breakfast. There were two couples in the room, but neither of them acknowledged my entrance.
Cathy greeted me as I entered the dining room. “How did you sleep, Alan?”
“Well, thank you.”
“You can sit wherever you like,” she said.
I chose a small, round table away from the other guests. Across the room from me, a tall, walnut-cased grandfather clock chimed the hour.
“I think you’ll enjoy this morning’s breakfast,” Cathy said. “It’s our guests’ favorite: crustless quiche with sausage, and our special cream cheese blackberry muffins.”
“It sounds delicious,” I said.
She smiled. “Trust me, it is.”
A few minutes later she returned with my plate, then left me alone to eat. I ate slowly, not in a particular hurry to get back on the road. In spite of a good night’s rest, I still felt tired. A half hour later, Cathy emerged from the kitchen.
“How is everything?” she asked.
“As good as you said it would be.”
She smiled. “Well, I didn’t mean to boast.”
“You should,” I said. “How’s business?”
“Pretty good. We’re not going to be buying the St. Louis Cardinals anytime soon, but we enjoy what we’re doing.”
“That’s better than owning the Cardinals,” I said.
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“My wife would really like it here,” I said.
“Then you’ll just have to bring her next time,” she said. “Excuse me. I need to check on the oven.” She walked back to the kitchen, but returned a few minutes later with a basket of hot muffins.
“Here you go, hot out of the oven.”
I took one. “How do you like living in Ste. Genevieve?”
“I love it here. It has so much history and charm. Ste. Genevieve is a very old town. In fact, it’s older than our country. It was settled mostly by French-Canadians, and a lot has been done to preserve the original French-colonial style. Did you see the Old Brick House?”
I shook my head.
“It’s just around the corner. It’s a restaurant now, but it’s famous for being the first brick building west of the Mississippi.”
“Did you grow up here?” I asked.
“No. I actually came to stay at the Southern Hotel just a few years after Mike’s first wife Barbara passed. I broughtmy granddaughter for a special trip, and the second Mike opened the front door, I was smitten. It took him a little longer to come around, but when he did, he just about ran me over.”
“Mike owned the hotel before he met you?”
“Yes. He and Barbara were just passing through town. They were at the candle shop across the street when they noticed a big FOR SALE sign in front of the hotel. In less than a week they were the owners. It took nine months and more than forty people to restore it, but the place has been receiving guests ever since.”
“How long have you and Mike been married?”
She counted on her fingers. “Five years this Thanksgiving.”
“What’s it like being married to a widower?”
“That’s an interesting question,” she said. “I suppose it’s like any marriage.” She suddenly grinned. “Except I don’t hit him if he calls me by another woman’s name.”
“Does he ever do that?”
“Call me Barbara? Every now and then. Usually when he’s in a hurry. Old habits die hard.”
“Does it bother you?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No, not really. In a way it’s a compliment. He loved his first wife dearly. And even though I never met her, I feel a connection to her that I can’t quite explain. I think we would have been good friends.” She shook her head. “That probably sounds strange.”
I thought of McKale and Falene. “No,” I said. “It’s actually quite beautiful.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I finished my muffin, then said, “I guess I’ve delayed the inevitable long enough, I better get going.” I stood upfrom the table and lifted my pack. “Breakfast was terrific. Actually, everything was. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Stop by
Cathy greeted me as I entered the dining room. “How did you sleep, Alan?”
“Well, thank you.”
“You can sit wherever you like,” she said.
I chose a small, round table away from the other guests. Across the room from me, a tall, walnut-cased grandfather clock chimed the hour.
“I think you’ll enjoy this morning’s breakfast,” Cathy said. “It’s our guests’ favorite: crustless quiche with sausage, and our special cream cheese blackberry muffins.”
“It sounds delicious,” I said.
She smiled. “Trust me, it is.”
A few minutes later she returned with my plate, then left me alone to eat. I ate slowly, not in a particular hurry to get back on the road. In spite of a good night’s rest, I still felt tired. A half hour later, Cathy emerged from the kitchen.
“How is everything?” she asked.
“As good as you said it would be.”
She smiled. “Well, I didn’t mean to boast.”
“You should,” I said. “How’s business?”
“Pretty good. We’re not going to be buying the St. Louis Cardinals anytime soon, but we enjoy what we’re doing.”
“That’s better than owning the Cardinals,” I said.
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“My wife would really like it here,” I said.
“Then you’ll just have to bring her next time,” she said. “Excuse me. I need to check on the oven.” She walked back to the kitchen, but returned a few minutes later with a basket of hot muffins.
“Here you go, hot out of the oven.”
I took one. “How do you like living in Ste. Genevieve?”
“I love it here. It has so much history and charm. Ste. Genevieve is a very old town. In fact, it’s older than our country. It was settled mostly by French-Canadians, and a lot has been done to preserve the original French-colonial style. Did you see the Old Brick House?”
I shook my head.
“It’s just around the corner. It’s a restaurant now, but it’s famous for being the first brick building west of the Mississippi.”
“Did you grow up here?” I asked.
“No. I actually came to stay at the Southern Hotel just a few years after Mike’s first wife Barbara passed. I broughtmy granddaughter for a special trip, and the second Mike opened the front door, I was smitten. It took him a little longer to come around, but when he did, he just about ran me over.”
“Mike owned the hotel before he met you?”
“Yes. He and Barbara were just passing through town. They were at the candle shop across the street when they noticed a big FOR SALE sign in front of the hotel. In less than a week they were the owners. It took nine months and more than forty people to restore it, but the place has been receiving guests ever since.”
“How long have you and Mike been married?”
She counted on her fingers. “Five years this Thanksgiving.”
“What’s it like being married to a widower?”
“That’s an interesting question,” she said. “I suppose it’s like any marriage.” She suddenly grinned. “Except I don’t hit him if he calls me by another woman’s name.”
“Does he ever do that?”
“Call me Barbara? Every now and then. Usually when he’s in a hurry. Old habits die hard.”
“Does it bother you?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No, not really. In a way it’s a compliment. He loved his first wife dearly. And even though I never met her, I feel a connection to her that I can’t quite explain. I think we would have been good friends.” She shook her head. “That probably sounds strange.”
I thought of McKale and Falene. “No,” I said. “It’s actually quite beautiful.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I finished my muffin, then said, “I guess I’ve delayed the inevitable long enough, I better get going.” I stood upfrom the table and lifted my pack. “Breakfast was terrific. Actually, everything was. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Stop by
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