An Enchanted Season Part 25

"Yes, I see," Mike confirmed, nodding his head at the carved and painted sign. "We've gone on holiday voyages like this one for many years now. Sort of a hajj of friendship, as it were-I've already been to Mecca, so that journey is complete. We travel for other reasons these days."

"I hope you don't mind our Christmas celebrations," Rachel offered politely, entering the bedroom and crossing to the four-poster bed, setting his two suitcases on the padded bench at its foot.

"Why should I? Christ was one of the most important Prophets to appear before Mohammed's time. The traditions of Christmas celebrate the exact same spirit of unity and brotherhood that the followers of Islam embrace at this time of year-in fact, today is the last day of hajj on our holy calendar," Mike added, smiling at her. "Not to mention the Winter Solstice, an important holy-day for those who revere nature. Though the coldest days of winter still lie ahead of us, today is the darkest, longest night, the shortest, dimmest day of the whole year...and it is a time when all of us in the Northern Hemisphere are reminded that, no matter how bleak things look today, tomorrow will be a little brighter than today, and the day after will be even brighter than before.

"And so here we are," he stated, spreading his arms with a smile. "Bringing you customers for your business, when it seems likely that the storm has chased everyone else away."

Her cell phone rang, startling Rachel. She hadn't realized what a mesmerizing speaker her guest was until then. Pulling it out of her pocket, she flipped it open. "Bethel Inn, how may I help you?"

"Rachel? This is Bill Pargeter. I just wanted you to know that my granddaughter and her family have arrived safely at my house. It's going to be a tight squeeze, what with my two daughters and their own broods, plus my grandson...but I wouldn't put a rabid dog out in weather like this, let alone make 'em drive all the way out to your place. I'd shoot the rabid dog to put it out of its misery, but I wouldn't put it out in this weather."

Rachel made a face at the wall. So much for tomorrow being a little brighter than today... "I'm glad to hear that Joseph, Mary, and the baby are safe and sound at your place, Bill. Thanks for letting me know."

"Wait, there's more!" Bill's voice interrupted her before she could tell him good-bye. "I know Mr. Harrod's being, well, the backside of a front-ugly cow right now about that mortgage of yours. Joseph and I talked it over, and we're both in agreement. We're gonna pay you the full price for their ten-day stay, half from him, an' half from me. That's on the hope that this storm will be less severe than the weather guys keep claiming it'll be. By paying you a retaining fee, they can at least guarantee a room to escape to, once it's safe to drive again-and no arguing, young lady. Consider it a Christmas gift from the Pargeters and the Stoutsons, a thank-you for hosting little packets of our family whenever we have 'em over for a holiday.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get off-line so my own daughter can teach me how to use that newfangled computer-thing she got me for my birthday last month. Beth says there's a way we can transfer the money to you online, so you'll get it into your account right away. Richie's a good enough boy, but that father of his would have him cuttin' corners an' driving the Inn into bankruptcy."

"Th-thank you!" Rachel stammered, too shocked by the generosity to protest. Not that she had much of a chance for it, since the old farmer hung up before she could even try. Returning the phone to her pocket, she blinked a few times, then drew a deep breath and let it out. With the income from six guests, plus the income from the Stoutsons...they would have enough to pay the mortgage for this month, and their other bills as well. Their savings had been whittled down during the months Steve and she had spent doing all those repairs, unable to operate the Inn. With the boys replacing the Platz brothers, they'd not only have the mortgage and the electricity paid, but enough set aside to start feeding those depleted accounts.

Maybe today was one of the darkest days of the year; it had certainly been darkening metaphorically around her and her fiance up until this point, as well as physically. But with one phone call and six unexpected visitors, Rachel felt like the sun was finally returning to her and Steve's life. Remembering her guest, who was rolling out a small prayer rug taken from one of his suitcases, she quickly murmured her excuses and left the room, giving him privacy for his faith.

Six guests...G.o.d bless them all, Rachel thought, amazed that she would find herself thinking such a thing after the way the boys had arrived. It's going to be interesting, entertaining that many when they can't go off and visit other people. Maybe some party games in between meals? She could still do a quiche for supper, if she stretched it with cheese and vegetables and added a few more dishes, but Rachel also had a much bigger lunch to plan. Head full of ideas, she returned to the kitchen.

Two.

