Page 43 of The Inn Dilemma

“Well?” Aunt Birdie asks, standing and wiping down her apron with shaky hands.

“The insurance adjuster will be out in a couple hours to assess the damage, then we’ll get to work cleaning everything up.”

The three of us head into the house and take inventory of all that needs done. It’s a lot. Even more than I originally anticipated.

“This is going to take months to clean,” I say with a wince.

Aunt Birdie’s eyes go wide. “The house is booked until the end of the year!” she exclaims.

“We’re in between guests right now though, right? So there shouldn’t be any guests or guests’ things that have been affected?” I ask.

Aunt Birdie covers her face. “I didn’t even think of that! This is the first time in two years the house has been fully vacant. At first I thought that was a bad thing, but it turned out to be a huge blessing. Praise the Lord, it’s just the inn’s things.”

“See? Things are already looking up!” I say, trying to find any silver lining I can grab hold of.

“Oh, you’re right,” Aunt Birdie agrees.

“Do you have some open cabins?” I ask. If they need my cabin to keep the business running, they are going to use my cabin.

She bites her thumbnail in her nervous tick. “Yeah, I usually try to leave those open for the hunter stragglers, though.”

I shrug. “Well, they need to plan ahead this year. If you need my cabin, I can find somewhere else to live.”

Birdie and Holt both give me a dirty look. I put my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying I won’t be a stumbling block for your business.”

Both of them roll their eyes.

“You could never be a stumbling block, Nova.” The sincerity in Holt’s voice sends warmth spreading through me. “We can make this work.”

And we do. Over the next several hours, Aunt Birdie and I make calls to all the upcoming guests and update them on their accommodations. Some sound disappointed, but by some miracle, none of them ask for cancellations.

After I hang up my final call, I give Aunt Birdie a high five.

“See? No big deal.”

Once I’m back in my cabin, I fire up my old laptop and do something I haven’t done since high school and never thought I’d do again—research. I wasn’t kidding when I told Aunt Birdie this could be a blessing in disguise. Now I just need to figure out how to turn this travesty into Ella Mae and Aunt Birdie’s shared dream.

The Storybook Inn’s architecture is unique to other buildings constructed in its time period, especially in Rocosa. Frederick Graves and his contractors—or whatever they were called back then—had imaginations ahead of their time.

Aunt Birdie has made it clear that she wants to remain true to the time period and what Frederick and Ella Mae would have wanted.

I spend the next few hours poring over websites and PDFs with blueprints and designs of the early twentieth century. As expected, the only murals talked about were in public buildings, but there were a few articles that noted wealthy families had murals painted in their homes too.

Ella Mae’s journal sits untouched by my door. Aunt Birdie handed it to me yesterday so I could read it, but I haven’t gotten a chance to open it until now. I leave my laptop on but close it and set it on the coffee table. I grab the leather-bound journal from the entryway table, then tuck myself back under my blanket on the couch.

Nonfiction isn’t usually my genre of choice, but it doesn't take long for me to get sucked into the journal entries. Ella Mae has an absolutely beautiful way with words. I quickly find myself lost between the antique pages, sinking my feet into the footprints she’s left behind.

The love Ella Mae had for her husband was even more beautiful than what my favorite romances describe, and his love for her was selfless and steadfast. Frederick went above and beyond when it came to his wife. She mentioned to him that she loved a mural she saw in an estate in London, and Frederick told her he wanted to make it a reality in their new home.

Soon her writings turned from dreams for their home to news of her pregnancy and her excitement to start their family. As I read about each kick she felt from the baby, I feel as though I’m walking through this time with her.

By the time I reach the end of the entries, my heart is overflowing. The way this woman wove words together and poured her heart out on the page has me overwhelmed with emotion. The last entry was only two days before she gave birth. According to these entries, herpregnancy was hard, and by the end, she was on bed rest. But her faith remained solid, as did her belief in God’s sovereignty.

“So this is why you’re so passionate about fulfilling Ella Mae’s wishes,” I say out loud to no one. Ella Mae is someone I know I would have been friends with if I lived back then, and I’m sure Aunt Birdie also feels a kinship with the echo of Ella Mae now in her words.

By the time I lay in bed listening to the crackle of the embers in my fireplace, I have the same drive to make Ella Mae and Aunt Birdie’s joint dream come true.

Chapter Fifteen

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