{"id":1163,"date":"2019-02-13T13:40:11","date_gmt":"2019-02-13T18:40:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1163"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:46:53","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:46:53","slug":"the-gift-of-the-inn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/the-gift-of-the-inn\/","title":{"rendered":"The Gift of the Inn"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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The Gift of the Inn<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Golden Keyes Parsons<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite her best efforts to go through the motions and the good fortune to have a husband stationed stateside rather than in the midst of the brutal combat unfolding in Europe and the Pacific, Christmas Eve is a less than festive time for innkeeper Naomi Lockhart. It\u2019s been especially hard since she, her husband, Quenton, and their daughters restored her parents\u2019 Colorado boarding house and turned it into a charming inn. Residing in the setting of the tragedy and haunted by a heartbreaking and terrible loss, Naomi can\u2019t help but relive the Christmas Eve so many years ago when her infant child disappeared without a trace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gracie brushed aside comments about how little she resembled her parents for most of her life without really understanding why they made her feel so odd. A slip of the tongue by her grandmother brings the discovery that the people who raised her are not her birth parents and acts as a catalyst for the start of a search for her real identity. After a whirlwind romance<\/a> with a young, Europe-bound GI and subsequent elopement in defiance of her affluent, traditional parents, Gracie flees Texas for Colorado, following one of the few clues that she has about her real identity. She finds herself alone and working as a waitress in blizzard-prone Colorado Springs, Colorado at the end of her pregnancy. Snow bound, she struggles to bring her child into the world as she becomes ever more confident that the innkeeper from across the road, who acts as a midwife of necessity, may hold the answers she seeks. Meanwhile, her wounded husband desperately tries to reach her side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Set against the backdrop of the Second World War, this final novel from beloved writer Golden Keyes Parsons is an engaging story of love, loss and reunion.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Christmas Eve, 1944
\nColorado Springs, Colorado <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cSome of my men will come home in a body bag. So,\nI don\u2019t want to hear it. This topic is no longer up for discussion.\u201d Quenton\u2019s\ntone reflected his annoyance at the too-familiar argument. Bending his lanky\nform in front of the mirror atop the ornately carved oak dresser to knot the\ntie of his uniform, he continued. \u201cMy men deserve to be at home on Christmas\nEve. They may never spend another Christmas with their families.\u201d A mingled\nexpression of passion and sadness flitted across his face as he turned to his\nwife. \u201cHitler\u2019s evil and he\u2019s cunning. The madman actually wants to conquer the\nwhole continent, and who knows what he will set his sights on next. We have to\nstop him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naomi\u2019s\nstomach churned. She didn\u2019t have an adequate answer to his argument. Her\nhusband\u2019s hazel eyes, which always won her over in a disagreement, held hers in\na direct gaze. He was not likely to be sent overseas. The Army Air Corps needed\nflight instructors to train men for combat, so he was safely stateside for the\ntime being. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWhat about our<\/em> family<\/a>? Every year I hope you\u2019ll be at home with us on\nChristmas Eve. You know how much I need you with me\u2014especially on Christmas\nEve.\u201d Chewing on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, she looked up at\nQuenton. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\ntraced his thumb along her jawline, as his eyes softened. Naomi patted the\nscarf tied around her hair. Always rushed, busy, and disheveled, she rarely\nmade the extra effort anymore to look glamorous. With the workload she carried\nwhen the inn was full of tourists in town for the holidays, who had time for\nmakeup or hairstyling? A quick brush through her thick brunette hair, which she\nkept covered with a scarf when she was working, and a swipe of bright red\nlipstick was the extent of the grooming session each morning. Her eyelashes\nwere still long and thick, so she never bothered with mascara. She brushed a\nhand over the skirt of her too-tight housedress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nfamiliar dread of Christmas Eve washed over her. Peculiar how the anniversary\nof any traumatic event spun its