Home for the Holidays (5 page)

“June should have her eyes checked. The diamond was barely a full carat.” Louise steepled her fingers. “What, pray tell, has Max Ziglar’s wealth to do with whether or not we show them around, Aunt?”

“Only that it’s obvious he could buy and sell this town, and yet he’s accepting charity from you girls. And I’m not even sure he deserves it.” Ethel took a roll and passed the basket to Jane. “No rich man can be a good Christian. Jesus told that to a wealthy young man in Mark, chapter ten, verse twenty-three.”

“Jesus said it was hard for the rich to enter the kingdom of God,” Alice corrected. “I taught a Bible study lesson about wealth and Christianity to my ANGELs before Thanksgiving.

“That sounds about right to me,” Jane said.

“You’re really determined to do this.” Ethel put down her roll and looked around the table. “None of you have ever given a homes tour before, have you? How are you going to do it? When do you start?”

“We’re going to discuss that now,” Alice said.

“Let me get the brochure Mrs. Welles gave me.” Jane rose and retrieved her purse from the counter, then brought the
pamphlet back to the table. “There are four houses on the tour,” she said, reading from the back. “Those of Viola Reed, Joseph and Rachel Holzmann, Mayor Lloyd Tynan, and Samuel and Rose Bellwood.” She handed the tour literature to Louise. “We should be able to do all of them in three days, don’t you think?”

“Three days? Is that enough time to visit three houses and a farm?” Ethel frowned, then inched her chair closer to Louise’s so that she could read over her niece’s shoulder.

“I believe that if the weather holds, we should be able to complete the entire tour in three days with little difficulty,” Louise said.

“Good.” Alice had been worried about the time schedule.

“This says four days in the beautiful town of Acorn Hill,” Ethel read from the brochure.

“The tour here was originally planned for four days plus extra time in the area for shopping and resting up,” Jane clarified, “but the group lost a day because their guide was injured and they have to return to the city on Saturday. That’s why we agreed to start tomorrow.”

“We should each take the group for one day,” Louise said. “Alice, since you have to prepare to take your ANGELs out caroling tomorrow, I’ll accompany the group to Viola’s in the morning, and the Holzmanns’ in the afternoon. You can take them to Mayor Tynan’s on Thursday morning, and Jane can escort them to the Bellwoods’ on
Friday evening while you and I go to the children’s ward party at the hospital.”

“That seems reasonable to me.” The phone at the reception desk rang, and as Jane was already up, she left the kitchen to answer it.

“Doing this will cut your vacation in half,” Ethel persisted.

“Not precisely,” Louise said.

“This was Jane’s idea, wasn’t it?” Their aunt glanced at the door. “I thought you closed the inn for the holidays so that you could have this time together as a family. Now you’re letting Jane waste it looking after a bunch of people who aren’t even staying at your inn.”

“We’ll still have plenty of time for our vacation, Aunt Ethel,” Alice assured her. “It’s only for three days and then they’ll be on their way home.”

“I don’t know, Alice.” Her aunt shook her head slowly. “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

“Alice, it’s a Mr. Baldwin for you,” Jane said as she came back into the kitchen. Her aunt was still looking rather peevish, so she retrieved the small jelly roll cake she had made for dessert and brought it to the table. “Here, Auntie. Have some cake. It’s low fat.”

Ethel sighed. “You always say that, but my hips always look bigger in the morning. I’ll have to walk to town
tomorrow to work off the calories.” Her aunt gave into temptation and helped herself to a thin slice. “Oh, by the way, Jane, you haven’t said a word about what you’d like to have for Christmas yet.”

Your unconditional support for anything I decide to do for the next calendar year
, thought Jane. “Anything would be just fine,” she said.

“Anything is not specific enough.” Ethel waved her fork for emphasis. “Anything could be
anything
, from a black velvet painting of
The Last Supper
to a red and yellow beanie hat with a propeller attached to the crown.”

“I’m allergic to black velvet,” Louise said at once.

Jane turned around from the stove and feigned surprise. “Really? Since when?”

“Since people stopped wearing it and started painting portraits of the Lord and Elvis Presley on it.” Louise winced as she regarded their aunt. “Nothing with a propeller attached, Aunt Ethel. I beg you.”

“You see?” Ethel spread her hands and put on her best martyred look as she turned back to Jane. “You have to give me a better idea before I get into trouble with your sister.”

It didn’t help that what Jane wanted for Christmas was one thing she could never have.

“I have everything I could possibly want,” she said at last. “A little something for the kitchen or garden will do fine.”

Alice returned in time to overhear the latter, and gave Louise an odd look before she sat down. “That was Mr. Baldwin from the tour company. He wanted to express his appreciation for our taking charge of the group. He’s going to e-mail the tour literature to us and has offered to pay us the standard rate one of his guides would receive.”

“The literature will be very helpful,” Louise said, “but it’s not necessary to compensate us.”

“Take the money, Louise,” her aunt said. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll probably feel like you’ve earned it.”

Jane was a little surprised when her oldest sister shook her head. She knew Louise was only going along with the idea because she and Alice had cajoled her into it.

“This is the season of giving, especially to people in need,” Louise said. “We’ll take this opportunity to be Good Samaritans.”

