GC14 - The Price of Fame, page 1
part #14 of Tales from Grace Chapel Inn Series
The Price of Fame
ISBN-13: 978-0-8249-4730-9
Published by GuidepostsBooks
16 East 34th Street
New York, New York 10016
www.guidepostsbooks.com
Copyright © 2008 by GuidepostsBooks. All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
Distributed by Ideals Publications, a Guideposts company
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Nashville, Tennessee 37211
GuidepostsBooks, Ideals, and Tales from Grace Chapel Inn are registered trademarks of Guideposts.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Aarsen, Carolyne.
The price of fame / Carolyne Aarsen.
p. cm. — (Tales from Grace Chapel Inn)
ISBN 978-0-8249-4730-9
1. Bed and breakfast accommodations—Fiction. 2. City and town life—Fiction. 3. Pennsylvania—Fiction. 4. Sisters—Fiction. 5. Motion picture industry—Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.3.A14P75 2008
813’.54—dc22
2007039193
Cover and interior design by Marisa Jackson
Cover art by Deborah Chabrian
Typeset by Sue Murray
Printed and bound in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
* * *
GRACE CHAPEL INN
A place where one can be refreshed and encouraged, a place of hope and healing, a place where God is at home.
* * *
Chapter One
Evening red and morning gray are sure signs of a fine day.” Vera Humbert looked up at the clouds that obscured the morning sun. “At least that’s what Fred told me when you called about going for our walk.”
Alice Howard tucked her shoulders up against a chill wind as she and Vera came around the corner from Village Road, turning onto Hill Street. A few cars passed them, their occupants waving at the familiar figures of Alice and her friend, the town’s beloved fifth-grade teacher. Though they didn’t go out as often as she would like, Alice appreciated the exercise when she and Vera could squeeze a walk into their schedules. As a nurse, Alice needed to keep fit. She delegated much of the heavier work, but she wanted to be an example to the younger nurses who seemed to think that anyone over sixty, as Alice was by two years, was only capable of charting and consulting with the doctors.
“It’s still early. So there’s time for your husband’s prediction to come true.” Alice shivered as she skirted a pile of hard snow that encroached on the sidewalk in front of the Methodist Church. “I hope he’s right about that. Sunshine on a winter day always makes Acorn Hill look like a Christmas card, even at the end of January.”
“Fred prefers to use hard evidence when he’s predicting the weather, but that little piece of folklore he does agree with. At least that’s what he told Carlene Moss when she interviewed him a couple of days ago for the Acorn Nutshell.”
“She’s doing an article on him for the paper? He must be pleased.”
Vera nodded, her cheeks dimpling as she grinned. “He was really quite flattered. Though he used all the weather talk to tease me about not having predicted the tornado that must have gone through our house.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad, but he does like to rib me about my housekeeping. I say clean enough is clean enough.”
“You don’t have time for much more. Teaching keeps you too busy to be concerned with housework,” Alice said. “I’m very thankful that we bring in help now and again at the inn to stay on top of cleaning, though we are okay now. We don’t have any reservations for the next few weeks.”
After their father, Rev. Daniel Howard, passed away, Alice and her sisters, Louise and Jane, renovated their childhood home and started Grace Chapel Inn. They named it after the church where their father had preached most of his life.
“Anyhow, I hope Fred is wrong about his other prediction.”
“And what’s that?”
“He said we’re in for more snow and colder weather.” Vera tucked her yellow and red woolen scarf more snugly around her neck.
Alice shivered again. “I hope not. I was hoping to do something outdoors in the next couple of weeks with my ANGELs. Those girls always get a bit restless in January and February. The excitement of Christmas is over for them and it seems there’s not much to look forward to. I am trying to come up with an activity that I can use to reward them for the food baskets they made up at Christmastime.” Alice smiled at the memory. “They got such a kick out of keeping it a secret so the recipients wouldn’t know.” Alice was the leader of a group of girls, ages ten to fourteen, known as the ANGELs. The meaning of the acronym was as much of a secret as were their good deeds.
“If you come up with an idea, let me know,” Vera said. “I could use something to distract my students as well.”
“Good morning, ladies,” a voice called out behind them. “A bit cool for an early morning walk, isn’t it?”
Alice glanced back to see Viola Reed marching down the sidewalk toward them, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if anchoring her calf-length coat. Over her ample shoulders was draped a bright turquoise and gold scarf, a cheery touch on a dreary morning.
“Good morning Viola,” Alice said with a smile. “You’re up bright and early.”