STEVE WASN'T SURE WHAT TO MAKE OF THE WOMAN, BELLA. Ignoring the biting, breath-stealing cold, she used her m.u.f.f to dust the snow off the front of the rounded lump that was her car, extracted the crowbar with black-gloved hands, and trudged alongside him and Joey through the increasingly deep drifts without any problems, despite the slenderness of her frame. Joey, bundled up once again, kept slipping her glances, too. Of the three of them, she seemed almost happy to be out in the deepening drifts. Sandwiched between the two men, she forged onward, somehow guiding them in what had to be the straightest line Steve had ever seen anyone take in a blizzard, as if drawn by some sort of beacon.

Not that there was much to see beyond the swirling, falling snow and misty white puffs of their own breath, of course, but when something reddish-gray loomed up out of the grayish-white surrounding them, it took Steve a moment to realize the reddish thing was the plastic of his newspaper box, advertising the name of the local tribune, and the gray bits belonged to the metal mailbox and the weathered-wood post supporting both. The object looked oddly short, until he realized how deep the drifts had packed up under their feet.

The snow was coming down even harder now, blowing sideways in disorienting swirls before angling the other way. Without the rope playing into the distance behind them, Steve doubted they would be able to make it back at all, straight-line march or otherwise; he couldn't even see the far side of the road from here. From the way the cold seeped into his boots and gloves, how the wind stole into every gap and sucked heat from every thin spot in his clothes, if they didn't make it back to the house, they would freeze to death. No, Joey was right; this wasn't the way anyone should die.

"My guess," Bella enunciated over the hissing of the wind and its swirling burden of flakes, "is that they pulled out of the driveway, then slid into the far side of the ditch. Which way would they have turned, do you know?"

"The nearer of the two is Pete's place," Joey offered, speaking over the scarf wrapping the lower half of his face. "Off to the left."

Bella and Steve looked at each other. He looked down at the rope in his hands. Having already tied two lengths together, he took the third coil, knotted them stoutly, then handed her the rope and put her on the end. "Let's check that way first. I'll take point. Joey, you take the middle and make sure you hold my hand, and Miss Bella, don't you let go of either him or that rope!"

"Don't worry; you can trust me," she returned stoutly.

Hoping that everyone, sensible or otherwise, had found shelter and gotten themselves off the road, Steve inched out across the highway, trying to spot signs of the ditch on the far side before he found it the hard way. If it weren't for the mittened hand gripping his, he wouldn't have known he wasn't alone. The world had turned white and violently empty with the onset of this blizzard. Cold seeped through his clothes in little patches of discomfort. All he wanted to do was go back and warm up by the woodstove, cuddling on the couch with his soon-to-be wife and a hot cup of cider, rich with spices.

It was her cider that had first made him realize he was in love with her. They had met in college in business cla.s.s. He had offered to buy her a cup of coffee and chat in his dorm room, and she had countered with an offer of home-brewed cider in her apartment. An offer that he had ended up accepting several times. The spices she used reminded him of her eyes, cinnamon-warm and nutmeg-bright. Their courtship had progressed slowly, since she had accepted an internship for two years at a hotel down in California after getting her MBA, with a minor in the hospitality industry. But Steve had been willing to be patient.

Stress over their finances had dampened some of their prewedding enthusiasm, and certainly curbed their original, pre-tornado plans for a better wedding. Inching his way across a snow-obscured road, Steve just wanted to get back to her. But there were two young fools somewhere out here. He couldn't leave them to freeze to death.

His feet found the edge of the ditch, blanketed into a mere dimple by the drifting snow. The moment he felt the curve, he shifted to the left, crowbar in one hand, the other tugging Joey behind him. It didn't take more than another two minutes to find the truck, though at first he couldn't make out what he was seeing; tilted firmly on its side, Dave's black pickup sat under an obscuring blanket of white at least three inches deep. Part of it was due to the way the wind swirled snow up off the road, driving it until it hit the vehicle and formed the start of a snowdrift, but part of it was just the heavy, icy downpour of flakes all around.

"Here it is!" Steve told the others, restraining the impulse to hurry to the front of the truck. With the road slick from compressed snow underneath the freshly deposited stuff, he didn't want to risk stepping wrong and twisting an ankle, or worse. As soon as he was even with the back of the pickup bed, he whacked the truck with the crowbar, clanging metal against metal. "Hopefully, that'll wake 'em up!"

"I'll stay at the b.u.mper with the rope," Bella told him, releasing Joey's hand. "Don't go further away than you can touch this thing, or you'll be lost!"

