Two Great Christmas Books by Donna Schlachter
About The Mystery of Christmas Inn, Colorado:
Matthew returns to Christmas Inn to celebrate his fortieth
anniversary alone, intending to take his own life so he can join his beloved
Sarah, who passed on to glory the previous January. Not certain how—or if—he
will go on without her, Matthew learns on his arrival that the old inn will
close its doors on New Year’s Eve. A developer has purchased the building and
intends to tear it down and put up a chain hotel. Determined to keep his
memories and his connection to Sarah alive, Matthew embarks on a harebrained
scheme to keep the inn open.
Edith Cochrane, a widow, comes to Christmas Inn because she
has nowhere else to spend the holidays. Her children are angry with her because
she refuses to choose to live with one of them. Edith and her husband enjoyed a
long marriage and a long mission-field ministry, but ever since his passing the
previous year, Edith has found herself at loose ends. She comes to Christmas
Inn to spend some time thinking about her options.
Can Matthew and Edith save the old hotel—and themselves—or
will they run out of time?
Excerpt from book:
Christmas Inn
Valleyview, Colorado
December 24, 1921
Chapter 1
Matthew White shoved his chilled hands
deep into the pockets of his greatcoat. The horses pulling the sleigh he rode
in to the entryway of the Christmas Inn exhaled huge plumes of steam, which
drifted off on the chill breeze. The vanishing vapor caused a familiar tug at
his heartstrings—one he’d felt every Christmas Eve for the past thirty-nine
years.
Thirty-nine anniversaries
spent here with Sarah, his bride.
But today, the grey clouds
blocked the sun, and his mood matched the weather.
Today was the first
Christmas Eve since losing Sarah.
Each time he thought of her
homegoing, envy rose in his chest, a searing pain and swelling of gladness at
the same time. Knowing where she now resided made his loss easier, but the
emptiness never went away. She’d passed away last January, a cold, dreary day,
much like today.
He sat bundled in the sleigh
beneath layers of fur blankets as the driver dismounted. Matthew considered
whether he should simply turn around and go home. Perhaps he needed to spend
Christmas Eve somewhere else this year.
A young boy dressed in a
smart uniform appeared at his side. Hand on the door latch, the lad met
Matthew’s gaze. No point in trying to avoid the inevitable loneliness. Didn’t
matter where he spent the day—he’d still feel the same.
Matthew nodded and the boy
opened the door. Matthew stepped onto the slushy ground. Christmas in the
Rockies meant unpredictable weather, ranging from Indian summer to polar
freeze.
He tugged his beaver cap
tighter against the chill wind. “I have
one suitcase and a small trunk.”
The lad nodded. “Yes, sir.
I’ll bring your bags to your room.”
Matthew strode to the front
doors, where the brass and glass reflected the flickering gaslight from the
sconces on the outside wall of the hotel. Inside the lobby, a large Norwegian
fir decorated the high-ceilinged room. From every branch dangled a nearly
impossible collection of decorations. Large, hand-blown glass bulbs, icicles
made of sparkling glass, chains of beads encircling the boughs, and tiny
flickering candles transformed the tree into a veritable king of trees. Sarah
loved the tree. Each time the entered the lobby, she would point out a
different decoration.
Every year, the tree looked
the same. Just as the lobby looked the same, festooned with garlands of live
pine and spruce boughs. Matthew closed his eyes and sighed then turned toward the
check-in desk to the right of the large, open fireplace. The entire area still
looked the same as always, bedecked in red and green plaid ribbons, candy canes
hanging from popcorn garlands.
Even the pert young clerk
behind the desk looked the same, smartly attired in the black skirt, white
blouse, and black string tie that were the inn’s trademark. Matthew crossed the
lobby and stood in front of her. A quick glance at her nametag confirmed she
was the same person from years previous. Three, perhaps four. He remembered his
wife commenting on the girl’s earrings last year, shaped like small packages
wrapped in foil.
He snuck a quick peek at her
ears. Yes, the same. He allowed a half-smile. “Nice earrings, Clare.”
