’s neck and nuzzled into his chin. She had noticed the first wisps of gray in his hair, and she knew Michael felt the passage of time faster than she did. He was two years older and always laughed that she was two years behind him in his thinking. She felt his arms lovingly embrace her, as she harbored a secret, one she would never tell anyone: that she was in love. In love with the city and most of all in love with the Beacon Hill townhouse they scraped every penny to buy eight years before, right after Matthew was born. To say it needed work was an understatement, but Ginny was adamant. They had rented it from an elderly, retired attorney who lived in Maine and really wanted nothing to do with the place. When he died, he left no heirs, and his will simply stated to sell the brownstone. Ginny and Michael were offered the right of first refusal.
“Michael, this is a goldmine,” Ginny said one evening, after the estate attorney had been in touch with them. ”There’s plenty of room for the boys, maybe a golden retriever…”
“Ginny,” Michael said, sipping his evening brandy from his favorite crystal glass, one Ginny found at a tag sale, ”my salary is good but it’s not great. I just don’t think we could afford it. Especially with two growing boys.”
“Well, I have some money saved from baking for the Atlantic Diner. And I promise to paint, wallpaper, whatever it takes, all on my own.”
She watched him pour himself another glass and as he did she could see the wheels turning in his brain, and she knew exactly how he would respond, so she beat him to it.
“Michael,” she said, getting up and sitting on the arm of his old leather chair. She began to massage the knots from his neck, and like a seasoned attorney, she began to plead her case.
“Look, I know you want to move to the suburbs, but if you think this house will cost money, that will cost even more. Your commute into the city alone would be over an hour, and you hate traffic. Here, you hop on a bus or subway, or when the weather is nice, you can even walk to the office. The boys love the Museum of Science and the Boston Common is their playground. They have friends and they’re happy at St. Hedwig’s school and oh, well, Michael, the suburbs are just so bland. All the houses look the same, there are no—”
“You can rest your case, Ginny.” Michael pulled his wife into his lap and kissed her passionately on her soft pink lips. He pulled her in close to him, and Ginny never wanted the moment to end. She loved this man with all of her heart and soul, and if she couldn’t convince him to stay, well, she would follow him anywhere.
“We’ll stay. We’ll figure it out financially. But I’m warning you,” he said with that musical laugh that always melted Ginny, ”when retirement rolls around, we’re heading to New Hampshire.”
It took Ginny a few years to gloriously restore the brownstone, with the occasional help from contractors who were fathers of her boys’ friends. It was the first brownstone in a line of ten and the smallest, as the rest of the row belonged to Calloway Junior College, with its elegant classrooms and dormitories. Ginny’s renovations included a kitchen and mudroom on the first level, while the second floor had two bedrooms, as did the third, one of them consigned as Michael’s study. Their home had good bones, but needed new plumbing and electrical, leaving the rest strictly cosmetic. In between caring for her family and her baking job, Ginny painted, wallpapered and shellacked the woodwork to its original glowing beauty. It was cozy and warm. It was their home, and Ginny never saw, after all her intensive labor and getting it to be exactly how she wanted, what was thundering in the very near future.
“It’s not an option, Ginny. We have no choice.”
Ginny remained as stoic as possible when her husband told her that his firm went bankrupt through bad investments and would be closing at the end of the year. In two months.
Michael drained his glass of brandy and immediately refilled it.
“Dad just bought himself a smaller place five miles from the house, and he’ll sell the farmhouse to us for a song. Calloway’s been hounding us for months now to buy this place, so we can make them an offer they can’t refuse, pay Dad, and we’ll be mortgage free. I know it’s not what you want Ginny, but right now I don’t have a job, which means we don’t have a lot of options.”
No, it’s not what I want. Ginny held her tongue. If she didn’t, a huge fight would erupt and words would be said that could never be forgotten. Michael never drank more than two glasses of brandy, but right now he was starting on his third, and Ginny had to tread carefully. Her husband lost his job. All the long hours, weekends, missing the boys’ school events, and for what? No. She wasn’t going there. She could feel her heart cracking into a million pieces—for losing her home, for her husband losing his job, for her losing the contented family life she worked so hard to create.
Lying in bed later that night, and unable to sleep, Ginny remembered something her mother once said.
“Remember, honey, a house is just a dwelling, but a home is love.”
Home. She could be home anywhere as long as she had her boys with her. Michael, of course, had convinced Mitchell and Matthew that moving to Brightmore would be their greatest adventure of their young lives. It was nonstop ”when are we leaving? Can we play hockey, ski, and snowmobile?” Her sons were beyond excited and happy to leave their cozy little brownstone.
Matthew and Mitchell had just come home from school, throwing their shoes and books all over the mudroom floor. Christmas break was a week away, and Ginny had been packing as the plan was to move up north during the Christmas vacation and have the boys start at Brightmore Elementary in January.
“I can’t wait to get to Brightmore,” said Mitchell, stuffing his second chocolate chip cookie into his mouth and swishing it down with a glass of chocolate milk.
“I thought you loved it here,” Ginny asked, wiping up drops of spilled milk.
