Chapter 34
L ydia almost dove under a table when she heard the terrible thud and splintering of wood. If she had been at home, she would have thought the barn’s roof had caved in due to the tremendous accumulation of snow. Something terrible had happened.
“ Vass in die velt ?” She lapsed into the Pennsylvania Dutch of her youth. “I mean ‘What was that?’”
Molly shrugged. “Maybe snow sliding off the roof.”
Alec loped into the room. “Everyone all right?”
“I think so,” Molly said. “But on second thought that sound was more than snow falling to the ground.”
“I heard it too,” Lydia said. “I hope the roof hasn’t caved in.”
“The owner talked about making repairs last summer but never got around to it,” Molly said.
“I’d better go upstairs and look around,” Alec said.
“I’ll come with you.” Molly rattled a handful of keys. As the two left the kitchen, they were met by Denny, who insisted on accompanying them.
“Who will serve our patrons?” Molly asked.
“Lydia. But you’d better stay down here,” Denny told Molly. “In case you’re needed.”
The corner of Molly’s mouth curved up as she glanced to Alec. “I suppose you’re right.”
No food orders were waiting for Lydia’s preparation, so she followed Denny and Alec up the stairs. Denny turned and scowled at her, but she ignored her. She had been content to work in the kitchen serving others for hours, but she was ready for a break and wanted to see what was happening, even if Denny didn’t want her to. Except for a piece of toast with butter and honey, Lydia hadn’t yet eaten breakfast. But she hadn’t given up on Alec’s attention. She’d noticed his gaze of admiration.
The three climbed another staircase and then another, this one steeper and narrower, meaning Denny practically rubbed against him like one of Dat’s barn cats. But either he didn’t notice or he liked it. Finally, Lydia saw they were in an attic, much like the one in her parents’ home where her special trunk resided that Mam had been filling with linens, towels, and kitchen items since Lydia was a child for her future marriage. Her parents had assumed she would wed Jonathan, the only boy she’d ever dated or shown interest in. Although Lydia hated to disappoint her parents, she might have to do just that.
After they’d reached the attic, Alec looked to the slanted ceiling where water was dripping through a break in the roof.
“Now what?” Denny said.
“Now I call the owner and fill him in.” Alec extracted a cell phone from his pocket and tapped in the number. “Hello, Gordon? It’s Alec MacLeod here.” He glanced up to the ceiling. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m calling from up in your hotel’s attic. You’ve got a nasty leak in the roof. My guess is from the weight of the snow.” Alec paused. “I don’t think the water’s made it down to the guest rooms, but it’s only a matter of time.” Another pause. “Okay, we’ll see you when you get here. Good luck.”
“It sure is dusty up here,” Denny said, then sneezed.
Lydia scanned the space illuminated by a single light bulb and saw tall back chairs and what must be upholstered chairs covered with sheets and old blankets. Stacks of cardboard boxes were labeled—water glasses, teapots, Christmas ornaments—that she would love to explore. She would return when the roof was patched and the leaking crisis was over.
Without a word, Lydia went to work emptying metal containers filled with odds and ends—such as cloth napkins and silverware—and placed them under the spots that were dripping water, and then she moved items so they would not be damaged. Denny stood there watching. Surely Alec would see the difference between the two women, Lydia thought. She realized she was being prideful, but still her thoughts took on a life of their own.
“Pride cometh before a fall,” her grossmommi often said. Lydia still heard her grandmother’s wise words. Lydia’s mam’s mam was content—make that grateful—to live in the dawdi haus after her husband died in a tragic buggy accident ten years ago. The driver of the truck that hit his buggy had sworn that her grandfather wouldn’t get out of the way when he honked at her dawdi ’s buggy. The Englischer said that he had done his best to avoid hitting the horse and buggy when he passed it. Lydia recalled the funeral all too well.
“Oh, look, Christmas decorations.” Denny’s words harpooned her out of the past. No use moping over what Lydia could not change.
“With all this snow, this is like a second Christmas.” Lydia thought of the Amish tradition. Not that her parents’ home was ever decorated with sparkly ornaments. Lydia would have loved that bling, but her dat would have put a stop to anything more than sprigs of holly, evergreen, and mistletoe. Lydia smiled as she recalled Jonathan stealing a kiss under their mistletoe. Sometimes she really did miss him. Like right now.
She wondered what he was doing at this very moment. With the change in time, he might not be up yet to milk the one cow his family owned. Not much mucking to be done there, thankfully. Anyway, he had promised she would never have to muck out the barn. He really was a dear sweet man, and she guessed she loved him.
“What have we here?” Denny asked, extracting a blue cap wrapped in tissue paper from a box.
“Oh, please be extra careful with that,” Alec said. “It’s said to be once owned and worn by Bonnie Prince Charlie, also known as Prince Charles Edward Stuart, who sought to regain the thrown for his exiled father, James III, by invading Great Britain.”
“Hmm,” Denny said, “who was this guy?”
Lydia had read about him in school, but she kept her mouth shut for fear of Denny’s barbed words.
“He’s quite famous in these parts, even though he spent most of his life in Italy,” Alec said.
“Why was he called Bonnie?” Denny asked.
“Also known as the Young Pretender, he is said to have had exceptionally good looks and charm. If he had been successful in his effort, then Great Britain would have most likely become Catholic again.”
“It sounds like a tall tale or a romance novel.”
“I wouldn’t make light of him on the Isle of Skye,” Alec said. “He’s highly esteemed. There’s a painting in the dining room of Bonnie Prince Charlie wearing this very hat.” With care he took it from her. “Better wrap this up again. It belongs to the hotel’s owner.”
Denny sounded defensive as she glanced up at the dripping ceiling. “I might have rescued it from getting drenched. The owner might think I’m a hero.”
“True enough.” Alec rewrapped the cap in tissue paper and returned it to the box. “We’d better bring this downstairs and put it somewhere safe.”
Lydia watched the back of Alec’s head descend the stairs. His hair had a lovely wave to it and was the color of her dat’s roan buggy horse.
“Ahem,” Denny said as she scooted around Lydia and soon caught up with him.