Free Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter by Lisa Patton Page A

Baker chatted me up a blue streak. The only people he had been keeping company with were two locals he had hired to help him with the painting.
    “I can’t wait for you to see all the work I’ve done. The place looks fantastic.”He grabbed a cart on the way over to our baggage carousel. “And the staff can’t wait to meet you. Remember the French waiter we met when we were here before? Pierre?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You’ll just love him. You mark my words, he’s gonna be a granddaddy to the girls.”
    “So, is there still snow on the ground?” I asked, deliberately changing the subject. “We wanna build a snowman, right, girls?” They both jumped up and down and squealed.
    “Is there still snow on the ground? This is Vermont. There’s a ton of snow on the ground. It’s everywhere.” The girls and I watched as Baker grabbed the first of our many suitcases off the belt.
    “Well, I didn’t know. For all I know it could have melted already.” I was talking to his back.
    “Ed Baldwin was telling me”—he grunted while lifting my suitcase—“the snow stays around all the way to spring.” He hurled it onto the cart and turned around quickly for more bags. “Aren’t the girls lucky? Remember how he said that skiing is part of the public school curriculum?”
    I nodded my head, but I was more interested in making sure all our bags made it.
    “I’ve met all kinds of people who say it’s one of the greatest things about living here.”
    “Well, I’ve always wanted to buy them cute little snowsuits.” Living in Memphis there had been no point. We were lucky to get a dusting.
    “Hey, guess what?” Baker said, as he stacked the last suitcase onto the cart, which was loaded up to his chin. “I’ve already got your winter pass to Sugartree. Innkeepers get free passes to the mountain for selling lift tickets. Just one of the many perks of innkeeping.” He labored over the weight of the cart as he awkwardly maneuvered it toward the door. “Wait ’til you see the skis I’ve got my eye on.”
    “Let me guess, they’re black with trout painted all over them.”
    Baker rolled his eyes, but I shrugged it off. I was used to it.
     
    ______
     
    As we journeyed north from Albany toward Vermont, I saw that Baker was right. There was snow everywhere. Curiously, no one was driving slowly, and the streets were completely clear. There were big piles of snow all along the sides of the highway, though, like someone had pushed it over to the side and left it there.
    I saw my moose sign again but didn’t ask for a stop. It just made me excited all over again. Where will I be when I spot my first moose? I wondered. Are they shy like deer? Is there a better time of the day to see one? I hadn’t been this thrilled about wildlife since the days of Mutual of Omaha.
    “Have you seen a moose yet?” I asked Baker.
    “Not yet.”
    “What does a moose look like?” Isabella asked from the backseat. Her curly strawberry-blond hair was wild and free; she had pulled out her ponytail holder hours earlier.
    “Oh, they are big, baby girl, with big ole antlers. They kind of look like horses but they’re much, much larger. And Mama can’t wait to see one. Let’s watch for moose , everybody.” I cleared my throat to get Baker’s attention. He would never have to correct me on that one again.
     
    We had settled on a price of $385,000 by the time the negotiating was all over. The CPA we hired made a determination based on the Schloygins’ last five years of gross income. With the additional expense of a mortgage and a chef’s salary, we could not afford to pay a penny more.
    Ed Baldwin was elated when he called with the news. “Do you realize what a concession this is? The Schloygins have lowered the price by nearly two hundred thousand dollars! And would you like to know why?”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “The only people they want to continue their legacy are you and Baker. They’ve had other offers, higher ones I might add,