Christmas At Cedarwood Lodge. Rebecca Raisin
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months to come. Under such solemn light, I felt the space between me and Mom yawn wider. She still hadn’t appeared and I knew something was up. I dialed her number again and was rewarded with the robotic voice: the number you have dialed… I hung up. Enough was enough.
At the lodge, things were progressing hectically and only just behind schedule, and I supposed the world wouldn’t fall down around me if I took one night off from the endless paperwork and reconciling the figures. There was just so much to do, but I wasn’t concentrating properly with Mom’s absence on my mind.
The wind keened like a lost soul as I locked the front door of the lodge. Kai was wandering around the grounds so I set off and found him peering into the window of one of the chalets near the lake.
“I’m going out,” I said. “Are you OK to lock the front gate?” He always stayed behind, his work days longer than anyone else’s. As though he couldn’t fully relax until he’d checked every single job.
“Sure,” he said, trying to make out the chalet room configurations in the encroaching darkness.
I buttoned up my coat as the bracing winds took hold. Kai looked downright spellbound. Surely it wasn’t just the chalets prompting such a reaction? “What is it?” I asked. “You look like you’ve found Wonderland.”
“I have found Wonderland. I had no idea the chalets were so well appointed. I guess I expected them to be derelict. It won’t take much to get them ready for guests, just the usual safety checks, and a few modernizations.”
With twenty chalets on the property, it wasn’t viable for me right then, as much as I wanted them to be rejuvenated. There was new bedding to consider, mattresses, linen, and décor, as well as the TLC they needed. It would have to wait.
“I know,” I said with a sigh, wishing my funds could stretch that tiny bit further but knowing I couldn’t risk it yet. “There’s also the old stone chapel to do. It’s got the most glorious stained-glass windows that funnel in breathtaking kaleidoscopic colors. It would be perfect for weddings. But for now I have to focus on the lodge itself…”
“When word spreads you’ll be busy here, Clio. This place has a bygone-era feel to it. I’ve traveled a lot, and I haven’t seen anything like this.”
I crossed my fingers, hoping he was right. “I’ve bet my entire fortune that people will want holidays where they learn to tango, take up life drawing, sling on backpacks full of gourmet picnic food supplied by us and hike up into the foothills.”
It was as though I could visualize them: groups huddled by the fire playing cards, mahjongg, bridge, and charades.
“No shopping malls, no tearing around trying to see every single tourist attraction. I think you’re on to something here.”
“I hope guests see it that way. Without sounding like a disgruntled grandparent, I want to go back to a time where people made their own fun. Let’s pray I’m not the only one who thinks it’s a good idea.”
He ran a hand through his tangled, too-long hair. “I’d put money on it but I’m not a gambling type.”
Cedarwood had to offer something unique to draw people to such a small town, and I banked on old-school fun and frivolity. Dances, trekking, water sports on the lake, and games, canasta, bingo nights, pottery in the west wing, and still-life drawing in the east. Language lessons, cooking classes, and singing and theater for those who wanted to perform. Chalets with reinvigorated claw-foot baths and a wall of books for those who wanted peace and quiet. But I needed the numbers in order to hire the staff…
I wanted to recreate that time, that feeling, when holidays were about relaxation, or being awed by the natural beauty of the elements. Having a place where you could do as much or as little as you liked. The entire train of thought made me realize again just how much work I had to do on the marketing front. I took my phone from my pocket and snapped a picture of Kai standing by the front door of the chalet. Social media would eat him up. “Mind if I post this online?” I indicated to the photo.
“Sure, go ahead.”
With deft fingers I posted the pic with the description: Our project manager Kai at one of the #CedarwoodLodgeChalets before renovations.
“Why did the lodge close?” he asked, arms folded as he leaned against the balustrade.
I lifted a shoulder. “As far as I can tell, they struggled through wartime, and recessions, and I guess they never really recovered financially. The husband left first and then the wife, for reasons unknown, and not long after she closed the place down.”
“Why’d he leave her?”
I clucked my tongue. “That part is a little hazy. I was too young to understand.”
“It’s a shame when they had all of this.” I might have mistaken it, but I was sure I caught a glimpse of longing in his eyes. Like he had fallen under Cedarwood’s spell.
“The thing is, it’s not a broken heart. We can fix this,” I said, smiling up at him.
He faced me, and the full force of his gaze hit me. I envied the girl who’d lose her heart to Kai. Loving him would be like tumbling into an abyss – he had a depth, a magnetism, that was compelling.
“Cedarwood has a murky past, but it’s being reborn and I have this idea that it’ll be a place where people fall in love, and lives will be changed for the better.” Too whimsical? I had to remind myself I wasn’t in an office full of women who planned weddings for a living any more.
He took an age to reply, like he was absorbing my words, pondering his answer. “There is something special about this place. It’s not just you who feels it.” A blush crept up his skin.
While his words were innocent, my heart knocked a little harder. I fumbled with a response before sticking to the rudimentary. “So… don’t forget to lock the gate. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kai stared at me so intently, I blinked and walked away, unsure of what exactly had happened, and why I felt a charge in the air.
Twenty minutes later I pulled into Mom’s driveway, my thoughts inexplicably fuzzy. I took a deep breath and focused my mind on Mom, reminding myself not to push too hard; not to say anything I’d regret. If I did, she’d shut down and I’d never get to the bottom of what was bothering her. My mom, despite having run an inn where she dealt with guests for most of her adult life, was insular. She didn’t socialize, her only real friend was my Aunt Bessie, my father’s sister. Aunt Bessie was so full of life that no one could avoid being swept into her world, so I’m sure my mom just gave in to it.
I killed the engine, and gazed up. The kitchen curtain shivered, alerting me to Mom’s presence.
Donning a friendly smile, I went to the door and knocked, waiting an age for her to open it, as if she was trying to decide whether to pretend to be out or not. How had we come to this?
Finally the door swung open and she feigned surprise. “Clio! I wasn’t expecting you.”
I held out a bag of groceries I’d stopped off to buy. “Thought we could rustle up some dinner, what do you say?” I held back the real words that threatened to pour from my lips: Why haven’t you come to see me?
She darted a quick peep behind her.
“Is someone here?” I ventured. Mom hadn’t dated after Dad died. Did she have someone special now, and that was what was distracting her? At least that would be progress.
“No, no. It’s fine. Come in.”
I held in a sigh. “I thought we could make lasagna and roast vegetables. Are you hungry?” Mom had lost weight, too much weight. She’d always been whisper-thin, but now she was almost invisible.
“My favorite,” she said, attempting a smile.
The cottage was immaculate, not a cushion out of place. Mom had always been tidy but this was next level. The small living room sat solemnly; the