“We do, but we love it there, too, Mom. Remember how Matthew couldn’t stop bawling when we had to leave last summer? How Grandpa Max taught me to fish and taught Matthew how to fix the tractor motor? We love that stuff.”
“Yeah, we love that stuff,” his little brother parroted, carefully watching his older brother, mimicking him in every way possible from stuffing cookies into his tiny mouth to wiping his milk-stained lips with his shirt sleeve.
Ginny continued to wipe the counter listening to her sons marvel about the wonders of rural New Hampshire.
“Yeah. Dad said when he turns the farmhouse into an inn, we can all help out. He wants to get a horse and a carriage and give rides around the farm and he has all these different ideas for different times of the year. You know, apple picking in the fall, sleigh rides in the winter, and fishing in the spring. There’ll be tons to do, Mom.”
“Yeah, tons to do,” Matthew said, following Mitchell to the kitchen counter and dropping his cookie-crumbed plate into the sink.
“You’ve obviously discussed this extensively with your father,” Ginny said, quite amazed at the wealth of information Mitchell was excitedly spewing.
“He says it’s going to be the family business, and we’re the family. Oh, and he said, the kitchen is so big there, you’ll have plenty of room to bake tons of pies and cakes and cookies.”
“Yeah, tons of room,” Matthew said, wiping his hands on the back of his pants.
“Matthew, don’t do that; you need those pants for school tomorrow.”
“Oh, sorry, Mom. I’m going to change anyway.” He started to head upstairs, but turned back into the kitchen.
“You know, I will miss everyone at St. Hedwig’s but Sister Lucilla said that when God closes a door, he opens a window, although I’m not sure what that means.”
Ginny walked toward Matthew and took her younger son into her arms and kissed his tousled light brown hair.
“Sister Lucilla is a very wise woman. It means that when one chapter ends, another begins.”
“Yeah, Dad’s job ended but he can begin again in Brightmore,” said Mitchell in his older brother-wisdom voice, dashing up the stairs in the daily race to beat his brother.
Matthew remained for a moment, still wrapped in his mother’s arms.
“You’re happy about the move, aren’t you, Mom?”
Ginny looked into her little boy’s sea-glass eyes, and saw them cloud with doubt. He was still a young boy at eight, and his mother knew he needed her comforting reassurance.
Ginny pulled Matthew closer. The top of his head reached her nose, and pretty soon he’d be taller than she. Matthew was smart and sensitive, and she knew she had to be honest with him.
“I am happy now. At first I wasn’t because I love this house. But then I remembered it was just a house and home is wherever my boys are. And that includes your father.”
“I’m glad, Mom. It’s like what Dad always tells us, happy wife, happy life.”
“Oh does he now?” Ginny couldn’t help but laugh as her son broke from her arms and thumped upstairs to join his brother.
And now, several decades later, Ginny was living a life quite unexpected. She became so wrapped up in helping Michael turn the farmhouse into an inn, there were times when she completely forgot about the Boston brownstone, the Common, and the museums she thought had fulfilled her life, as well as that of her sons, and she pleasantly discovered that she had been completely wrong. The boys loved their new school and made friends easily, always going off to someone’s house after school, or having their new-found friends congregate at Grandpa Max’s barn. Maximillian Buck and his wife, Paulina, raised Michael and his sister, Irene, or Reeni as everyone called her, in the house that was now the inn, making Michael’s family the third generation to grow up in the Brightmore farmhouse. Reeni lived in Atlanta, moving there after marrying her husband, a Georgia native. She and her husband had their own house outside of the city, and she made it very clear that she loved living in Atlanta and had no intentions of returning north to New Hampshire.
“You know I’m settled here, Michael,” she told him one night over the phone. Her brother phoned to let her know he wanted to buy his father out of the house. ”I know how much you love that old house, Mikey, and truly, there’s nothing for me there. My life is in Atlanta, and besides, Ben and I have been talking about traveling cross-country the next few summers while the kids are still young enough to enjoy it. It’s all yours, big brother. But thanks for thinking of me.”
So, with only sheer will and determination to succeed, Michael Buck put every penny from the sale of the brownstone into modernizing the farmhouse, and he had created a masterpiece.
“The first room on the remodeling agenda is the kitchen. You tell me what you want, and it’s all yours.”
“Is that your way of saying I’ll be chief cook and bottle washer of this little inn, my dear?” she laughed one night as they were going over blueprints.
“Well,” he said, leaning closer, whispering into her ear, ”only the best for the best.”
Ginny still shivered after all these years of marriage when he whispered into her ear. His powers of seduction were still very strong, and she was helpless and always succumbed to his flirtatious winks and whispers.
Ginny gazed into his gray eyes, the color of the sea on a cloudy winter day. She always lost herself in that ocean of his soul and sank into his chest. His arms, more muscular, and stronger, after moving to the farmhouse and from long days of hammering and lifting, engulfed her in a tight embrace.
“I’ll never say no to you, Michael.” She gently kissed him on his lips and his embrace tightened.
“How about putting the blueprints away for tonight and going to bed. You won’t say no to that, will you?”
“No, I will not.” She rose from the old wooden kitchen table and put out her hand for his. He lifted her up from the floor and carried her to their bedroom for a fiery night of passion that Ginny still remembered to this day. She now laid a cool hand to her burning cheek, thrilled at the memory, yet slightly embarrassed by her thoughts while baking pies, and with a little girl asleep in the next room.
