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The Inn at Cranberry Cove

By June Foster

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Chapter One


Ashton Price took the keys offered by the executor of her aunt's will.
"As her attorney, I can tell you your aunt would be grateful if she knew you were perpetuating her life's dream. If only she could be here to witness the inn filled with visitors and bustling with activity once again."
Ashton sighed. She could barely believe that Aunt Gina would leave her entire life's work, her beautiful inn to Ashton's care. "After all she did for me…" Her memory meandered to the rebellious young Ashton of fifteen, and she cringed. "I've always wanted to be in business for myself."
He returned to the mahogany desk and handed her the box with Aunt Gina's jewelry. "She gave orders that I should present this to you upon her passing. She wanted me to advise you to put her valuables into safe keeping as soon as possible. She wanted me to expressly warn you that people have not forgotten the legend and to vet your visitors carefully. Some come looking for the treasure and snoop into places they shouldn't go."
Ashton smiled. Aunt Gina had often told her stories about the rumors. Early ancestors of the inn's previous owners had a cache of precious gems hidden in the home somewhere. She'd even allowed Ashton to search on her own. But Aunt Gina had assured her that it had only been a myth.
"I understand her reasoning, and that'll be the next order of business after I get settled." Ashton slipped the key in her purse and gripped the ornate wooden container. "I appreciate your work as her lawyer and hope I can depend on you as well."
"Of course. Gina always spoke of what a blessing you were to her."
"She changed my life. I'd probably be in prison today if it hadn't been for her."
Mr. Bradford stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"I'm surprised she didn't tell you. When I was a teen, my parents planned to send me to a girls' correctional ranch."
He frowned. "I can't imagine why."
"Let's just say I was a rebel and heading for a very unpleasant life until Aunt Gina stepped in. That's why I intend to keep her legacy."
Mr. Bradford smiled. "Well, in Gina's own words, you're an outstanding, college-educated young woman now." He looked at his watch. "My next client is waiting, but I wish you the best. I hope The Inn at Cranberry Cove prospers as it did when your aunt was alive."
Ashton shook the lawyer's hand. "I'm going to give it my best though no one can take Gina Price's place."
She walked out of the office, butterflies whirling in her stomach. Life in Cranberry Cove would be nothing like it had been in the big city of Denver. Operating the inn was a challenge she'd never faced before. Even more challenging than her accounting job she'd left six weeks ago. But carrying Aunt Gina's legacy meant everything to her. If she failed, her aunt's dream would be lost forever.

*****

James Atwood leaned over his desk at Pacific Cranberry, Incorporated. Nothing appeared to be amiss with the company's delivery schedule. Everything seemed to be working, but he couldn't dismiss the latest of several complaints of non-delivery and invoices received for items not obtained.
He scratched his head and then rubbed his eyes.
His office door opened. "It's after five, James." His secretary, Leslie Cunningham, followed her daily routine of checking to see if he needed one last thing before she left. "I'm good, Leslie. Thanks."
She smiled and started to close the door.
"Wait. Is Robert still in his office?"
Leslie's smirk told him all he needed to know. His cousin had probably left the office five minutes after returning from lunch. James would have to talk to him tomorrow. If they could remain in each other's company for more than five minutes, perhaps they'd be able to figure out the breakdown in the company's delivery system.
"See you in the morning." Leslie closed the door.
James turned off his computer, grabbed his keys from the desk, and exited his office.
"Son." Dad stopped him in the hall. "Leaving so soon."
His father used the tired joke as a way to tell James he worked too hard. Dad had always been able to leave his job behind. Before, James hadn't been able to … and he couldn't now after all that had happened.
James tried to make his smile genuine. He wasn't sure if he could succeed at that any longer. "Yeah. I figured I'd bug out a little early and get some gardening in."
Dad studied James for a long second. "I admire your work ethic, but you haven't stopped one minute since—"
James held up his hand, pleading silently for his father to drop what he was going to say. "I did stop, Dad. I stopped to sell the estate, to donate Bethany's clothes to charity, and to move …" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "To move myself into the cabin. That was enough of a break, don't you think?"
Dad patted his shoulder. "Sometimes a man needs to stop in order to let his emotions catch up to him. If he doesn't, they may come out when he least expects it."
Dad didn't know, hadn't visited James when he was alone in the cabin, the door to one room closed, impossible for him to open because of the grief that was stored inside. That's why the gardening, away from home, the respite he'd been afforded meant so much to him. And he needed to get there … and now. "You have a good evening, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."

*****

The Inn at Cranberry Cove with its gray painted hardwood exterior and countless responsibilities loomed before Ashton. She pressed the brake. Perhaps she should turn and head back to Colorado. But, how could she? She shifted into drive and inched the car up in front of the inn. Aunt Gina had trusted her with her treasured possession. Didn't the wooden box on the passenger seat serve as a token of that faith? The air in her Jeep grew stale, and she opened the door for a long breath of the fragrant northwest air.
From his cage in back, Maxwell meowed a long, pleading appeal.
"It's okay, buddy. I'll get you in a moment. Be patient."
Ashton stepped out of the car. Nothing had changed since her last visit. Nothing, that is, but her place of employment.
The inn belonged to her now, though if she could choose, she'd rather have Aunt Gina alive and on this earth.
She locked the car and trekked around the east side of the building that once served as a chapel.
The gardens with the birdbath, the fountain, and the tiered landscaping were well-kept as if someone tended them, though the inn was empty.
The stone path led past the wooden deck with the wicker lawn chairs. Only a year ago visitors had enjoyed the afternoon sun while drinking icy lemonade and munching cranberry scones.
Ashton meandered past the Japanese snowbell tree and the fragrant honeysuckle, bringing back memories of visits to Cranberry Cove.
The elm Ashton used to climb appeared ahead. It cast dark shadows on the gravestone.
She steadied herself, gripping the tree's trunk. The stone marker where Aunt Gina's ashes were buried stood beneath its shade. Her soul was absent from the earth and no doubt present with her Lord.
Ashton wiped a tear and knelt. She drew her fingers along the curve of the rough rock. Virginia Price. Here lies the ashes of the beloved daughter, sister, and aunt. John 3:16. Then the dates she was born and died.
But wife and mother were absent from the inscription. Why hadn't her aunt married? Ashton would never be able to ask her now.
Aunt Gina's workshop—actually a small wooden building with glass windows whose clarity had been lessened by moisture stood a few yards from the gravesite. Ashton pushed the door open and stepped inside. The walls were in need of a good cleaning. Pieces her aunt had finished prior to her death filled the area. Aunt Gina had thrown herself into her art. She loved her intricate work of stained-glass, and her creative streak had earned her a place among the best of the craft.
One of Ashton's goals was to preserve that work and make it an added attraction for the inn. She walked out the door and returned to the gravesite again.
A sturdy metal vase with fresh yellow roses sat next to the marker for her aunt's resting place. They couldn't possibly be left from the funeral she'd attended thirty days ago. Someone had obviously been here recently to pay Aunt Gina's grave a visit. But who?
Inside the inn, she explored the first floor, the décor and furniture the same as she remembered as a teen. At the entrance to the inn, the majestic staircase took her breath away.
Up the stairs at the landing leading to the second floor, something looked different. A lovely stained-glass window had replaced the old one from before. If only she could ask her aunt about the beautiful design in the glass, but it was too late.
 

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