The girl returned his smile
and patted the dangling boxes. “Thank you. I get a lot of compliments on them.”
She squinted at him. “Mr. White, correct?” She looked beyond him. “Are you by
yourself?”
How he hated those words.
Seemed like everywhere he went, he met someone who knew him and Sarah as a couple
but didn’t know of her passing. Sometimes he felt like a mere appendage of his
wife.
Would people ask after him
if she had lived and he had died?
He met her gaze. “She passed
away recently.”
A look passed over her face,
a look with which he was well familiar. Pity, sorrow.
He waited for the inevitable
inane response of how sorry they were.
“Then you won’t want your
regular room, I expect?”
He looked up, pleased that
she hadn’t said what he expected. Somehow that would spoil the specialness of
this place. “A bit late to change in midstream, don’t you think?”
She laughed at his comment, a soft tinkle,
like one of the bells on the tree brushed by a breeze from an open door. A
pleasant sound, soothing to his senses. Sarah had a laugh much like that. And
then she sobered, as though his grief was hers to share and she felt guilty
about her pleasure in his words.
He’d experienced many of
those same moments in the past months. Longing to break out of his black shell,
but afraid of what others would say.
Of what Sarah would say. If
she could.
His joy at hearing her
response brightened his spirits. And for the first time in almost a year, he
was almost glad to be alive. Almost.
He signed the registry card
she slid across the smooth wooden surface then passed the card to her. “I would
prefer our—my regular room.” Pulling his billfold from his inside suit jacket
pocket, he counted out several bills. “Will this be enough for the week?”
“Yes, sir. The rates didn’t
go up this year.” She gathered the money and counted them before returning one
to him. “But there is a slight change in plans this year, Mr. White.”
A single ten-dollar bill
remained on the counter, taunting him. A
feeling akin to the static electricity from a too-close lightning strike
coursed through him. “Change?”
“Yes, sir. You see, we’ve
had to change everyone’s reservations to check out on New Year’s Eve instead of
New Year’s Day.”
“Check out early?”
Something large and heavy
filled his chest, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d be able to draw another
breath. Perspiration gathered in the center of his back.
This was not the time to
make changes.
He swallowed past the lump
in his throat. “Why?”
Clare’s eyes filled, and she
worked her bottom lip. She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse
and dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry, I hate having to tell people this. They’re
going to close the inn on New Year’s Eve, and tear it down in the new year. The
railroad didn’t come through Valleyview, and the owner said he’s tired of
losing money.”
Matthew understood. The trip
each year had become tedious as promises to build a branch line to the town
never materialized, and the rental of a sleigh for the last twelve miles of the
journey had grown more expensive. But still, tear down his Christmas Inn? No, they
couldn’t.
He couldn’t spend his last
Christmas on earth knowing that the site of such sweet memories would be no
more. “Are you certain?”
She nodded, and a single
tear slid down her cheek, marring her otherwise perfect complexion.
The lump in his throat
threatened to choke him, and he couldn’t have forced any words past if it he
wanted to. Not that he had any words to say.
The last piece of sanity in
his life was about to die.
Just like everything else in
his life recently.
About Christmas Under the Stars:
November 1858, Utah Territory
Edie Meredith strives to keep her temper and her tongue
under control as she heads west with her brother to California. Raised in an
itinerant preacher family, she promises she will never marry a man of the cloth.
Tom Aiken, drover of the wagon train, longs to answer his
true calling: to preach, and while he realizes not every woman would choose a
preacher for a husband, he hopes to soon find his help-meet.
Suspicious ‘accidents’ plague their journey. Is someone
trying to keep them from reaching their destination? Or will misunderstanding
and circumstances keep them apart?
Excerpt:
November 1858,
Oregon Trail, Utah Territory
Chapter 1
The snow
swirled in clouds so low all visibility was obscured, and Edie Meredith didn’t
think she could take one more step. Her right hand gripped the tailgate of the
Conestoga wagon. She wasn’t sure whether fear kept her latched to the rough
wood or if her fingers were frozen in place.