“You old fool,” she laughed to herself, glancing at the clock. She still had two more hours before Matthew and Savannah arrived, and she wanted to make one last check on the carriage house.
“Need some help?” Jolene’s sleepy voice asked as she entered the kitchen.
“That was a short nap,” Ginny said, removing her apron and hanging it on the peg near the back door.
“I don’t want to sleep the day away. It’s too beautiful here.” She gently rubbed her knee and put her crutch near Ginny’s apron.
“I swear my knee feels so much better since we’ve been here. I know it’s only been a day but there absolutely is a difference.”
Jolene stretched her leg back and then grabbed her foot with her hand, giving her thigh muscle a good stretch.
“Well, I do believe that fresh air, especially cold fresh air, has healing powers, so I’m not surprised. But don’t overdo it.” Ginny winked at the pretty young mother.
“Hard not to,” she said. ”Can I help with anything?”
“I was just going to head over to the carriage house for a last look around before Matthew comes with his guest. I just put some pie crust in the fridge and it won’t be ready to roll out for an hour. Why don’t you sit by the fire with Sylvene. Something tells me she won’t be waking up from dreamland for quite some time.”
Jolene laughed. ”She hasn’t had a nap since she was two. Playing with the dogs wore her out.”
“Dog-tired, you might say,” Ginny laughed as she grabbed her fleece.
“Go join your daughter. I’ll be back in a bit. Oh, here, take this with you.”
Ginny grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured Jolene her famous rich and thick hot chocolate. She bent under the sink, pulled out a bottle of brandy and poured a shot into the chocolate.
“Will do your knee even better,” Ginny said, handing the mug to Jolene who immediately took a sip.
“Mmmm. Nothing like a warming shot of cocoa brandy. Thanks, Ginny. You think of everything.”
“Enjoy the quiet.”
Jolene padded into the living room to join her sleeping daughter as Ginny opened the backdoor. Tiny flurries danced from the gray sky, sprinkling the ground like heaven-sent confectioner’s sugar. Nothing more than afternoon-evening flurries were predicted, and Ginny was thankful as Matthew would be on the road. Even though they grew up driving snow plows and snowmobiles, Ginny always worried about her children driving on slick roads. Hitting one minuscule patch of slush could hurtle a car right into a ravine.
“Stop that,” Ginny scolded herself, stepping into the cold. She could see a faint break of lavender light in the gray sky and knew the sun was trying to poke through, but a gray cloud quickly scudded across the sky, and hid the sun behind it, with the streak of lavender vanishing with it. She grasped the collar of her coat, pulling it tightly across her neck, as she hated nothing more than getting a draft on her neck, which always felt like it settled right in her insides and left her chilled to the bone. Ginny quickly walked the few yards to the carriage house, being careful not to slip on the newly fallen snow.
“Carriage house,” she laughed as she put the key in the front door lock. It was actually nowhere near the size of a true carriage house, certainly not big enough for a horse carriage.
“Who said it had to be a horse carriage?” Michael asked, as he put the finishing touches on the house so many years ago. ”A baby carriage or two would fit fine in here,” he laughed, hugging his wife as Ginny's face lit up with pure happiness.
“Call it whatever you want, Ginny. It’s yours. You’re the one woman in a house full of boys, and well, I thought you might like your own place, of course, not too far from us.”
The carriage house was a replica of their own home, albeit, of course smaller. It was painted white with black shutters, but, unlike the main house’s front door of pristine white, the carriage house’s door was painted an ocean blue.
Ginny found herself embraced in the essence of tranquility inside her carriage house, and she hoped Savannah would feel the same. Calming dove-gray painted walls illuminated the large main room. There was a bay window next to the blue door and one on the back wall as well. There was a daybed, as well as a chaise lounge, and a rocking chair. Framed pictures painted by Ginny’s cousin, Marylou, who had passed away the previous year, adorned the walls. There was a bath at the rear of the house with an extra-large walk-in shower. In short, it was absolute perfection. Ginny changed very little over the years. The daybed still stood and was now winterized with cozy flannel sheets, pillowcases, and a handmade quilt with a large blue spruce in its center. She added a wing chair, with a matching pillow. She repainted the walls last spring, a shade called Falling Snowflake, which had a hint of gray, making the house feel warmer than the original bright white. Light blue curtains hung on the windows, giving the carriage house a homey and cozy feel.
“Oh,” Ginny said, snapping her fingers in annoyance. She headed back outside around the carriage house to the wood pile and gathered a few logs and hurried back inside and started a fire. She looked up at her grandmother’s antique cuckoo clock perched above the fireplace.
“Cuckoo!” The clock chimed at the one o’clock hour, and the happy little bird poked from the inside out just once, the doors shutting until the next hour. Ginny smiled at the clock that had been keeping time for her entire life, starting in her grandmother’s home, then to her own home on Beacon Hill, and now in New Hampshire, in its sacred spot above the fireplace in her precious carriage house. The clock was more than a possession; it was a friend, signaling at every hour that it was working hard, still counting the hours of all of Ginny’s seventy-three years. She could even hear it when she was in the kitchen of the main house, and she lovingly referred to it as her own version of Old Faithful.
