.”
Edith nodded, somewhat surprised at what seemed a compassionate response from Myrtle. “Yes, I suppose that’s one of the reasons that I like having my children around me at Christmastime. It helps to make up for all those quiet Christmases when it was just my grandparents and me.”
“You ready?” asked Myrtle, holding up the rolling pin like a torch or maybe a club.
“For what?” Edith felt confused.
“The dough. It’s time to cut the cookies.”
“Oh.”
As Edith and Myrtle proceeded to cut out cookies in the shapes of trees, stars, angels . . . placing them one by one on the buttered cookie sheet, Edith found herself thinking about her childhood. And that’s when it occurred to her that Myrtle reminded her a bit of her grandmother. Fairly bossy, pushy, and rather outspoken. Her grandmother had been one of those women who knew it all and wanted everyone around her to know that she did. Oh, Edith had always been grateful to her grandmother. But she often felt overwhelmed by the woman’s strong opinions. So when the opportunity arose to leave home at eighteen, via a marriage that her grandmother had severely questioned, Edith leaped at the chance. Of course, her grandmother thought it was a huge mistake, that Charles was too old for her and that Edith should finish college before marrying. And most disturbing to her grandmother was that Charles wanted to relocate them to Christmas Valley. “A foolish move that you’ll one day regret,” her grandmother had warned her.
But Edith had never regretted it. Oh, she regretted that the gulf between her and her grandparents had grown wider with each passing year. But with the birth of her first child and the other three so shortly thereafter, she was so distracted with motherhood, her husband’s ministry, and all the daily demands of life that contact with her grandparents steadily decreased until it was little more than Christmas and birthday cards.
And then after her children became adults and left home, Edith opened up the bed and breakfast, and her life was just as busy as ever. Her grandfather had died about ten years ago, and her grandmother died the following year. Naturally, she had been saddened to lose them, but then they’d both been in their nineties, so it hadn’t been a great surprise. Of course, she did regret that they’d never come out to visit. Even when she specifically invited them to come stay at the newly remodeled B and B, they had declined on account of “health” issues. But she suspected it was merely an excuse.
Myrtle was gathering up the remnants of dough now, slapping them together into a small ball that she proceeded to roll out, back and forth, as if she had done this many a time in the past. Edith no longer cared that Myrtle had taken over. Mostly she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. She wasn’t even sure why.
“You seem to have everything under control here,” she told Myrtle as she removed her apron and hung it on the hook by the back door. “Do you mind taking the cookies out of the oven when they’re done?”
“Not at all.” Myrtle didn’t even look up. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I can handle this by myself. Besides, I’m sure you have a lot to get done before the other guests get here.”
“Yes . . .” Edith nodded. But as she walked out of the kitchen, she couldn’t think of a single thing that needed doing. Oh, certainly there was plenty to do, but it was as if her usual well organized mind had been wiped completely clean.
She went up to the room that she and Charles shared. They had remodeled this space for themselves before transforming their home into the Shepherd’s Inn. By combining two smaller bedrooms and a bath, they had created a large and comfortable suite that provided a tranquil getaway, a private retreat. And since Charles was visiting a parishioner who was in the hospital in a nearby town, the orderly room was quiet and peaceful now. Edith went inside and closed
Edith nodded, somewhat surprised at what seemed a compassionate response from Myrtle. “Yes, I suppose that’s one of the reasons that I like having my children around me at Christmastime. It helps to make up for all those quiet Christmases when it was just my grandparents and me.”
“You ready?” asked Myrtle, holding up the rolling pin like a torch or maybe a club.
“For what?” Edith felt confused.
“The dough. It’s time to cut the cookies.”
“Oh.”
As Edith and Myrtle proceeded to cut out cookies in the shapes of trees, stars, angels . . . placing them one by one on the buttered cookie sheet, Edith found herself thinking about her childhood. And that’s when it occurred to her that Myrtle reminded her a bit of her grandmother. Fairly bossy, pushy, and rather outspoken. Her grandmother had been one of those women who knew it all and wanted everyone around her to know that she did. Oh, Edith had always been grateful to her grandmother. But she often felt overwhelmed by the woman’s strong opinions. So when the opportunity arose to leave home at eighteen, via a marriage that her grandmother had severely questioned, Edith leaped at the chance. Of course, her grandmother thought it was a huge mistake, that Charles was too old for her and that Edith should finish college before marrying. And most disturbing to her grandmother was that Charles wanted to relocate them to Christmas Valley. “A foolish move that you’ll one day regret,” her grandmother had warned her.
But Edith had never regretted it. Oh, she regretted that the gulf between her and her grandparents had grown wider with each passing year. But with the birth of her first child and the other three so shortly thereafter, she was so distracted with motherhood, her husband’s ministry, and all the daily demands of life that contact with her grandparents steadily decreased until it was little more than Christmas and birthday cards.
And then after her children became adults and left home, Edith opened up the bed and breakfast, and her life was just as busy as ever. Her grandfather had died about ten years ago, and her grandmother died the following year. Naturally, she had been saddened to lose them, but then they’d both been in their nineties, so it hadn’t been a great surprise. Of course, she did regret that they’d never come out to visit. Even when she specifically invited them to come stay at the newly remodeled B and B, they had declined on account of “health” issues. But she suspected it was merely an excuse.
Myrtle was gathering up the remnants of dough now, slapping them together into a small ball that she proceeded to roll out, back and forth, as if she had done this many a time in the past. Edith no longer cared that Myrtle had taken over. Mostly she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. She wasn’t even sure why.
“You seem to have everything under control here,” she told Myrtle as she removed her apron and hung it on the hook by the back door. “Do you mind taking the cookies out of the oven when they’re done?”
“Not at all.” Myrtle didn’t even look up. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I can handle this by myself. Besides, I’m sure you have a lot to get done before the other guests get here.”
“Yes . . .” Edith nodded. But as she walked out of the kitchen, she couldn’t think of a single thing that needed doing. Oh, certainly there was plenty to do, but it was as if her usual well organized mind had been wiped completely clean.
She went up to the room that she and Charles shared. They had remodeled this space for themselves before transforming their home into the Shepherd’s Inn. By combining two smaller bedrooms and a bath, they had created a large and comfortable suite that provided a tranquil getaway, a private retreat. And since Charles was visiting a parishioner who was in the hospital in a nearby town, the orderly room was quiet and peaceful now. Edith went inside and closed
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