Nodding, the two men moved up along the length of the truck. They reached the door, designated by a peak in the blanketing white that was the side mirror, and heard a thumping and yelling noise from within. Sc.r.a.ping the snow from the window, Steve saw Dave and Pete inside. With Joey's help, he cleared off the rest of the snow, finding the door handle. It seemed to be stuck. Joey took the crowbar from him and, with Steve gripping the latch to release its lever, helped to pry the thing open. Dave helped by shoving from the inside.

Holding the door open against the wind, Steve watched as Joey a.s.sisted his two friends in scrambling out. It was awkward, since the moment Dave released his seat belt, he slid right into Pete, who yelped at being squished. But the boys sorted themselves out. Gesturing at the back of the truck, Steve shouted over the wind.

"Bella's at the back of the truck. She's got a rope that'll lead us right back to the Inn. Everybody, grab hands and work your way back there together. Don't let go!"

Joey took point, pulling Pete along behind him. Dave hesitated a moment, then gripped Steve's hand. "Thanks."

Steve almost didn't hear the words, but knew it must have cost the younger man a bit to say them. He held his tongue, saving his breath and his energy for the trek back to the Inn. He let Bella take the lead, reeling in the rope as she walked steadily through the thickly falling flakes, retracing their path through the snow. Joey had one hand tucked into the belt wrapped around the waist of her overcoat, the other forming the rest of the chain of men. All Steve had to do was follow in the wake of the others, holding Dave's gloved hand as he trudged through the gap in the drifts that had been churned and trampled into their path home.

INSIDE THE FRONT ROOM, Ca.s.sIE PEERED THROUGH THE glazed front of the woodstove. The flames were burning merrily enough, but eventually the fire would die down. Peering at the logs stacked in the nearby basket, she smiled and selected a rounded one, then used a nearby pot holder to open the metal door.

Long ago, the people of the Scandinavian lands had ceremonially lit a log like this one-only much, much bigger, the entire trunk of a tree-to celebrate Thor, G.o.d of lightning, at this time of the year. The object was to burn a single tree for the entire length of the old celebrations. The Celts had also lit a log much like this one as well, to entice the sun to grow strong once again, shedding more and more light. But the tradition involving flames she thought most fondly of, as she tenderly placed the rounded bit of trunk into the heart of the fire, was the one Bella would think of, too: that of the miracle of the temple lamps, in the ancient land of the Hebrews. At the darkest time of the year, it was important to remember that light would come back into their lives, no matter how gloomy things might seem.

"Shalom," she breathed into the metal box, before closing the door. Inside the stove, the log slowly caught fire, burning with a steady golden light. The Franklin stove was as far as one could get from a menorah, but in a storm like this, it was just as important to warm the body as to warm the spirit.

This had to be the snowstorm to end all snowstorms; by the time they reached the front porch of the converted farmhouse, it was nearly three steps shorter than it should have been, and all of them were chilled to the bone, shivering inside their clothes. A pink-clad figure met them on the porch, dusting each of them off in a fluttering bustle of pink-gloved hands before allowing them into the house, so that the caked snow on their clothes wouldn't melt and soak them into a worse chill, or so Ca.s.sie chattered. The boys accepted her fussing with wide eyes, and Steve with an impatient sigh, wanting only to rejoin his fiancee. Bella accepted it with a roll of her eyes as she finished coiling the last bit of rope.

As soon as they were inside, Rachel met them with a tray loaded with steaming mugs. The spicy scent warmed Steve's heart just as much as his lungs. As soon as he had shed his outer coat and his gloves, he wrapped his hands around the almost-toohot mug, letting the heat sink into his chilled fingers. For a moment, he wanted to tell her how much he loved her. It felt too awkward, though. Professing his love in front of strangers was bad enough, but in front of three unwelcome guests, boys who would snicker and make fun of his feelings...he couldn't do it.

Mike came down the stairs, dressed in a deep brown sweater-vest, tan shirt, and chocolate trousers. "I'm glad to see all of you made it back safely. Allah's blessings upon you, and those of the Prophet Emmanuel."

Pete blinked and frowned at him. "You ain't a Christian?"

Bella smacked him on the back of the head with her m.u.f.f. "No, he isn't! And neither am I, though I'm willing to admit your Christ was probably a True Prophet of G.o.d, if not the Messiah."