“I just hope you don’t bother our guest,” she said looking up at the clock, suddenly aware that Savannah may not like a little wooden bird reminding her of the time every hour.
Although Matthew didn’t directly tell Ginny this woman was special, she could tell from the tone of his voice when he phoned.
“I can have the carriage house made up for her, do you think she’ll like that?”
“I was hoping you’d suggest that.” Ginny could hear a smile in Matthew’s voice and she could picture her son, his mischievous sea-glass eyes crinkling with happiness.
“Or I do have rooms available inside the inn. I think I told you that I didn’t want to fill it to capacity this year, so…”
“Are you okay, Mom?” Ginny detected concern in her son’s voice and answered him as benignly as possibly.
“Of course I am. I just wanted a quieter Christmas this year. And besides, when you moved back East and told me you’d be coming home, I didn’t want an inn full of guests to wait on—I just want to wait on you.” There. That should satisfy him, Ginny thought. She could always pull off a good white lie.
“That’s the last thing I want you to do. I’m just really looking forward to coming home, Mom.”
Now, Ginny knew for sure her younger son was looking forward to not only coming home, but coming home with Savannah. Her mother’s intuition was always spot on with her boys.
“Well, you tell Savannah not to worry about a thing, and if she forgets anything, I’m likely to have it.”
“Thanks, Mom. See you soon. Love you.”
“I love you too, Matthew. See you soon, and drive carefully.”
Truth be told, as much as Ginny loved having the inn full for Christmas, it was getting to be too much. She knew when Wanda left it would be near impossible for her to cook and bake, and as much help as Mitchell and his sons Davey and Jake were, well, they had their own teenage lives, and she did not want the inn to consume them. Davey was sixteen and Jake almost fourteen. They were both involved with every sports team imaginable, and with all their schoolwork, Ginny did not want them feeling obligated to help her.
“Gramz, you know we don’t mind at all,” Davey told her. It was Labor Day weekend, and Ginny was gearing up for leaf peeping season. Wanda was gone and for the first time since opening the inn, Ginny was solely responsible for the comfort of her guests, making her particularly anxious.
She looked at her older grandson. Davey was at that point in life where his boyish features were meshing with that of a young man’s. She could see the hair thickening over his upper lip and he had lost much of the chubbiness in his face, now leaner and more that of a young man. His sandy brown hair was combed neatly and slicked back over his head, while his wide hazel eyes sparkled in the morning light.
“Yeah, Gramz, we love to help you,” Jake echoed. He and his older brother were almost identical except where Davey’s eyes were hazel, Jake’s eyes were dark blue; the color of blueberries in summer.
“I know you do,” Ginny said, kissing them each on the top of their heads. She pulled out a peach cobbler she made the night before, just for them, and spooned some on a plate for each of them.
“But, you’re young men now, and I don’t want you to ever feel you have to help out here. I know you’re both busy with sports and school and that comes first.”
“Family comes first, Gramz,” Davey said, shoveling the cobbler into his always hungry mouth.
“We’re always here for you, Gramz. Especially when you have peach cobbler,” echoed Jake.
Ginny engulfed her grandsons into a huge bear hug, knowing that their father did a wonderful job with his boys, and all by himself. The boys’ mother, Mitchell’s wife, Penny, up and left just after Jake’s first birthday, declaring she did not want to be a mother any longer nor live in some hick farm town where she had spent her whole life.
Mitchell had woken up at his usual 3:30 am to start work on his up-and-coming horse farm, when he had found the note on the kitchen table;
Mitchell,
You know that I have been unhappy for a long time. Believe it or not, I do love my sons, and that is why I am leaving. I do not want them to grow up with a mother who resents her life, and I would never want to take this resentment out on my sons. I am leaving now while they are young enough not to remember me. This may sound cruel to the average person, but they will be better off without me, and so will you.
You may not believe that either, but I love you as well, but I do not love this life. I have loved you since I was a girl and I loved you so much that I wanted whatever you wanted—the farm, children. I thought that if it was enough for you, then it would be for me too, but, as I have discovered over the years, it is not. I was able to give you what YOU wanted, but I had forgotten myself along the way, and when I came to that realization, there simply is no way I can give myself to our sons, to you, to our marriage.
I don’t expect you to forgive me, Mitchell, nor would I ask. I also do not expect you to understand my choice now, but hopefully someday you will. When I land where I need to be, I will let you know.
I am doing this for love. For my love for you, for my sons, and for myself.
Penny
Mitchell never revealed to his sons their mother’s goodbye note and Mitchell swore Ginny to secrecy.
“They don’t need to know this, Mom,” he said after the Hawaii State police department contacted him about Penny’s death a month after her departure. She was on board a puddle jumper, island hopping in Hawaii, when the weather took a bad turn making the pilot unable to see the runway, and crashing into a mountain, killing all on board the small plane. All the boys knew was that their mother was helping a sick friend in Hawaii when her plane crashed. Penny was rarely mentioned in their lives and that was how Mitchell wanted it, and Ginny respected her older son’s wishes. It was enough for them to know their mother loved them, and Ginny was grateful neither one of her precious grandsons actually remembered their mother.
