North Country Man. Carrie Alexander
the sleeper except another snore.
She inched closer. Lifted a palm frond for a better look. A tubby little man slumped in a chair, swaddled in a robe and a crocheted throw, his short, thick fingers clasped atop a chest that rose and fell with each congested breath. Choork, went the inhale with a fluttering of nostrils. Choo, came the whistling exhale, making his moist lower lip vibrate.
Claire’s amusement showed in her tired smile. The man was elfin, with sticky-out ears, a round face and a funny button nose. Wispy white hair made a tonsure around his head.
Choork…
She cleared her throat. “Hello…sir? Could you please wake up?”
Choo…
“I’m dead tired,” she said.
Choork…
She tickled the knob of his nose with the frond.
“Choo!” he said, eyes popping open. He sprang out of the chair.
Claire leaped backward, her hands flying up in defense.
“Wha—whu—who—” the little man said, cartwheeling his arms. The jungle rustled around him.
Claire took another step back. “I’m, uh, Claire Levander. You’re expecting me? I have reservations?”
“Umf.” The fellow grunted suspiciously, rocking back on his heels. “Howzat?” He rubbed a finger beneath his nose. Strands of hair floated around his head as he swayed forward onto the balls of his feet, blinking at Claire. The bare toe curled into the carpet. “Whozzat?”
“Claire Levander,” she repeated, resisting the urge to steady the confused elf.
His eyes brightened as he continued rocking to and fro. “Ar-har, Miss Lavender.”
“Levander.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes.
“Righto. Here we are.” He’d rescued a registry book from its upside-down position on the carpet and was squinting at the crumpled pages. “You got a pen?”
She patted her pockets. “No. You see, I’ve lost my purse. But I can—”
The man slapped the book shut and dumped it on the chair. “Never mind that. I’ll take you straight oop-stairs.”
“Oop?” she said, becoming as addled as her host.
He looked her up and down, his small blue eyes twinkling. “You’ll want the bridal suite, eh?” His accent was thick—somewhere between Fargo and Canadian.
“I’m not on a honeymoon.”
“No groom?” He frowned at the front door as if expecting one to burst through. “Okeydokey, that’s prefect. I’ll put you in Valentina’s bridal suite.”
“No! I mean, yes. I’m alone. That is, I’m—” Claire caught her lower lip between her teeth. She hadn’t planned to reveal herself as a Bel Vista executive. Not yet. But the elf seemed confused about her reservations, and she did have business cards she could show him. She kept a slim sliver case of them in her purse, but there were extras in her computer satchel.
“Count on Toivo, Miss Lavender. He kin getcha one.” The strange little man toddled off to grab one of her suitcases, then started carting it up the stairs.
One? One what? Did he mean a husband? And who was Toivo? The elf? Claire grabbed the other pieces of luggage, tucking the bags under her arms. “Wait. I don’t want a groom. Just a room. A regular room will do fine. If you have newlyweds arriving…”
He huffed and puffed, mounting the wide, steep steps. “Nope. Newdywebs won’t touch the bridal. They think it’s bad luck.”
Newdywebs? Claire stopped and shook her head. She had to be hearing things.
From below, there came a thud and then the creak of a door opening. Claire glanced over the banister. A young woman, leaning heavily on the doorknob, poked her tousled red head into the hallway. She looked up, blinking, saw Claire and said, “Stay out of the bridal suite,” in a sleepy voice. “’S cursed.”
Claire’s skin felt pinpricked. “Pardon—?”
The door shut abruptly.
“Crazy rumor.” The rosy man elf was standing at the top of the stairs, bobbing on the balls of his feet, waiting for Claire to decide. He beamed. “Best room in the house.”
“Is there anything else available?”
“There are the attic rooms. Kinda small. Lootsa dust. You got elegies?”
After a beat, she said, “Allergies? Not so far as I know. But I’d really rather—” Nonsense, she thought, following the man. She didn’t believe in luck, good or bad. You made your own future, and hers didn’t include either a groom or a curse. “Okay. I’ll take the bridal suite.”
“We’ll need the key. Em’s always hiding it from Shari.”
Claire’s muscles went lax as she slumped against a wall papered in a glitzy but faded red and gold Chinese design that clashed terribly with the fairies below. Fatigue, complicated by confusion, was hitting her hard. She dropped her luggage. “You don’t have a key?” She couldn’t summon up the strength to ask about Em and Shari. The redhead, maybe? And what was that about a curse?
“It’s around here somewheres.”
Claire wove together a few of the tangled threads. “But if this is the only room available and you knew I was coming…”
“Ar-har, here it is!” After unsuccessfully rummaging through the contents of a narrow étagère, the elf had found the key at the bottom of an urn full of musty peacock feathers. He sneezed, scrubbed at his nose, then inserted the old-fashioned latchkey in a door at the end of the hall. “Voilà. The bridal suite, Miss Lavender.” He disappeared inside to switch on the lights.
“Levander…” Claire’s voice faded as she stepped into the room. The bridal suite was large and opulent yet serene, scrupulously dusted and polished from the facets of the crystal chandelier to the gleaming dark wood floor. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room. Its linens looked freshly bleached and starched, stark white and topped with a fancy crocheted spread as fragile as frost on a windowpane. A more colorful quilt was folded at the foot.
Her pajama-clad host was bringing in the luggage. Despite her exhaustion, Claire went to the glass doors that opened onto a small balcony with a spiked iron railing.
Oh, my.
The view was amazing. Beyond the wild mess of a backyard garden, a sheer cliff dropped away to the vast expanse of Lake Superior. The water glistened like obsidian beneath a glowing wedge of quarter moon. On the opposite side of the harbor, beyond more steep rocks and treetops, was the blinking beacon of a lighthouse.
Trying unsuccessfully to prop up heavy eyelids, she lingered to listen to the surf swish against the rocks, the sough of the wind in the pines. The natural rhythms were hypnotic. It wasn’t long before her eyes had drifted shut. A little bit of peace settled inside her, like a smooth round pebble floating to the bottom of a murky pond. If she stayed at the inn long enough, Claire wondered dreamily, would the peacefulness spread like rings on the surface of the water? Would her muddy future come clear?
She gave herself another little shake and returned inside. “It’s a beautiful view,” she told her host, who was beaming at her, practically rubbing his hands with glee. “And a lovely room. I’ll sign in properly tomorrow morn—”
“We don’t stand on celery at Bay House,” he said, moving to the door. “I’ll tell Emmie to let you sleep as late as you like, Miss Lavender. Otherways she’ll be in here at seven a.m. with a breakfast tray, trying to get a lookie-loo.”
“I’d appreciate that, Mr….”
The elf’s white hair swirled around his head when he nodded. “Toivo