A Down-Home Savannah Christmas

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said, staring down into her cup. She paused, silence heavy between them, but Elle resisted filling the void.

“I’m a little ashamed of myself for the fit I threw the other night when Kate was over.”

“Mom, it’s okay. It’s not an easy situation. I’m still trying to figure out if this place is a gift or a yoke. But it is our legacy. We are so very fortunate to have it.”

“That’s exactly why I came to the conclusion that I did,” Zelda said. “I will take my turn running the Forsyth. It wouldn’t be fair to you three girls or Gigi if I skipped out and shirked my responsibility. Gigi has worked long past what she should’ve and that was because of me. I suppose I should’ve spoken up and urged her to retire sooner, but I didn’t want to take over.” She sighed. “I suppose Machu Picchu and the Galápagos and Greece will wait for me.” She laughed. “They’ve waited this long. What’s another twenty years?”

Her eyes looked sad. The truth shone through. It wasn’t what she wanted. Elle didn’t know what to say. Zelda wasn’t the type to play the false martyr and expect her to jump in and relieve her of the burden.

“I keep hearing Gigi say, What do you want me to do? Sell the place?” Zelda had tears in her eyes. “She’s right. There really isn’t another solution. We can’t afford to hire a manager. It’s up to me now, and I’m certainly not going to be the one who gives up on a six-generation legacy.”

“I’ll help you for as long as I can,” Elle said. The unspoken part was, Until the county calls and tells me they have another teaching job for me.

Zelda nodded and a single tear meandered down her cheek.

But what if they didn’t have another job for her? Budget cuts for the school year had been deep.

Elle used a spoon to take the tea bag out of her cup and wound the string around the bag and spoon to squeeze out the excess water. She bit her bottom lip against the phantom feel of Daniel’s lips on hers, against the memory of his hands on her breasts, pushing under her dress. God, she wanted him; it was a need that consumed her more than she could process.

“What do you think about this?” she said as she set down the spoon. “Why don’t we leave it up to fate? If the county calls after the first of the year with another job for me, it means I’ll go to Atlanta. If they don’t, I’ll put off the job search and move back to Savannah and help you run the Forsyth.”

Zelda gasped. Her hand flew up to her open mouth and the tears she’d been holding back spilled out onto her cheeks.

“Would you really do that for me?”

Elle nodded. “I would.”

For you. And for Daniel. Though she wasn’t sure she would mention this wager with the heavens to him.

* * *

When Daniel arrived at the Forsyth on Monday, Elle was in the sunroom working in her art journal and tending to the guests. Because of the construction, they’d closed the dining room and moved the guests’ breakfast into the sunroom.

Monday was generally a slower day. To compound matters, when they had let some of their bookings know that there would be construction happening at the inn, the guests had canceled. So, today was even slower than usual. Since Elle had volunteered to tend the breakfast, she’d brought along her art journal, figuring it would be a good time to reconnect with it.

In Atlanta, she’d been so busy with school—lesson plans and trying out new techniques that were appropriate for elementary school age kids—that she hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in much personal creativity. Now she used matte gel medium to glue down some collage elements that she had collected—a paper luggage tag she’d found in the hallway, a coaster from the Crystal she’d picked up the night of her date with Daniel, a receipt from her purse, a feather she’d found in the park across the street and the tab from the end of a tea bag string.

After the matte medium dried, she would paint and draw over the items and add additional layers of collage ephemera. But first she would have to wait for everything to set. It was an exercise in patience as well as creative expression. She’d forgotten how nice it was to exercise her creative muscles.