twenty-four-hour journey tugging at buried\nmemories\u2014memories that popped their unwelcome heads around corners then withdrew\ninto the shadowy crevices of the mind. Certain she was fine one moment, Naomi\nwould find herself gripped the next in a vise of unbidden emotions. Her\nfrazzled nerves bristled with accusatory thoughts\u2014that her husband really\ndidn\u2019t have<\/em> to go to the base but\nsimply wanted an escape from her annual Christmas grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quenton\nput on his cap and took a final look in the mirror. He gathered the coins from\nthe dresser top and dropped them in his pocket. \u201cTell you what I may be able to\ndo. I\u2019ll try to get home before it gets too late. Sergeant Miller\u2019s family\ndidn\u2019t come in for the holidays. He volunteered to man the office for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen\nwhy not\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nsaid I\u2019ll try to get home before it gets too late.\u201d Quenton thrust his arms\nthrough his jacket. \u201cWait up for me?\u201d Reaching around her, he picked up his\nbriefcase lying on the bed. \u201cC\u2019mon, walk me to the car.\u201d Clasping her hand, he pulled\nher up beside him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\nmade their way quietly down the hall, past their sleeping daughters\u2019 bedrooms\nto the large laundry room adjoining their apartment in the back of the inn. The\nbottom of the outside door to the parking lot dragged along the faded green linoleum\nas Quenton pulled it open. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before\nzipping up his jacket, he tied a wool scarf around his neck. \u201cLooks like we\u2019re\nin for more snow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naomi\nblinked threatening tears away and joined him at the doorway. She picked a\npiece of lint off his epaulet with the new oak leaf cluster. \u201cI\u2019m proud of you,\nMajor Lockhart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHumph.\u201d\nHe jerked his head toward the insignia. \u201cAll this means is that I\u2019m headed for\na desk job. I\u2019d rather have captain\u2019s bars on my shirt and remain a flight\ninstructor than get a promotion. They\u2019re moving the younger guys in to train\npilots for air combat\u2014captains and first lieutenants\u2014moving us older guys out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re\nonly thirty-nine. And your experience is invaluable.\u201d She touched his temple.\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t a gray hair, unlike some of us.\u201d She smiled and swiped her bangs\nto the side with her fingertips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cComes\nwith being a redhead, I suppose. You\u2019ll remember my dad didn\u2019t either. His hair\nwas as red as mine the day he died.\u201d He moved her scarf back and squinted. \u201cWhere?\nI don\u2019t see one gray hair.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s\nbecause I pluck them out.\u201d She stepped back from him and reset the headscarf.\n\u201cActually, I wouldn\u2019t mind if you got a desk job. It\u2019s time, Q.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nnot ready.\u201d His curt reply cut her off as he pulled on his gloves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naomi\nclung to his arm. \u201cPlease get home as soon as you can tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\nfrown creased his brow. \u201cI already said that I\u2019d try. You\u2019ll be fine. You\u2019ve\ngot the girls and your dad to help with the guests\u2014and Robby and Gracie are just\nacross the street if you need some extra help.\u201d He knelt and looked at the\ngouge in the floor. \u201cGotta fix that before it gets worse.\u201d He stood and moved\nthe door back and forth. \u201cDon\u2019t let the girls sleep too late. There\u2019s a lot of\nwork to be done with the inn being full.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nknow. But it\u2019s vacation for them. We can let them sleep a little later.\u201d She\nshoved a pile of dirty sheets aside with her foot. \u201cWe\u2019ll get it done. I just\nwant you home for Christmas. No, I need you here with us\u2014around the fireplace and\nthe Christmas tree, with the girls in the morning as they open their gifts.\u201d\nShe hugged her arms around her chest. \u201cGo on. It\u2019s snowing harder and we\u2019re\nletting cold air in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\ngave her a mock salute. \u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d His smile dissolved. \u201cCome here.\u201d He\ngathered her in his arms. Her heart still skipped a beat when Quenton held her.\n\u201cHoney, I know this is always a difficult day for you, but\u2026it\u2019s been seventeen\nyears, plenty long enough to get on with our lives. After all, \u2018\u2019Tis the season\nto be jolly,\u2019 \u2018Peace and goodwill to men,\u2019 and so on.