“All right.” Ethel shook her head. “I only hope you don’t end up needing some charity yourselves.”

Chapter Three

L
ouise left Grace Chapel Inn early the next morning to drive into town and meet the five visitors for the first part of the tour. A call from her daughter Cynthia the night before had helped lift her spirits and even made her laugh at herself.

“You’re going to be a tour guide, Mother?” Her daughter had laughed. “I could see you showing people around a concert hall or an art museum, but country homes?”

“I am full of hidden depths that you don’t know about, my dear,” Louise had said firmly. “I only wish I could be spending the time with you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it there for the holidays, but you know how publishing is. Christmas is a madhouse for us.” Cynthia had sighed. “I promise, next year I’m taking two weeks off.”

Louise still felt somewhat resentful about the task of supervising the tour group, particularly on a day when she had planned to sleep in a little and do nothing more strenuous than hang some tree ornaments and tie ribbons around gift boxes.

The Bible does not say how much work it is to be a Good Samaritan
, she thought as she turned off Chapel Road onto Hill Street.
Or how early one must get up to serve as one
.

Louise had arranged to meet the tour group and their driver in front of Town Hall, and she saw them as she drove into the back parking lot. The five visitors looked a little happier this morning, with the exception of Max Ziglar, who appeared as happy as a man being sent to his own execution. He was puffing on a large cigar and sending out white clouds of smoke all around him.

As Louise walked around the building to join the group, she tried to set her thoughts in order.
The Bible does not say anything about a grumpy Good Samaritan, either. I willingly agreed to do this. I will do my part cheerfully
. The pungent smell of Max’s cigar reached her sensitive nose.
But those cigars will have to go
.

“Good morning, everyone.” She took a moment to introduce herself to the driver, the pleasant middle-aged man they had seen the day before, and then she addressed the group. “As we discussed at the Coffee Shop, today we will be touring a Queen Anne Victorian house owned by Viola Reed, and a German Inglenook house owned by Joseph and Rachel Holzmann.”

“How much do you know about historic architecture, Mrs. Smith?” Laura Lattimer asked.

This interior decorator had a catty way of speaking that made the most innocent question sound snide, Louise decided. It was fortunate that her years in the academic world had taught her how to deal with such passive-aggressive tactics.

“Please, call me Louise. I know more than the average person, I believe. My husband and I bought a nineteenth-century Greek revival home in Philadelphia when we were married. We spent many happy months researching the period so that we could correctly restore the original floors and interior woodwork.”

Louise nearly smiled at the interior decorator’s visible surprise, but the smell of Max’s cigar commanded her immediate attention.

Now to deal with this once and for all
. Louise did not like confronting people about their personal habits, but this one was too intrusive and unhealthy to ignore.

“Max, I would appreciate it if you would put that out and refrain from smoking anything for the remainder of the tour,” she said, keeping her tone polite but firm.

“Why?”

“All of the homes we will be visiting belong to non-smokers. Also, cigar smoke has a pervasive odor that is very offensive to people who do not smoke.”
Like me
. She met his gaze. “It will also be a kindness to your lungs and ours.”

“You sound like my secretary,” he grumbled, but obliged her by turning away to discard the cigar in a nearby ashstand.

When Max’s back was turned, Edwina gave Louise a wide smile and silently mouthed the words
thank you so much
.

The group piled back into the van and the driver followed Louise as she drove her car to Viola Reed’s home. Once the group had disembarked, the driver told her that he would return within the hour.

The five visitors were already examining the exterior of Viola’s home with great interest.

“According to the literature your tour company provided for us, I am supposed to recite some facts about Queen Anne style homes, which are probably the most familiar examples of Victorian architecture,” Louise said as she set down the basket she had brought from the car on the porch step. “But I would much rather tell you about Miss Reed’s home in my own words.”

“Please do, Louise,” Allan Hansford said.

“My friend Viola Reed is a very well-read, practical woman and, shall we say, has very little patience with the realm of fantasy and nonsense. A house like this”—she lifted a hand to point out the ornate white gingerbread trim above the porch—“seemed to me far too fanciful to suit her down-to-earth nature.”

“It doesn’t look very practical,” Laura murmured.

“The first time Viola invited me to her home, I thought I had arrived at the wrong house. In fact, I checked the address twice before I went up to knock on the door.” Louise gazed up at the two-story turret, which had three long, oval-topped windows. “Even then, I almost expected someone else to answer it.”

Everyone chuckled at that.

“It’s rather like a little castle, isn’t it?” Edwina commented. “You almost expect to see a princess standing in one of those upper windows and a prince wandering around down here calling, ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel!’”

“Very true, Edwina. As I visited a few more times, I began to see the warmth and grace in the design,” Louise continued. “In a sense, houses are like people. There are some that have qualities that are not readily apparent on the surface. You have to get to know them before you can properly appreciate them.”

“That’s a lovely analogy,” Allan said. “If I were still teaching design seminars, I’d steal it.”

“I’m curious about something, Louise,” Edwina said. “I’ve seen other Queen Anne houses and they are always painted in pastel and white colors, even if the surrounding houses are not. Why is that?”

“Light colors are traditional, as they best show the
uniqueness of the carved trims and other structural detailing,” Allan said, and then gave Louise an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in.”