Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,25
coming back into the kitchen.
Wendy was already at work on the peach-and-rose lassi that would go out next as a palate cleanser.
And after that was the slightly more time-sensitive puff pastry and eggs.
Wendy whisked the smoothies out and Anna cleared. The conversation of the guests was light and easy, and that was a source of some relief.
You never knew what you were going to get when it came to guests.
This group was laughing together and seemed perfectly at ease.
John, though, was quiet.
Oh, he would nod his head or chuckle at a story, but he didn’t offer up any of his own.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. As long as there were no dustups she was happy enough. And no uncomfortable silences.
The awkwardness of a group of people sitting there, the only sound spoons hitting their glasses, was the kind of thing that compelled Wendy to rush things along and start her historical talk a little bit early.
“It’s a good group,” she said to Anna when they were back in the kitchen.
“Yes,” Anna agreed. “It will be interesting to see if that changes tomorrow, since the birdwatchers are going home, and we’re getting two new couples.”
“You never know.” Silence trailed on after those words. There were always moments of normal. And then afterward the tension crept back in.
“I’ll do the history talk today,” Anna said.
Anna hadn’t done a history talk in ages, and Wendy wasn’t quite sure why she was offering now.
“You want to?” Wendy asked.
“Yeah. I don’t have anything else to do.” Anna sighed. “You are helping me, Mom. And I know it’s been weird between us, but I’m appreciative I have a place to stay and a job to do. I want to make sure I’m actually doing that job.”
“You don’t have to do anything to earn a place, Anna,” Wendy said.
“I want to.”
They both worked together assembling the eggs in the puff pastry, and then when it was time, presented it together, though she let Anna explain that the cheese had come from Rogue Creamery, and the chanterelles had been foraged in the woods behind the lighthouse. To the best of their ability, they used local and Oregon-based products.
It was a part of what made the Lighthouse Inn unique.
It was a piece of history, up there on the rocks, a piece of this state that was her home, and this town that had been her fresh start all those years ago.
The food that she made—the food that she and her daughters made—was a love letter to that. And sharing it with those who came was a great joy to Wendy.
In fact, it made her wonder if it was time to consider providing other meals at different times during the week. She had extra help now. Her flock was back home, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.
And Anna wanted more work. God knew they needed to find a way to talk to each other.
Maybe building something here would be the key to fixing what was broken. Again.
The Lighthouse Inn had healed her. It had healed them.
Maybe it would again.
Breakfast finished up with a piece of pound cake, and when everyone was fininshed eating, they walked out of the dining room and into the parlor for the beginning of the history talk. There was a fireplace there that had been made propane for easy starting, and a couch that wasn’t exactly authentic to provide large, comfortable seating.
There was also an antique table beneath the window with a Tiffany lamp and books about the area. There were historic photos hung suspended from the crown molding all around the room.
Anna began her talk, moving easily through the historical dates and facts about Cape Hope, and the Cape Hope Lighthouse. The cape had been discovered in the 1700s by an explorer and his crew who’d all had a bad case of scurvy. And here they had found fresh drinking water, huckleberries and the rather inedible camas plants. This place had been hope.
And it had remained.
While Anna spoke, Wendy moved quietly to the end of the parlor, looking at the pictures that were set up on the antique piano in the corner.
Pictures of the lightkeepers’ families, who had lived here for generations. Pictures of the different iterations of the property. Of times when there had been barracks everywhere and doghouses for military dogs, and when the carriage house had been used as an armory.
Of times when the trees had been burned away by intentional fires set for gardening purposes.