Sadly, the boys rarely asked about their mother, never really knowing her. Ginny always made sure Penny was remembered on her birthday, serving each boy a red velvet cupcake with pink buttercream frosting, Penny’s favorite. But as the boys got older, absence did not make their hearts grow fonder. In fact, they asked less and less about her, which suited Mitchell just fine.
“I guess it’s true,” Mitchell said to Ginny one day grooming Beachtree, his newest horse. It was Penny’s birthday, and the boys did not ask for the annual cupcake.
“What’s that, Mitchell?” Ginny was admiring the horse’s gorgeous blonde mane.
“You don’t miss what you don’t have. I know they’re getting older, but they didn’t ask for a cupcake this year. Matter of fact last year, I had to remind them. I guess I will this year too. After all, they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”
Ginny laughed. ”No, they wouldn’t. And she is, was, their mother. She should be remembered on her birthday. I’ll stop at Nutmeg Nancy’s today and pick up cupcakes for dessert.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Mitchell put the brush on the hook and hugged his mother.
“You’re the only mother they’ve ever known.”
“Oh, you’re going to make me cry. You know I love those boys more than anything. Just as much as you and your brother,” she laughed, wiping away a stray tear.
“Sometimes I do wish Matty was around more,” Mitchell said, as he locked up Beachtree’s paddock.
“Well, you know your brother. As much as he loves it here, he cannot resist the call of the city. I understand. I used to be like that too. I loved living in Boston when you and your brother were babies. But I wouldn’t go back for anything, now.”
“Why weren’t we as lucky as you and dad? I married a woman who had to find herself, left her family and was killed, and Matty’s wife was so career focused, it ruined their marriage.”
“Well, Matty and Summer were never perfectly matched, in my humble opinion,” said Ginny.
“As for you and Penny, well no one was more surprised than me when she up and left. She pined for you when you were at college, never dating anyone, just hanging around here all the time trying to glean any kind of news about you I was willing to give. I told her as gently as I could for her to move on with her life, but it did no good. She said to me one day, ‘Mrs. Buck, Mitchell is worth the wait’. So she waited and I thought, well, nothing can stop true love.”
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders and gave a sarcastic laugh.
“I probably should have told her that myself. But having the most beautiful girl in town follow you like a devoted puppy, well, I guess it strokes your ego. That’s not to say I didn’t love her. I think I loved her devotion to me more than anything, and my head swelled. And the rest is history.”
“We can’t beat ourselves up about the past, Mitchell. We have to see the gifts that it has given us—my grandsons and my granddaughter—and be thankful. Pray for those departed and for those with us, and hope for happiness and live our lives as best we can. And I think we’re doing a pretty good job with that.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without Davey and Jake,” Mitchell said.
“And like you said, they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Penny. Now, lunch is ready in the kitchen, so sit yourself down and eat. I’m off to Nutmeg Nancy’s.”
Now, back in the carriage house, Ginny felt a chill run through her blood. She and Michael worked hard to raise two wonderful, caring men, and she could not for the life of her understand why both of their marriages failed. Could she be blamed for this? Ginny tried not to be too overbearing with her opinions on her sons’ choices of girlfriends and eventual wives. She knew she had to look the other way when Mitchell announced he was marrying Penny and then Matthew announcing he was marrying Summer. They were grown men who had to make their own way in life with the women they chose for their wives, good or bad. Work and Davey and Jake consumed Mitchell, but now his own sons were getting older and would be ready to leave the farm at some point. Then what? And Matthew, her workaholic son, as creatively brilliant as he was, she knew a lonely soul lived within him. Their lives were full, but there was truly something to be said for a rock-solid relationship, and she continued to pray that each of her sons would find it one day.
The chill still lingered as she looked at the thermostat. It read sixty-three degrees.
“The fire should warm up the place soon,” she said. She threw another log on and watched the bright flames jump and dance, and Ginny felt the fire warming up the carriage house.
“I think Savannah will love this,” she said, as she felt the vibration of her phone in her back pocket. She pulled it out hoping to see a text from Matthew.
Hi, Ginny. Sincerest apologies but I won’t be able to get to the Inn for Christmas. Haley surprised me with a trip to New York City! Let’s call it a postponement and not a cancellation as you know how much I love Christmas at Blue Spruce. I’ll be in touch after the New Year. Merry Christmas! Love, HM
Honey Malone and her daughter Haley had been coming to the Inn for the last ten Christmases. They were friends in Boston and lost touch when Ginny moved North, but after Honey’s divorce, she found her way to the Inn with her daughter, Haley. Two lost souls who needed a home for Christmas. Jolene and Sylvene reminded Ginny of Honey and Haley but only in the simple fact that they were mother and daughter on their own. Where it took Honey years to become confident and independent, Ginny knew that Jolene had well passed that point, as working full time and raising a child alone will do that to a woman. Ginny hoped for a chance to get to know her guests better, and now, with just her three guests, Ginny was glad she would get the chance. She quickly texted Honey that she would see her in the New Year.
