“I’m Karen,” she smiled, recognizing him from a photograph in an article she’d seen at the library. “You’re Mayor Banyan.”
“Call me Charles,” he said, extending his hand. “Welcome to Sparkledove, Miss Maraschino, the perfect place for Christmas.”
“Call me Goldie,” she reciprocated, shaking hands. “All my friends do.”
Banyan was about fifty-five, tall, fit, and distinguished-looking. He was handsome for his age, with salt-and-pepper hair combed back, and had the posture of someone who was used to being in charge.
“Maraschino,” he wondered. “Is that?—”
“Like the cherry, yes,” she finished.
“Very good. How are Maddie and Dean treating you?”
“Dean?” she asked.
“Maddie’s husband. They own the Sparkledove Arms.”
“I haven’t officially met him. But I think I saw him earlier this mornin’.” She glanced around the lobby but didn’t see the proprietors. “They’re dressed up like they just got off the Mayflower, and they’re treating me fine.”
Banyan turned and eyed the crimson circular sofa in the middle of the lobby behind them.
“They should’ve taken my suggestion and replaced that piece of furniture with a big boulder. We’re right in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, for goodness’ sake. There are only a thousand of them around.”
“A big boulder?” she asked.
“For Plymouth Rock. Kids would’ve loved to climb all over it, not to mention it goes with Maddie and Dean’s costumes.”
She stared blankly at the circular sofa. “Sure,” she politely agreed, not really caring one way or another.
“Well, Goldie, if you’re ready, my car’s just outside. I hope you’re hungry; we’ve prepared quite a feast.”
“Eh, great.” She stepped back over to Josie behind the counter and handed her the directory.
The Banyan residence was most of the way down River Street, at the opposite end of town from the covered bridge, and then a left turn down a side street called Nugget Lane. During the three-minute drive, Goldie’s host asked all the expected questions: How did she like Sparkledove? Had she ever been to Colorado before? Did she have a family who was missing her at Thanksgiving? She replied that the town was very picturesque, that she’d been to Colorado before but never in this part of the state, and that she wasn’t married, so her time was her own. She fibbed about being in Colorado before because she figured people expected her to be well-traveled, since she worked for a travel magazine. Her host also inquired about the gauze on her left hand, but she said it was just a small cut and looked worse than it was because of the wrappings.
Banyan’s house was easily one of the larger Victorian-style homes in town. Built in 1871, it was a 3,700-square-foot home with a round turret on its right-hand side and a wide front porch that wrapped around the house on its left. The porch featured delicate spindle woodworking, and the windows on the second floor were narrow and rounded at the top, with bricks “soldiering” in the arches. A five-foot wrought-iron fence surrounded the property, and three brick chimneys rose above the roof. Overall, the place looked like a cross between a palace and a life-size gingerbread house.
Banyan was prodigiously proud of his home and talked about its original wood flooring, the original glass in most of the windows, and wallpaper specially commissioned to reflect the tastes of the 1870s. But he also spoke of new piping, insulation, a furnace, and state-of-the-art appliances. “It retains its authentic character,” he explained. “But has all the modern-day conveniences a family needs.”
The participants at the Banyan house this Thanksgiving were Charles, his wife Stephie, and their twenty-nine-year-old son, Peter. Stephie was an elegant-looking woman with auburn hair who would’ve easily been a prominent member of the country club if Sparkledove had one. Peter was tall, trim, and handsome like his father. He had wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and frameless glasses that he used when reading. He was single, had his own place, and was the editor of the local weekly newspaper,The Sparkledove Wing, calledThe Wingfor short. As soon as Goldie and Peter set eyes on one another, each thought the other was attractive. His weak eyesight had been one of the reasons why he wasn’t in the military. Another was two cracked vertebrae from playing football in high school. He made a point of telling Goldie he had tried not once but twice to join different branches of the service, but between his eyes and back injury, he’d been turned down. She was quickly figuring out that if a young man was eighteen to thirty years old, it was the national expectation that they would be in the armed services.
The party had drinks in a nicely appointed parlor while Benny Goodman played on the radio. The refreshments were served by a young Hispanic woman named Lupe, who spoke in broken English and wore a nice but simple dress. She had mahogany eyes, a triangular face, thick lips, and an eager-to-please smile. Charles was slightly embarrassed by the way she mispronounced certain words. She referred to the drinks as “kooktales” instead of “cocktails” and rolled her R’s, which, he assumed, made her difficult to understand. But Goldie assured her host she understood Lupe perfectly. Stephie also spoke about a cook in the kitchen named Margarita, but Goldie never saw her.
During drinks and conversation in the parlor, Goldie learned that Charles was a big fan ofAdventure Escape Magazineand had written her publisher, Owen Mitchell, more than once about doing a feature article that highlighted his town.
After a while, everyone was called into the dining room for dinner. The dining room had a ten-foot-high ceiling and an impressive crystal chandelier that hung and sparkled over an impeccably set table. Before they ate, everyone bowed their heads, and Charles offered a prayer about being thankful for his family, his prominent position in the community, his beautiful home, and even a writer fromAdventure Escape Magazinejoining them. Afterwards, the first course began. There may have been rationing going on in most homes in America, but one couldn’t tell it from the Banyan spread with its polished silverware, china plates, flaky homemade rolls, full butter dishes, salad, and wine.
“So, why do people call you Goldie?” Peter asked.
“Because I have a thing for gold jewelry,” she answered. Then she noticed everyone was looking at her bare wrists and neck. All she was wearing were rather plain clip-on earrings. “Of course, I leave it at home when I’m on assignment. I don’t want to seem pretentious, not to mention risk losing it.”
“Of course,” the senior Banyan agreed. “Being in your magazine could mean gold for us, metaphorically speaking. Tourism is the town’s largest source of revenue.”
“I see,” Goldie replied.
“And you said you were single?” the mayor continued.
“Yeah. Um, yes. I’m originally from New York City, but do too much travelin’ to settle down. The job, you know.”
