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

but they feel like you guys are the best people to carry on their tradition. They’ve even agreed to hold your mortgage for the first year. By then you’ll be established, and acquiring a loan from a local financial institution should be no problem.”
    “I don’t know what to say,” I told him.
    “Just say you’ll take it! I’ll fax you guys the revised copy of the contract right away.”
    “This is all happening so fast. I’ll need to run it by Baker,” I said, in a panic and trying to buy a block of time.
    “Of course. I’ll be in the office all afternoon. Call me back as soon as you’ve spoken with him. Oh, and one more thing, I’ve taken the liberty of sending roses to Helga, from all three of us. You can pay me back when I see you at the closing.”
    I won’t even tell you what Daddy would have said about that.
    Of course Ed was thrilled. He had both sides of the contract. We didn’t even have the sense to enlist the help of our own real estate agent to act on our behalf. My, how we learn from our mistakes. Naturally we were the best people to carry on the Schloygin tradition. We had a hefty down payment—two hundred thousand Daddy-dollars to be exact—a wife who knew absolutely nothing about the restaurant business, and the Schloygins were holding the mortgage. If we failed, they got their inn back with interest and all the renovations we planned to do, plus an extra two hundred grand to add to their nest egg. What did they have to lose?
    Ed had convinced us that Rolf could teach Baker to be a gourmet chef in a year. All we would have to do was hire him to continue as the executive chef, and let Baker train as his sous-chef. “Keep everything just the way it is for one year,” Ed said. “The customers will never know anything has changed. There’s no point in risking the loss of the loyal clientele.” Ed added one more piece of good news. “Helga has agreed to stay on as hostess and bartender to train Leelee.”
     
    When I arrived at the Vermont Haus Inn that frosty mid-December night, I not only had a new house, I had a new occupation. I was the owner of a four-star restaurant and the boss of four full-time employees and eight part-time employees. And . . . I was an aspiring martini mixer!
    The inn looked completely different now. No more lush gardens of lovely flowers waltzing in the warm summer breeze. Instead, snow—and heaps of it. The stars were so close it seemed like if only you could climb to the topof the highest tree, you might could reach up and pluck one out of the sky. The moon looked bigger and brighter than the moon in Tennessee, which made the snow look even prettier. I had only seen this much snow one other time, on a Young Life ski trip to Colorado my junior year, and I got butterflies in my stomach just looking at it.
    The girls were half asleep when we carried them inside. They would have to wait to get their first glimpse of our new winter wonderland.
    There’s the smell again , I thought as soon as we walked in the front door. I had already accepted the fact that deodorizing would be my toughest challenge. The second thing I noticed was total disarray. Our furniture from home was everywhere. When we bought the inn, it came completely furnished. Baker and I had loads of furniture as well, especially after Daddy died. Now we had two houses full and it was strewn all over the place, along with 150 boxes piled high to the ceiling. The sight of it all was overwhelming.
    “Ignore all this,” Baker said, when we walked through the front parlor. “We’ll get it done. You can start unpacking tomorrow and get this place just like you like it.”
    I stared at the boxes and then over at Baker. “I can’t unpack all this by myself.”
    “I’ll help you. No need to worry.”
    “It’s not the inn I’m worried about. It’s our apartment that’s been keeping me up at night.”
    “It’ll get there. One step at a time.”
    Issie poked her head up off my shoulder.