With
her free hand, she pulled her head covering tighter around her neck and crossed
the thin material over her face, leaving only her eyes peering out at the
blanket of white surrounding the wagon train. Muffled noises met her ears,
which ached from the unrelenting cold and bitter winds whistling off the
mountains surrounding their trail. The crack of whips urged the oxen on, and
judging by the creaking of wheels and the shouts of the men, the desire to be
somewhere warm and dry wasn’t limited to her.
Humid
breath froze almost instantly, creating an icy ridge on the cloth binding her
mouth and nose, making breathing difficult. Edie used her free hand to crack
the misshapen icicles stuck to her scarf, sending them tumbling to the crusted
path.
Cold
air snatched the end of her shawl from its place near her throat, and the
handspun fabric unwound from around her face and ears. Numbness crept into her
cheeks, and Edie recalled the pathetic creature she’d seen begging outside the
fort store three days ago: his ears and the tip of his nose blackened from
frostbite, huge sores threatening to eat away his face. And the strangest sight
of all: he was clad in only his long underwear. When she asked, her brother
told her folks sometimes went crazy when they froze to death. Thinking they
were too warm, they tossed their clothes aside.
Another
blast of cold air blinded her with blowing snow for a moment, and she paused to
brush the particles from her eyes so she could see again.
In
that instant, the shadow of the wagon passed, leaving her in a world without sight
or sound.
When
she opened her eyes, finally clear of the stinging snow, she could neither see
nor hear the other wagons or occupants of the wagon train. She looked for the
wagon ruts, but the blowing snow filled in the trail so quickly she couldn’t be
certain what was a rut and what was a drift. Sounds echoed off the stone walls
of the canyon, creating a labyrinth of sounds so confusing, she didn’t know
which way to turn.
Edie
peeled her scarf away from her face and blinked against the onslaught of snow.
Drawing a numbing breath, she called out. “Help! Can anybody hear me?”
She
took a tentative step, peering at the ground, but the snow was filling in the
tracks quickly. She stumbled and landed on her hands and knees, sending a jolt
through her body. Her hands slipped out from under her, and she fell face down
into the snow, the tiny ice pellets feeling like a thousand razors on her chin
and cheeks.
She
sat up and brushed snow from her face and chest, then stood. She was wet and
cold, and already could feel the bruises forming on her knees. She listened for
a moment, trying to discern the direction of the train, but the howling wind
blotted out any other sounds.
She
was lost. She was alone.
Edie
shivered so hard her teeth ached and her head felt like a firecracker ready to
explode. In spite of the cold, her hands and feet felt warm, and she peeled off
layers of clothing. First, her threadbare gloves, then the shawl around her
face and head. She ran stiff fingers through her hair. Not golden like Mama’s, not
quite the dark brown of her father. Somewhere in between.
She
cast a glance toward the sky. Of course, that’s why she was so warm. The sun
beat down on her mercilessly, filling her world with its warm, golden glow.
Cramped fingers unbuttoned her coat, and she looked down at the ridiculous
boots on her feet. Why ever was she wearing knee-high button-up boots in this
heat?
She
shoved a hand into her coat pocket and felt for her shoe-latch. She’d need that
to unfasten all of those tedious little buttons on those funny boots.
Edie
sank to the ground, warm from the sun, and marveled at the soft green grass
surrounding her. She wished her brother Mark was here to see this field full of
wildflowers. Perhaps after she had a short nap, she’d run and tell him of her
good fortune.
Just
a short rest. That’s all she needed. She hummed a lullaby from her childhood
and closed her eyes.
If
she didn’t find the wagon train soon, she wouldn’t last more than an hour.
About Donna:
Donna lives in Denver with husband Patrick, her first-line
editor and biggest fan. She writes historical suspense under her own name, and
contemporary suspense under her alter ego of Leeann Betts.
Donna is also a
ghostwriter and editor of fiction and non-fiction, and judges in a number of
writing contests. Donna loves history and research, and travels extensively for
both. Donna is proud to
be represented by Terrie Wolf of AKA Literary Management.
www.HiStoryThruTheAges.com
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Comments
Thanks Marilyn for featuring Donna and her books.