“A small Christmas miracle,” Ginny said, checking one more time on the carriage house. It was ready and waiting for Savannah.
Ginny stepped out into the dusting of flurries still falling from the winter sky and walked briskly back to the main house. As much as Honey was like family and she loved her dearly, Honey proved to be on the demanding side, which never really bothered Ginny, as she enjoyed indulging her ego-fragile friend. But with Matthew coming home, she longed for a less busy Christmas, and she had just gotten her wish. She’d still be plenty busy, but Jolene and Sylvene were easy—that precious little girl was so content playing with the dogs, and Jolene seemed to be recuperating nicely, now able to walk a little further than she did even a day ago.
Walking back into her toasty kitchen she checked on the dough for the pie crust. She pulled her calendar from the wall and looked at the block of days in December. It was pretty hard to see anything as there were so many notations on it regarding certain guests and dinner menus.
“You don’t need that old thing anymore,” Wanda had said shortly before her departure. ”Everything is updated in the computer. If you’d take a minute just to sit and take a look, I’ll explain everything. Easy peasy.”
“Easy peasy for you,” Ginny retorted. She never cared for the administrative side of the business—Michael took care of that until Wanda came along. Ginny much preferred to make her guests feel like family with her wonderful meals and desserts.
“Well, Mitchell and the boys know how to use it in case your paper calendar goes up in flames someday. Maybe you should move it closer to the door than near the stove, in case you need to make a mad dash out of here. You can grab the calendar on your way out.”
“Wanda, that’s enough. Just because you’re smarter than me when it comes to that thing you call a laptop, doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve lived by my calendar for decades and I’m not stopping now. But the computer is a good back up, I must admit.” Ginny laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Besides, what would the boys get me for Christmas? They always do find the prettiest calendars.” Ginny leafed through this year’s calendar, a seaside theme, with gorgeous pictures of the ocean, lighthouses, sea creatures, and sunsets. December’s photo was particularly beautiful—a lighthouse on the coast of Maine, sitting on a craggy rock, the sky a dusky hue of sunset purple and snowflakes capping the black top of the lighthouse’s lantern room.
Ginny loved her calendars. It was the one gift that Mitchell and Matthew gave her jointly when they were children, and now the tradition continued with her grandsons. Athena was in on it as well, and Ginny always received a smaller purse-sized version from her granddaughter, which was just as invaluable as her precious wall calendars.
Athena. Ginny thought of her granddaughter as she sat down at the table with her calendar and pen and crossed Honey’s name from the December 25 block. Athena was the only missing piece of this year’s Christmas puzzle. Ginny was much more up on technology than she let Wanda believe. Every day she checked the laptop for an email from Athena, who was a wonderful granddaughter, emailing her grandmother every day. Yesterday, her email was a short one.
Hi, Gramz! Today Gemini and I had a great practice. He’s looking amazing, and I think we shall do well. Gotta go—stable mucking is calling, but I’ll email more tomorrow.
All my love, your granddaughter, Athena—how lucky am I to be your ONLY granddaughter!!
Smiley faces with their lips puckered into kisses and red hearts followed her name.
Ginny laughed at the only granddaughter reference as if Athena had just Ginny for a grandmother, but she may as well have. Although Summer’s mother was very much alive and kicking, she never had much to do with her granddaughter, always jetting about with her boyfriend of the month. Marlena Graystone was only a year older than Ginny, but Marlena had an uncanny talent of only meeting and dating top-notch dermatologists and plastic surgeons. She most certainly did look ‘plastic-y’ but she wasn’t a bad person. As soon as Summer left home for college, Marlena moved on to what she referred to as the ‘second chapter’ of her life, by having a face lift, tummy tuck, and God knows what else. Her first serious boyfriend after her divorce was the surgeon who performed her eye lift and when he passed away, it was the dermatologist who botoxed her on a regular basis.
So while Marlena was living the life of Riley, with little contact with Athena, other than monetary birthday and Christmas gifts, it was Ginny who gave Athena true gifts—the gift diving off the old wooden dock into the pristine cold blue water of Lake Brightmore. The gift of raking jeweled colored leaves surrounded by the autumnal muted tones of the White Mountains. The gift of truly dashing through the snow in a horse-driven sleigh. The gift of purple and yellow crocuses poking their hearty heads from the melting snow, with pink and green buds blossoming under a warming spring sun. The time she spent at the Blue Spruce with Ginny during Athena’s young life was priceless, and she knew that it helped shape her granddaughter into the person she was today. A confident teenage girl who would take on the world—as long as it was on horseback, of course. As much as Ginny was happy for Athena, she missed her terribly, but Ginny also knew that moving to England was an opportunity that might never come again, and there could be no better place than the English countryside for Athena to master the art of equestrianism.