“I have a lot of work to do at the bookstore this morning. Inventory and restocking.” Viola gave a shudder that made her bifocals flash. Viola owned and operated Nine Lives Bookstore, and though she seemed to complain about how busy it kept her, the truth was that she lived and breathed her work. “Could you tell Louise that I can’t have her over this evening after all? I simply won’t have time.”
Alice’s older sister Louise and Viola were good friends, though, or perhaps because, they were both strong-minded. “I will let her know. By the way, I really enjoyed that last book you recommended to me.”
“I’m so glad you did. I was hoping you could be lured away from the mysteries you seem to enjoy so much. If only I could convince a few more people in this town to pick up other books …” Viola pulled her mouth tight as a drawstring purse and let the sentence hang, giving a you-know-what-I-mean shrug.
Alice stifled her chuckle, turning it into a gentle smile. “There are so many other ways to be entertained.”
“Like movies for instance. I’m not sure I entirely approve of Nia Komonos carrying all those DVDs and videos in the library.” She sniffed her disfavor. “I thought as a librarian she would have more respect for the written word and would not be seduced by the empty-minded twaddle that Hollywood is force-feeding this generation. Movies and television. The death of reading and intelligence.” She gave another shudder and was about to say more when the bells of the Methodist Church rang the half hour. She glanced at her own watch as if to verify the accuracy of the church’s timekeeping. “Gracious, I better get going. Lovely to see you ladies. Enjoy your walk.” And she was gone in a swirl of coat and scarf.
Vera laughed as they crossed Acorn Avenue in Viola’s wake. “Does the word opinionated ever come to mind when you think of Viola Reed?”
“Frequently. Though she has a good heart,” Alice said with a smile. She inhaled slowly as she passed the Good Apple Bakery, catching a teasing scent of baking bread. Luckily her younger sister Jane had served breakfast before Alice left for her walk. Otherwise Alice would have been even more tempted by the mouthwatering smells wafting from the bakery.
Jane had been up very early that morning, trying out new recipes to serve at their bed and breakfast. During the quiet time that January and February usually brought to the inn, Jane tried her baking experiments on her willing subjects: Alice, Louise and their dear aunt Ethel. Ethel lived in the carriage house behind the inn and was usually available as a taster.
Alice welcomed the slower season when many people seemed content to stay at home. In addition to running the inn, she worked part-time at the hospital, Louise taught piano and Jane continued to develop her chocolate and her jewelry-crafting businesses, do her painting, plan her garden, and involve herself in whatever new project she got excited about.
Sometimes Alice got tired thinking of all the extra things Jane took on. It seemed that her sister was always up for a new challenge, a new idea.
“I love this time of day,” Vera said. “It’s as if we have the town all to ourselves. I have to confess that at this time of the year I sometimes suffer from the January blahs.”
The rattling roar of a diesel motor caught Alice’s attention, and she looked down the quiet street in time to see a large black pickup truck park across from the Coffee Shop. The truck stood high off the ground and had four doors on an extended cab.
The doors opened and four people stepped out. One of them stayed by the truck, stamping his feet and shivering. A tall, thin woman with spiky red hair and a pale complexion, carrying a clipboard in her gloved hands, followed the other two men down the street.
“Well-maintained Victorian architecture, with some vague Furness leanings,” the shorter, plumper man said loudly, as if the people with him were ten feet away instead of two. “Pictures, Randall.” He snapped his fingers at the tall young man beside him without even looking at him.
A car slowed as it passed the group; the driver looked puzzled at the people gathered in the middle of the street, then drove on.
Alice could understand the driver’s staring. Though the streets of Acorn Hill were quiet this early in the morning, residents didn’t generally stroll down the middle of them.
The man by the truck got back in and followed the other three as they walked farther down Hill Street. He parked in front of Craig Tracy’s florist shop, Wild Things, where the others got in. The driver left the engine of the truck running, and the clattering noise overpowered the quiet of the morning.
“What a noisy vehicle.” Vera frowned as she looked back at the truck. “It looks like the kind construction crews use. Though these people don’t look anything like the construction workers who come into our hardware store.”
“And speaking of your hardware store, here we are,” Alice said as they came to the corner of Chapel Road and Hill Street. Fred and Vera Humbert’s store was right across from them. The lights were on inside. It looked like José, Fred’s helper, was there early getting the store ready to open.
“I enjoyed our walk as usual, Vera,” Alice said. “I hope you have a good day with your students.”
“I hope so too. Say hello to your sisters.” Vera crossed the street and Alice continued up Chapel Road to the inn. She hurried her steps around to the back of the house, eager to get home to a cup of hot tea before she went to work.
Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden steps. She smiled in anticipation, and opened the kitchen door to see her two favorite people frowning at each other.
