Chapter 11
Helen glanced at the time on the microwave. She had an hour before Thanksgiving dinner. Once she got the casseroles in the oven and baked the rolls, she could serve dinner.
Thankfully she’d already pushed the small tables together in the dining room.
The pretty orange and red tablecloth was in place with matching napkins, and each table setting had each guest’s name written in pretty script on place cards.
She’d even found small turkeys to sit in front of each of the white and gold China plates.
She’d chosen a simple tablescape of candles, small orange pumpkins, and red and yellow artificial autumn flowers.
Helen smiled to herself. It was perfect.
Grabbing the sweet potato casserole, she opened the oven door. The kitchen lights gave a warning flicker and then another. Suddenly the room went dark. The oven went silent.
“Oh, no.” She froze and then prayed the electricity would come right back on.
Her guests, gathered in the living room, seemed unaware of the situation.
She waited for the generator to kick in, but it never did.
Setting the casserole down on the counter, she dug through the drawers and cabinets until she found some candles and lit them.
She carried a silver candelabra into the living room where everyone sat.
The room was illuminated by the fireplace and, from the looks of the faces, they didn’t seem to think anything was wrong.
“Ah, Helen. I was just about to come see if you need any help in the kitchen.” Mr. Wimbly smiled and stood as she walked into the room. The older gentleman smoothed down his graying hair.
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. You just sit back down with Mr. Huntsforth and enjoy your conversation.” She glanced at the TV.
“I’m guessing you are missing your football game.
I’m sorry about the electricity going out.
” She set the candelabra down on the coffee table and walked over to the fireplace to warm her hands.
“I’m glad the electricity is gone out. At least I won’t have to watch the humiliation of my team lose,” Mr. Huntsforth said jovially.
“That’s what you get for backing the wrong team,” Mr. Wimbly joked.
She relaxed a little and put on a smile for them. “Everything is almost ready. In the meantime, there are some board games and a deck of cards in the drawer of the bookcase.” She glanced toward the stairs. “Has Mr. Sykes been down yet?”
Mr. Wimbly shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Even then he wasn’t much of a talker.”
Helen nodded and excused herself.
Mr. Wimbly was right. Mr. Sykes was unusually quiet. Something about him made her uneasy.
It was the first time she’d been uneasy around a guest.
Mr. Wimbly was a widower. His wife had died three years ago of cancer, and every year they had visited North Carolina.
His kids had moved overseas, and this was the first year he was going to be alone.
So, he decided to book a room at the B&B in her honor and spend Thanksgiving there. He said at least he wouldn’t be alone.
Mr. Huntsforth was recently divorced. His wife had run off with his best friend.
He was passing through on his way to Maine to see some old college friends.
All things considered, he seemed to be doing well.
And he didn’t mind telling people about his life.
He said he didn’t realize how much better off he was without her.
She snorted. She wished she felt like Mr. Huntsforth.
Helen took her flashlight, turned it on, and headed back to the kitchen.
Her chest tightened. Everything was still plunged in darkness. She wanted to make this meal perfect, to prove that she could do this. Now her plans were going off the rails.
She inhaled deeply, muttering to herself, “Think, Helen.” She snorted and shook her head. “I’ll just call Rebecca.”
She picked up her cellphone and dialed Rebecca’s number. She picked up almost immediately.
“Helen! I was just about to call you. The power is off all around town. I talked to the electric company and it’s going to take them a couple of hours to get the power back on.
And usually when they say a couple of hours, they mean realistically four hours.
Has the generator kicked in? Kacey insisted we install one for the house. ”
Helen’s eyes went wide. “No, it hasn’t. Is there something I need to do to make it work? What about my dinner? I just need one more hour of cooking.” She pressed her hand over her heart.
“Oliver called just before you did. He said he was riding over to check on you. I’ll text him and let him know about the generator not working.” Rebecca groaned. “This happened a few months ago. I thought the issue was fixed. Sorry about that.”
Helen glanced toward the driveway and saw an unfamiliar Dodge Ram truck pulling around back. Oliver got out.
“That was fast. Oliver is already here.” She watched as he zipped up his coat and headed toward the shed.
“Thank God. He said he would have called you directly but didn’t know how you would receive him calling. I think he seems to think you don’t like him.”
Helen cringed. “I don’t want him to think that. It’s just that …”
Rebecca chortled. “That you’ve been married for a long time and you are not used to talking to men who aren’t your husband.”
Helen blinked. “Something like that.”
Rebecca laughed. “We can talk about this later. You’ve got your hands full right now.”
Helen ended the call and reached for her coat on the hook by the door. Slipping her arms in, she opened the back door.
“Thank God you are here, Oliver.” She tightened the coat around her neck. The winter breeze was harsh and cutting to the bone.
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I hope I’m not late. When I saw the lights go out at my house, I wanted to make sure you had electricity. So, I called Rebecca.”
“The generator should have kicked on, but it hasn’t. I hope this doesn’t ruin Thanksgiving dinner.” Her lips quivered.
“Let’s go look at the main breaker box by the power meter. I’ll show you what to do next time this happens.”
She gave him a hopeful look. “It’s an easy fix? My Thanksgiving dinner isn’t ruined?”
He gave her a wide smile. “No, Helen. It’s not ruined.”
She walked with him around the house to the main breaker box.
“Ah, that’s the problem.” He pointed beside the main breaker panel to a switch labeled transfer switch. “All you have to do is flip this switch and the generator will kick on. Want to do the honors?” He arched his eyebrows.
She nodded. She flipped the switch and suddenly it kicked in. She glanced at the window and saw all the lights were on.
“It worked!” She grasped his arms with excitement. “Oh, thank you, Oliver. I don’t know how to thank you.”
He cocked his head. “How about some sweet potato casserole?”
She grinned and nodded. “Absolutely, but you’ll have to wait until after you’ve had turkey and dressing first.” She swallowed. “That is, unless you have Thanksgiving plans somewhere else.”
He shook his head. ‘I’m free. The restaurant is closed for the holidays, and my sister’s flight is stuck in New Jersey due to bad weather. She won’t get here until tomorrow. I would love to join you and your guests for dinner.”
She clasped her hands together. “Thank you so much. I think you just saved Thanksgiving dinner. Come on inside.”
Oliver followed behind her and smiled. “It smells heavenly in here.”
Helen smiled and took off her coat to hang on the hook. “Now, you head into the living room with the guys and enjoy yourself. I’ll announce when dinner is ready.”
He frowned. “You don’t need me to help?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got it. Now go enjoy yourself.”
She pushed the button on the oven and got busy with setting another place setting at the table. She pulled another table from the wall and quickly made a place card for Oliver. After she was finished, the oven beeped letting her know it was ready for her last few casseroles and buns.
Helen spent the last forty-five minutes getting glasses ready for drinks, candles ready to be lit, and choosing Christmas music to be played while they ate. She would occasionally look at her list to see if she had forgotten something.
By the time the rolls were ready, she was carrying the dishes into the dining room. Oliver spotted her struggling with the large platter with the turkey on it and hopped up from his chair to help.
“Let me take this,” he said, taking the platter from her and placing it on the table.
“Thank you.” She glanced around the table with a sense of pride.