Most of all Ginny was thankful for Athena’s relationship with her father. Matthew and his daughter were so much alike. Not only did they have the same colored eyes of blue-green sea-glass, they also had a distinct way of crinkling every time they smiled or laughed. Although Athena possessed the high cheekbones, fair complexion and gorgeous coal black hair of her mother, the rest was all Matthew—the thin athletic build that was perfect for speed—Matthew’s running his hardest and sliding into home and Athena’s prowess as an equestrienne, were all from the Buck genes. But the similarities didn’t stop at their physical appearances. Deep down they were both painfully shy people. Where Mitchell was gregarious and outgoing, Matthew was quiet, preferring to tinker with broken down gadgets in the quiet of his grandfather’s barn. Matthew tried to emulate his older brother, but he was much more comfortable hanging out with his Grandpa Max fixing broken motors and building birdhouses. Matthew could fix anything and loved his time with his grandfather, but Ginny also knew that he should be out with friends his own age, so she asked her father-in-law to have a talk with her younger son.
“Matthew, as much as I love your help around here, there is one thing that I want you to do for me.”
“What’s that, Grandpa Max?” Matthew was barely listening to his grandfather, as he just located the broken spring in the motor of an old lawnmower and was eager to replace it to make sure it worked.
“You know, I loved tinkering with motors when I was your age, but I loved something else, too.”
“What?” asked Matthew, incredulous that anything existed besides grease, broken springs, and anything with a motor.
“Baseball. I just loved listening to the Red Sox on the radio, and I imagined that one day I would play in Fenway Park. I even built a pitch back outta an old frame and some sailboat ropes I found lying around the barn. Wasn’t the best thing of course, but it did the trick. But when I made the Little League team when I was about your age, well, I thought that was even better than fixin’ a motor. I got to hit and pitch and run and slide. Well, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”
“Like Mitchell. He likes it too. But I think he’s better at basketball. Just sayin’.”
“Well, we all have our talents, Matty. And yours is being able to fix just about anything. But it’s good to learn something else, too. I like to take a break from fixing things from time to time. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we throw the old ball around? I think you’ll like it. I got my glove, and I know I can scrounge up an old ball somewhere. What do you say we take a break from fixin’ things and try something new?”
Matthew gave his grandfather a stern and quizzical look. He shrugged his thin shoulders and simply answered. ”Okay.”
Ginny was eternally grateful to her father-in-law, as it set Matthew in motion on a course that would forever change his life. He also discovered, like his grandfather, a love for baseball that would carry him through little league, even making it to the finals in the Little League World Series, to high school, to a partial college scholarship at Stony Oak College. Being on their baseball team enabled him to travel, and his business courses opened up a new world for him, where he especially found his niche in marketing and advertising, all roads leading to his successful stint in Chicago and now at Howardson’s. Ginny thought him brilliant in the boardroom, and Matthew could come up with slogans for almost everything, from dog food to cell phones, but he gave all the credit to his grandfather, Maximillian.
Matthew was getting ready to leave for a summer internship in Boston his senior year in college, and Ginny was making sure everything was packed. ”I’m the one who spent the most time with Grandpa Max. He was always coming with up rhymes, like his charm on the farm or I sigh at one of Grammy’s pies. But I think my favorite was don’t put off until tomorrow; that will be time you’ll have to borrow.”
Ginny laughed as she tucked some extra monogramed handkerchiefs under Matthew’s socks, listening to her son reminisce about his beloved grandfather.
“You may not have realized this, but I used to be one of the biggest procrastinators in the world,” he laughed,”until I finally understood what Grandpa Max meant. Remember how I hated math homework and you bugged me constantly to get it done the first thing when I got home from school, and I said I’d do it later?”
Ginny laughed. ”Later rarely came and you were always scrambling at breakfast to get it done. I wanted so much to scold you but your grandfather told me that you would figure it out, and when you did, there’d be no stopping you. And he was right.”
“I tried to be like Mitchell and his straight As and National Honor Society, Mom, but it just wasn’t me. But I did eventually learn to get my homework done on time.”
Ginny sat on the bed, gently stroking the embroidered MB on the of handkerchieves she was packing.
“There’s no comparison between you and your brother. I knew that and your father and grandfather did, too. I can honestly say I never compared the two of you. Never. You and your brother are two separate individuals, with traits that are unique to each of you. You’re both doers, very obviously, but in such different ways. Where Mitchell sees a direct path to his goal, you prefer to take the circuitous way to yours. Mitchell knew he wanted a horse farm, so as soon as he graduated college, he bought his first horse. You’ll fit in somewhere in the world, and I think this internship will make you realize that.”
Ginny also knew that women found Matthew’s shyness extremely attractive, and there was never a shortage of Brightmore girls riding their bikes by Max’s workshop, knowing Matthew was always there to help with a broken bike chain or a flat tire.
No matter how confident Matthew was in his professional sphere, he was still shy and unconfident in matters of the heart, and unbeknownst to him, this was his fatal flaw, for it attracted beautiful women who wanted to take care of this man who had no idea how to deal with their amorous attentions. Summer Graystone came along in his junior year of college, and she thought she could change him, to make him more outgoing and less shy, to propel him to professional and staggering heights.
As aggressive as Summer was with Matthew’s future success, she was even more aggressive for her own, and when they broke up before graduation, Ginny was greatly relieved. Summer was offered a position in an up-and-coming hotel chain relocating her to Minneapolis, and then a fateful encounter at that hotel brought them back together. Ginny felt they were two familiar souls who mistook loneliness for love. So when Matthew announced they were marrying after reuniting, Ginny had hoped that the years had tempered Summer, but they did not, and in Ginny’s opinion, Summer was more hungry for success and the trappings that went with it—a husband as successful as she was.