“But we serve the public.” Jane tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear. She pushed aside a gardening catalog and leaned her elbows on the butcher-block counter separating her from her sister. “That’s what it means to be an innkeeper.” Her long ponytail bobbed as she nodded her head.
“I don’t think that we must make ourselves busier this time of the year.” Louise folded the napkin that she had finished ironing and laid it on the neat pile beside her. The lights of the kitchen burnished the silver of her hair and enhanced the blue of her eyes. “I’m looking forward to the quiet of this season.” Louise looked up as Alice closed the door behind her. “Hello, my dear. How was your walk?”
“Cold, but lovely,” Alice said, glancing from Louise to Jane as she took off her coat. The sisters generally got along very well, but there was the occasional moment when Louise and Jane bumped heads. Louise tended to mother Jane, a holdover from their youth. Madeleine Howard, their mother, had died giving birth to Jane, so Louise at age fifteen and Alice at twelve had taken the responsibility of Jane’s care from babyhood on. Because of that, there were times when Louise forgot that Jane was a mature woman whose life had taught her hard lessons.
Jane turned around and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her brightly colored apron in a defensive gesture.
“Am I sensing tension in our happy home?” Alice asked. She rubbed her chilled hands together, then poured herself a cup of tea from the pot sitting to one side of the stove.
“Not tension.” Jane’s dark eyes flicked to Louise. “Louie and I are simply encountering a divergence of opinions. I was throwing out some ideas for a project that could keep us a little busier during the winter and bring in some extra income. I was talking with Craig Tracy, and he said that he’s learned that a steady cash flow is the way to steady profits.”
“One would think that you are kept busy enough with all your own pet projects.” Louise shook her head as she laid another napkin on the ironing board. “It’s not necessary to fill every minute of every day. You have come up with a new idea almost every day this week.”
“But Louise, if I may quote your favorite author, C. S. Lewis says, ‘Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.’ It’s good to try new things. Don’t you think we could set our sights a little higher?”
“I sincerely doubt that Lewis was referring to the operation of bed and breakfasts when he wrote that,” Louise said dryly. “And if we set our sights any higher, I will need a new optical prescription.”
“If we don’t move, we stagnate.”
“What is the idea of the day?” Alice asked, hoping to distract the sisters and at the same time give Jane a listening ear.
Jane turned to Alice. “I was thinking that Grace Chapel Inn could sponsor a traveling food festival.”
“In winter,” Louise said, “it’s far too cold to have an outdoor festival.”
Alice felt a momentary shiver at the thought. She sat down at the kitchen table, and Wendell, their gray tabby cat, jumped onto her lap and curled up with the easy assumption that cats have of a welcoming host. Alice held her teacup with one hand and stroked Wendell’s soft fur with the other. The cat’s purr gave her the assurance that at least one of the residents of Grace Chapel Inn was completely content.
“It doesn’t have to be outside.” Jane’s hands danced in the air as she spoke. “I was thinking of calling it ‘A Taste of the County.’ If we got all the eating establishments in Acorn Hill, Potterston and the surrounding towns to get together, we could have people travel from here to various restaurants in the area. We could add some advertising for local businesses, maybe work in a craft show. What do you think?”
Alice waited before she spoke. Like Louise, she enjoyed the slower pace of this time of year, yet she sensed that Jane was very excited about the prospect of starting something new. “It sounds interesting, but I agree with Louise. It would be a lot of work.”
Jane wrinkled her nose, then with a shrug, turned back to her catalogues.
“We certainly can use the rest, Jane,” Louise said softly, her voice taking on a gentler tone. “You were saying the other day how much you enjoyed having the time to try new recipes before serving them to our guests.”
Jane nodded and closed the catalog. “You’re right. It was just an idea, an expanding of my culinary horizons.” She gave Alice and Louise a quick smile, as if to show them that there were no hard feelings.
Yet as Alice went upstairs to change into her nurse’s uniform, she wondered if Jane wasn’t feeling stifled by her older sisters.
A few moments later, Louise had the baby grand piano open and the parlor ready for her newest student, Tabitha Harke. She did not like taking students in the morning before school. She and her sisters were usually busy with guests at that time, but Jane and Alice assured her that it wouldn’t be a problem once a week, particularly now when rooms were not booked. The twelve-year-old had called herself and begged Louise to take her on the one morning a week that school started a half an hour later.
When the girl and her mother arrived, Louise felt her heart sink. Tabitha slouched into the room, looking at neither Louise nor her mother. She wore her long brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her pale face held no expression. Donita Harke, tall and thin with obviously dyed blonde hair, did not look any more enthusiastic than her daughter did.
Louise smiled and welcomed them both, wondering if she had misjudged Tabitha’s enthusiasm.