\u201d He chucked her beneath\nher chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nhated it when he attempted to cheer her up. \u201cIf God meant this to be a season\nof peace and goodwill to men, I guess we slipped through the cracks somewhere.\u201d\nShe felt her eyes start to burn. \u201cI try, Q, I really do. But all of this\u201d\u2014she\nwaved her hand toward their apartment\u2014\u201cthe trappings of Christmas, all of the\ndecorations and parties, even the smells, weigh me down. I feel like I go through\nthe season with bricks on my shoulders and chains around my ankles. All I seem\nto be able to do is put one foot in front of the other. I feel like an empty\nshell moving through the days until it\u2019s over. I\u2019m simply numb.\u201d She took his\nhand and nuzzled it against her cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quenton\nsighed and embraced her tightly, holding her as several moments ticked by, both\nof them silent except for Naomi\u2019s sniffling. Then giving her a light kiss, he whispered\nin her ear, \u201cI love you, Naomi.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nknow. You\u2019d better go on.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nturned and went out the door, picking his way across the slick sidewalk to\ntheir Oldsmobile station wagon. Throwing his briefcase across to the passenger\nside, he started the car and reached underneath the front seat for the ice\nscraper. He could hardly brush the increasing snowflakes away from one side of\nthe windshield before the other side was covered. After several minutes of\nscraping and letting the car run, he lifted his gloved hand in a slight wave,\ngot into the car, and inched his way past all the slumbering cars in the lot to\nthe rhythmic whap-whap of the windshield wipers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Naomi closed the door on the brittle cold and,\nafter clicking on the radio, addressed the Bendix. \u201cWell, time to empty you of\nyour load and put in another one.\u201d She pulled tangled sheets from the washing\nmachine and laid them on the folding table. Then added new detergent and began\nrefilling the machine. Steam rose from the tub, giving her an unwanted facial.\nShe lifted the pile of dirty sheets from the floor and stuffed them into the\nfoaming water, taking care not to fill it too full. It was tempting to try to\ndo fewer, fuller loads, but if she did, the sheets wouldn\u2019t get clean and would\nwind themselves into a knotted ball.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nlid banged shut. The chug-a, chug-a, chug-a offered friendly assurance that the\nwork day was underway. Bing Crosby crooned \u201cWhite Christmas\u201d over the airwaves,\nkeeping rhythm with the churning water. Humming along with the popular tune, Naomi\npatted the top of the undulating machine, grateful her parents had purchased\nthe Bendix before the war started. The government had suspended manufacture of\nthe machines for the war effort. The work was hard enough, but if they\u2019d had to\nput sheets and towels through a wringer washer, the task would be backbreaking.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nplucked several clothespins from a cloth bag dangling on the small rope Quenton\nhad crisscrossed in the laundry room and clipped them to the edge of her apron.\nShe pinned the corner of a wet sheet, stretched it tight, anchored the middle\nedge of the sheet, then on to the end. Getting the sheets dry in the freezing\nwinter was one of the biggest challenges in running the inn. She\u2019d taken to\nironing them dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nglanced at the ironing board in the corner of the laundry room. It looked as if\nit were standing at attention awaiting the next batch of sheets. Not today.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood\nmorning, Mama.\u201d Cynthia, their teenaged daughter, stood in the doorway between\nthe laundry room and their bedroom. She stretched her arms in the air then bent\nover to touch her toes. She tightened the belt on her chenille robe. \u201cBrr. It\u2019s\ncold in here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWon\u2019t\nbe for long once the washing gets going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid\nDaddy have to go to the base?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\nBut he promised he\u2019d try to be home early this evening.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama.\nIt\u2019s Christmas Eve. Why did he have to go in?\u201d Cynthia folded her arms and\nleaned against the doorjamb. \u201cI wanted us to be together today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nknow. I did too.\u201d Naomi ushered her daughter back into the bedroom and closed\nthe door to the laundry room. \u201cC\u2019mon, Christmas Eve or not, we have work to do.\nMay as well get it done early. Maybe Daddy will be home by suppertime.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n