Page 6 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

In moments like this she could still imagine that she lived in a simpler time. One where both her parents were still with her. Maybe one where her grandma was still here, even. Or perhaps, back in midcentury. When times had been hard, certainly, but Holiday House had been a sanctuary, and no one had been coming to knock it over.

Wyoming would have felt so isolated then. So separate from everything going on in the world. Sometimes, she thought it was a miracle that everything was so connected nowadays. But not now. Right now, she wished that she could cut her little house off from the rest of the world, from the march of time.

She wished. She really did.

She lay down in bed with the record still playing, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up, it was with a start. Her alarm hadn’t gone off.

She turned and looked at it, and saw that it was blinking there in the darkness. It was still early, thankfully. At least, judging by how dim the light was coming through the window. She got up, and threw the curtains open. Outside there was nothing but white. A whole blanket of it. She was going to have to get up and plow the road.

Because it had been a whole blizzard. Unexpected this early in the year.

“Fiddlesticks,” she said.

But then, she thought it was awfully funny that she had just been thinking last night about how nice it would be if she could take Holiday House and separate from the rest of the world right now.

But not right now. Not while she had guests, and employees that needed to get up here so that there could be breakfast and clean rooms, and myriad other things.

She charged out of bed and down the stairs, shoving her feet into her boots in the cloakroom, and grabbing a long coat. Then she shuffled out to the machine shed. She pulled the doors open, and went inside.

The old snowplow was parked, ever ready to fulfill its sacred duty. Clearing the roads so that guests would be able to get in and out. So that her employees would be able to get in and out.

She sighed and got into the driver’s seat. And turned the key, always left in the ignition, because why not?

But nothing happened.

That had never happened before. Usually, the machine roared to life, and she was off.

But not this time.

She growled, and tried to turn the key again.

Nothing.

“Start,” she commanded, but still, nothing happened. She tried and tried, but the machine was dead.

Great. That meant she was going to have to wait until the city got around to plowing the road up here.

Well, that was a disaster. That could take ages. She wasn’t on the general map for plowing.

She huffed, and slid out of the snowplow, trudging back through the snow and up the front porch, back into the house.

She was struck yet again by how quiet it was. And then by the fact that her head felt heavy.

She could not be getting sick. Not on top of everything else. It was the damn season.

She groused into the kitchen, where she decided she better make some coffee. She opted to do it on the stovetop, rather than in the Mr. Coffee, trying to make it feel... Festive, maybe. She could always hunt through the freezer to see if there was anything easy to bake.

She found sugar cookies. Not exactly the boon she was hoping for.

But she set about getting those in, so that there were some pleasant smells that could fill the kitchen when the guests got up.

She was still wearing the oversized boots, and her nightgown, when she heard the first sound of footsteps on the stairs.

She was going to have to apologize. Because normally there would have been a whole breakfast. But it was only her.

And she had spent too long wrestling with a snowplow.

---