Gretchen shook her head. “Coach split half a cord the other day. It’s all stacked and ready out back—” Her voice fell away. “Oh.” There was no getting to the wood that sat way out at the back of the garden. Not now. Though the weather had been snowy and cold all day, they only sometimes had fires. For example, they’d have one the next night—Christmas Eve, for the guests during supper or after. As such, there sat just enough firewood for an evening’s worth. With a working furnace, there was no point in wasting good firewood now.
But then, the furnace only held out as long as the electricity did.
As if on cue, the lights blinked on and off for the second time that evening.
Liesel frowned. Sure, they had the option of heading outside and into the storm. The back garden was just fifty yards off or so. She could do it, if she had to. Gretchen would help. Greta, too. They were tough women. All three could bundle up and press out through the swirling snow.
Crack.
Tabby started to wail. The lights blinked again then died.
“Oh, heavens,” Greta fretted as the room darkened. She shushed Tabby. “I don’t think we’ve ever had the electric go out since we’ve owned this place.”
Liesel’s eyes adjusted to the very dim light—a glow coming from the snow outside. She spoke next. “When the power went out when my mother lived here, we’d just light candles. If it was cold, then the fire. But now we will have to go out for wood. Right?”
Greta nodded just as footsteps sounded from above. Liesel glanced up, staring hard through the darkness.
The guests.
“Oh, come on down everyone!” Greta called up before directing her attention back to Liesel and Gretchen. “There are candlesticks in the junk drawer in the kitchen. Matches, too. Gretchen, won’t you go on and light one up and come back.” Then she lifted her voice again, and Liesel moved toward the staircase, doing the one thing she could do with ease on her phone, turning its flashlight on and lighting the stairs for the small, confused group of people.
A full house at the inn meant five parties. Five rooms, five parties. In this case, on December 23, most of the guests were singletons, in the area to meet up with family or perhaps on business nearby. What with so many hotels and motels booked for the week, the Hickory Grove Inn easily became a good back-up plan for travelers. Quaint and all-inclusive, one could scarcely argue against the merits of the small-town B&B.
Of the six people descending the steps, four were individual guests. One was a couple in town for family Christmas. None complained. Mainly, they were just curious.
“In case of times like this, our first goal is to keep everyone safe,” Greta announced. Tabby had fallen back asleep, no longer roused by the loud storm. The hubbub had worn her out. It was wearing Liesel out, too.
Once the small group joined them in the lobby, Liesel crossed back to Greta and offered her arms for Tabby. Greta passed the baby over carefully, and Liesel left to the rocking chair that sat in the parlor near the threshold to the foyer, so that she could hear the goings on while keeping Tabby down.
“Here you go,” Gretchen whispered, a single white candlestick aglow behind her cupped hand.
“Thanks, Gretch,” Greta answered. “As I was saying. You are welcome to stay down here if you’d prefer. We don’t currently have a fire on, but we’ll get to that soon, I expect. If you’re cold, we have plenty of blankets to go around. Bottled water. Other drinks, too. Mainly, I think we just stay in,” Greta added emphatically. Liesel wondered if this was for her benefit, even though by now it was a foregone conclusion that she’d have to stay.
The four businessfolks muttered and eventually retreated upstairs, unfazed, it would appear, by such a catastrophe. The couple, middle-aged and mainly bored, lingered long enough for Gretchen to walk them upstairs, where she’d get extra blankets. After, Gretchen brought up the bottled water and reminded guests to let their loved ones know they were safe but might be out of touch, assuming their phones died eventually. Although, the phone line was still in working order, just in case.
Then, it was the three women and Tabby again, in the parlor.
“Okay,” Greta went on, her face marred by worry. “I got back in touch with Luke and there’s more bad news,” she confessed.
“More bad news?” Liesel frowned and glanced back through the window. The snow hadn’t let up, and a fresh blast of wind whipped snow into the window long enough for her to see swirling white from here to the North Pole.
“The wood—he said he didn’t tarp it.”
“Didn’t tarp it?” Gretchen asked, fear creeping into her voice. “So, it’s wet?”
“It’ll be wet, yes. I mean, it’s not a big deal. We have blankets. I’m just—well, it’s Tabby. Mainly I just want to make sure she doesn’t catch her death of cold.”
Liesel, ever pragmatic, pursed her lips. “We’ll keep her bundled tight. She’ll be fine.”
“No matter,” Greta added, a modicum of joy coloring her voice. “He’s sending help. Though he’s got to stay with his athletes, he called a friend to come over and deliver some essentials.”
“In this weather?” Liesel pressed. “I thought it wasn’t safe to drive.”
Greta shrugged. “Luke’s worried about the baby,” she added. “He’s sort of freaking out. I need more formula for Tabby. I don’t have extra here. It’s in the main house. And diapers, too.”
“Well, where is the friend coming from? Is he far? Are we sure it’s safe?” Liesel felt more disgruntled now, knowing that there was help on the way but that she, herself, couldn’t just jump in her car and take off. Then again, it was only a car. She didn’t know how to put chains on. It was probably a miracle she’d made it to the Inn at the time she did. The roads wouldn’t be cleared in the near future and darkness was sweeping across the town.
“I texted someone, too,” Gretchen chirped quietly.
“What?” Greta asked. Her face twisted deeper into concern, and Liesel realized that this was the first crisis she’d dealt with as an innkeeper. A small crisis. At least, for now. But her first, and the first was always the hardest. Liesel knew about crises. She’d had her share—either directly or indirectly.
“I freaked out. I mean, I didn’t know the wood wasn’t tarped, but I figured we couldn’t make it out to the stack. What if Tabby gets cold, like you said? What if we get cold? Or the guests? And what about the marshmallows?”
“Do you even have marshmallows on hand?” Liesel asked, half-joking.
But Gretchen nodded seriously. “I always have marshmallows on hand.”
“Fair enough. So, who did you text? What are they bringing?” Greta asked.
“He’s bringing wood,” Gretchen said. “As much as he can.”
Liesel narrowed her gaze on Gretchen. “It’s that Linden boy, isn’t it? What’s his name?”
“Theo,” Greta offered helpfully. “But, Gretchen, I thought you two broke up?”
“We did,” Gretchen announced firmly. “But we’re still—friends.”
Liesel studied the pretty young girl carefully. She’d never heard someone pronounce friends in that way. So fraught. So filled.
Liesel, herself, had rarely befriended men. In her estimation, there was no such thing as opposite-sex “friends.”
“You care about him,” Greta pointed out. “That’s clear.”
“And he cares about you,” Liesel added.
Gretchen’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her cheek. “Well, sure. I mean—we… we’re close. We’ll always be close.”
Greta clicked her tongue. “I don’t know why you two broke up. No one in Hickory Grove does. You were… you two were meant to be together, if you ask me.”
Liesel knew Greta meant this. Greta was a romantic. A lover and a kisser type. Unlike Liesel herself, who’d so rarely enjoyed the serious company of a man. What was Gretchen like?
In some strange way, Liesel saw her own mother in Gretchen. She seemed… self-sufficient. Hardy. Capable and strong but soft, too. Liesel tried to swallow the memory down. But it wouldn’t go.