But this was not her life—it was Matthew’s, and if he wanted to marry Summer, she would give them her blessing, no matter how much she felt her younger son was making the biggest mistake of his life.
Ginny recalled their wedding day, now seeming so long ago. She and Matthew were standing in the very spot Ginny was now as she remembered her son’s furious pacing in the kitchen. There was a worn area on the floorboards that Ginny attributed to Matthew’s shoe soles from that day.
“Matthew, it’s never too late, you know.”
All of her son’s nervous habits came to fruition that day—the pacing, the handkerchief wringing, the rubbing at the back of his neck. Whenever he was anxious about something, whether it be an exam or a job interview, usually one of these symptoms appeared, but on his wedding day, all three were in full force.
“Never too late for what, Mom?” Ginny had to hold herself back from grabbing Matthew’s hand, which was rubbing furiously at the back of his neck, but she restrained herself.
“To call off the wedding,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Matthew looked directly at his mother and she saw sheer panic in his sea-glass eyes.
“You’re kidding, right?” Ginny heard a slight tremble in his voice.
“No, I’m dead serious. If you think this is wrong for you, Matthew, don’t do it. It’s that simple.”
“No, Mom, it’s not that simple,” he snorted in disbelief.
He sat down at the kitchen table, running his hands through his thick wavy hair.
“I do love Summer, and I believe there’s a reason why she and I reconnected. We’re both of a certain age and there are things we want in life—marriage, a family. I see Mitchell’s boys and I know that’s what I want, and Summer is the woman who will give that to me. She’s changed, Mom. You’ll see.”
Ginny put her hands on her son’s shoulders and spoke the reassuring words she knew Matthew needed to hear.
“All I want is for you to be happy, Matthew, and if Summer is the woman who can make you happy, then that’s all I need to know.”
“She is, Mom.”
Ginny felt the arms of her younger son embrace her in a hug as tears stung her eyes. Although she knew deep down in her mother’s heart that Summer Graystone was absolutely not the right woman for Matthew, she stopped her tears, hugged her son tightly, and smiled up at him.
“I don’t usually do this, but I think you and I could both use it.” Ginny pulled her step stool from under the sink and stood on it to reach the highest cabinet. She pulled down a sapphire and gold box that contained her special liquid gold. It was a bottle of Courvoisier that a guest had given to her and Michael after the inn’s inaugural opening. She carefully set the box on the counter and pulled the oval cut glass bottle from the box. The color was of pure amber—warm and inviting. She only opened the bottle once—after Michael’s funeral in which a sadness as no other engulfed her like an ocean riptide, and she felt she would never be released from its grievous clutches. The pull into grief and despair was so strong and she had indulged after Michael’s funeral.
Have your drink and your cry, Ginny and then no more. Life goes on. Live it. She could have sworn she heard her husband’s voice, and his gentle touch on her shoulder as she sipped the cognac in the home they built together, the tears ceasing and her grief gently subsiding. Ginny had her drink, her cry, and felt the grief subside as she realized as long as there was The Blue Spruce Inn, Michael would live on.
She took two Irish crystal glasses from the cabinet and poured an equal amount of the brandy in each.
“Mom? Courvoisier? I knew the inn did well, but…”
“Laugh all you want. You know I’d never splurge on something like this. It was a gift.” Ginny lifted her glass.
“There is nothing more precious or sacred in this world than a happy marriage, Matthew. To you and Summer. May you always be blessed with happiness.” They clinked glasses and sipped the soothing and calming cognac.
Matthew drained the rest of his drink and Ginny saw the tension behind his sea-glass eyes ease.
“C’mon. I have a son to marry off.” She put her arms around her younger son and stood on her tip-toes and kissed his forehead, as the top of his head hadn’t been reachable for years. And just for one brief moment, Matthew was her little boy again in need of the comfort of his loving mother’s arms and reassurance. She felt his strong hands grasp her arms and she was suddenly back in the present with her adult son.
“I love you, Mom,” Matthew whispered and Ginny grasped him tighter, gently kissing her on the cheek. ”We have a wedding to get to,” he said, extending his arm, which Ginny happily accepted. Matthew opened the kitchen door and they walked to the front of the house where the limo was waiting. Just as they were about to get inside, a shower of orange and yellow leaves fell upon their shoulders.
“When autumn leaves fall on a wedding day, peace and calm prevail, they say.”
Matthew laughed as he helped his mother into the car.
“Another one of Grandpa Max’s positive proverbs?” He laughed as he got in beside her.
“No, just made it up myself,” she said, as they rode off to meet Matthew’s future.
And now that future was part of the past.
Ginny stood in her kitchen and listened as the winter birds tweeted outside in the falling snow. She heard the soft breathing of her sleeping dogs nestled closely by Sylvene. It was peaceful, and it was Christmas, and Matthew was coming home with a friend, and even though Ginny had never met her, she had the feeling Savannah Brady was going to make a great impact on her younger son’s life.
“Time to get a move on,” she said, pulling the chilled dough from the fridge, and rolling it out for her famous apple pie for Christmas Eve dessert.