"G.o.d is G.o.d," Ca.s.sie interjected smoothly, favoring Pete with a smile. "Whether you dress Him up in an aba, a sari, or a three-piece suit, G.o.d is G.o.d."

"And this time of the year has been set aside for the celebration of kindness, tolerance, unity, and brotherhood," Mike agreed as he finished descending the last few steps. Reaching for one of the mugs, he lifted it from the tray in Rachel's hands. "A toast: to the enlightenment that comes from opening our minds to knowledge. May we all know the Creator a little better, through getting to know each other."

Bella plucked a mug from the tray, holding it high. "May we all enjoy the comfort of a solid roof over our head, good food in our bellies, and friendships-both new and old-warming our hearts."

"To peace, in this holiest of seasons," Ca.s.sie agreed, taking the second-to-last mug. She looked expectantly at Steve, who realized she wanted him to add a toast.

"Uh...to finding these two young gentlemen alive."

"And to making it back alive," Joey added, clinking his mug against his friends'.

David blinked, then nodded. "To being rescued, even when I made an a-" He caught Bella's pointed glare and changed his wording. "A donkey of myself."

"To, um...tolerance, and the holiday spirit," Pete agreed.

"To a Merry Christmas, a happy hajj, and a joyous Hanukkah," Rachel offered. Then blinked and looked at Ca.s.sie. "Um...what celebrations do Buddhists hold at this time of the year?"

"The day the Buddha began his search for Enlightenment, but that was earlier in the month," she dismissed with a smile. "I'm perfectly fine with the idea of toasting happiness, merriment, and joy, since you're all safe and sound."

"Then to happiness, merriment, and joy," Rachel allowed, clinking her mug with the others.

"Good! Now it should be cool enough to drink," Mike told the others, smiling. They lifted their mugs to their lips, finding the cinnamon-laced apple juice just on the tolerable side of hot.

Rachel lowered her mug and gestured everyone into the front parlor. "Come, sit! Shed a few more layers as soon as you've warmed up enough. If anyone needs a hot shower, we have three of them available, but the water tanks can only reheat so much at one time."

"That's a.s.suming the power doesn't go out," Pete muttered, taking a seat on a padded calico footstool. "Storm this bad'll probably knock out a substation somewhere, plus all them power lines coming down."

"Naw, the county got smart along this stretch of road, an' buried all the lines," Joey reminded his friend, stretching out his legs. He'd claimed the rocking chair in the corner by the stove. "Power'll only go out if the substation goes. Of course, that makes it a pain in the b-uh, backside when it comes to findin' the road if the drifts get deeper than the ditches, since there's no poles to watch for."

"Well, if the power goes out, we've got a portable generator in the lean-to, just off the mudroom out back," Steve told the others from his seat on the sofa, freeing one hand from the mug of cider so that he could tuck his wife-to-be closer against him. Having cheated a frozen, swirling death, he appreciated Rachel a whole lot more today.

"Speaking of which...shouldn't at least one of you gentlemen cough up a credit or debit card, so that our hostess can register you for your stay?" Mike inquired gently, giving the three boys a pointed look.

"You can't be serious about that," Dave scoffed.

"Quite serious," Bella stated before Rachel or Steve could speak. "Two of you owe your very lives to Mr. Bethel and that rope of his that guided us safely back to this shelter."

They looked at each other, then Joey grumbled under his breath, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "You can put it on mine, Miz Rutherford. I'll beat it outta the other two later."

Pete snorted. "As if you could!"

"Let us not test that theory in person," Mike chided them. He turned to their hostess, who had leaned fully into her fiance's side, her slippered feet curled up next to Bella's hip. "So, what shall we be having for our lunch?"

"Tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and steamed vegetables," Rachel replied promptly. "With more cheese smothered over the top."

Dave scratched his chin. "Well, if it's the Bethel Inn cheese, I suppose I could stomach 'em..."

"It is," Rachel promised, reluctantly uncurling from Steve's side to take the credit card Joey extended her way. There was a credit reader in the kitchen she could use to bill him with. Credit wasn't quite as good as debit, since it wasn't an instant transfer of funds, but it would have to do.

"Well, in the meantime, why don't we play a game?" Ca.s.sie offered. "Something to warm us up in both body and mind, like charades!"

The others groaned, but conceded the idea. With the snow swirling outside the house, the front room was cozily warm in contrast, thanks to the cheerfully burning woodstove. Bella volunteered to go first, rising to her feet and holding up three fingers.

"Okay, three words," Mike agreed.

She held up two fingers, and Joey said, "Second word."

Two more fingers, and Pete offered, "Two syllables?" Bella shook her head, so he changed it to, "Two letters?"

A nod and a tug of her ear, then a fluttering of her fingers, her thumbs intertwined, forming the shape of a bird. Steve narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like...dove-of!"

The black-clad woman nodded, unb.u.t.toning her overcoat. Naturally, she was wearing an all-black ensemble of wool slacks and an angora sweater underneath. She held up her first finger after pa.s.sing her coat to Dave, who draped it over the arm of his chair, and then she held up four fingers.

"First word, four letters," the dark-haired youth offered, and received a nod.

A tug of her ear, and she stretched her hands out, as if expanding something. Steve tried to guess it. "Sounds like...stretch. Expand?"

Bella shook her head twice. Mike tried a guess next. "Lengthen?"

She swirled her fingers, encouraging that line of thought. Pete blurted out, "Long?"

Grinning, Bella tugged on her ear and pointed to him.

"Wrong, bong, thong," Dave muttered.

"Song?" Steve asked, and received a sharp nod, three fingers, and then seven more in reply. It popped into his head. "'Song of Solomon'?"

"You got it!" Applauding him, Bella reseated herself on the other end of the couch. "Your turn, Mr. Bethel!"

"Steve, please," he urged. Thinking for a moment, he rose and began his own charade attempt with a smile and six fingers.

By the time Rachel returned, the others were laughing at her betrothed, who was flapping his elbows and making faces.

"Six words, Miz Rutherford!" Joey gasped, wiping at the tears in his eyes. "We can't figure it out!"

"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," she stated, and grinned as the others gaped. "He did the exact same one when we first played charades together at a party back in college."

"Cuckoo?" Mike snorted. "He looked more like a drunken chicken! No offense meant."

"None taken," Steve agreed, straightening with a grin. He took his fiancee's hand and kissed it impulsively, remembering that party and how she had found his silliness endearing rather than off-putting. "Your turn, love."

"HEY."

The soft-spoken word turned Steve's head. Pete stood in the doorway to the mudroom, watching him tug on his boots. "What do you want?"

"That gal, Bella, is right. I owe you my life. Me an' Dave both do." He scratched at the back of his head for a moment, then asked, "You gotta go milk your cows, right?"

"That's right," Steve agreed. "It's almost time for their afternoon milking."

"Well, I can help you. I've done it before, at my uncle's place," Pete offered with a diffident shrug. "If nothin' else, you'll need help clearin' a path to th' barn."

Steve hesitated only a moment before nodding his head. "There's only the four of them that need full milking; one of them's at the first-milk stage, so that'll need to be set aside; there's a bottle of colostrum started in the dairy's fridge. But the offer is appreciated. Get your things, and put them on in here. I've already strung a rope from the house to the barn, so we'll be following that from here."

Nodding, looking relieved at having his offer accepted, Pete vanished from the doorway. Steve finished settling his snow boots on his feet, and hoped that this peaceful coexistence would continue. The two boys did owe him their lives, true, but he didn't do things like that to hold any favors over the heads of others. He had done it because it was the right thing to do.

STEVE GROANED AS HE SETTLED BETWEEN THE FLANNEL sheets next to Rachel. It had been a long day, and he was tired from slogging through the snow. The radio on the far side of the bed from him played softly, letting them know there was still electricity to the house. Rachel had picked a cla.s.sical music station, something soothing, relaxing.

"How are the cows doing?" she asked him. "Do you need to watch Ellen yet?"

"If this one's anything like the last five calvings, she'll have two more days to go before she's ready to drop. b.u.t.t first," he added, gesturing with his hand. "But she'll drop. Probably the night before Christmas Eve."

"And unless a miracle happens, this storm will keep the vet away for longer than those three days," Rachel sighed, twisting onto her side so she could snuggle close. "You'll have to start sleeping out in the barn tomorrow night, just in case...and I'll miss you."

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He twisted his head, kissing her dark hair. "Actually, Pete is going to be sleeping out there. We'll trade off during the day, but he's volunteered to watch during the night. He's had to turn breech-birth calves half a dozen times before, with his uncle's guidance. And he says the cot we have out there is nicer than having to doss down in the hay like at his uncle's place. I made sure he had extra blankets. He'll be fine."