South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [43]
“Do you ever think of reopening?”
“Not a chance. Things have changed too much. Back in my day, and my mother’s, the tourists weren’t so fussy. They’d share the bathroom at the end of the hall and didn’t need anything in the rooms but a bed and a dresser. It’s different now. Of course, every generation says that. I put an electric sign in the window that said ‘Rooms to Let,’ and my mother was fit to be tied. She thought it was tacky.”
“ ‘Rooms to Let,’ ” Madeline repeated, as if that was the most wonderful thing ever.
“I was thinking I’d put it on eBay, I’ll bet it brings quite a bit.”
“Oh, no, you can’t sell it! Please don’t.”
“There’s no reason not to.”
“Of course there is!”
“And what would that be?” Gladys asked, giving Madeline the skeptical look she deserved for all this folderol.
“Well—I—it’s your history, you just said so. And you might want to reopen. If you had help, say.”
Gladys aimed the scissors at Madeline and shook them a little to make her point. “No. There’s too much that needs doing. I don’t know what it would take to fix the water damage. More than I’ve got. Besides which the place needs cleaning like you can’t imagine, and the plumbing needs work, and the outside painted. I looked into that, it’ll cost a fortune. A real fortune. Then there’s the roof, and the heat, and the wiring, and a dozen other things. What it would all cost boggles the imagination.”
“But it’s so beautiful. You can just feel it wanting to reopen and run again. It’s such a shame that it just sits there.”
Gladys gave Madeline a long, quelling look and shook the scissors at her again. “A shame? What it is, is old and out of fashion and expensive as Hades to keep open. And that’s after repairs.”
“I suppose,” Madeline said, looking crestfallen, as if Gladys had blasted some cherished dream of hers out of the sky. “I guess you’d know.”
Gladys felt a little sorry then for being so severe. She had the same romantic notions about the place as Madeline, or she wouldn’t have hung on to it all these years. “It would never bring in much and people want that nowadays, no one’s content with just a living,” she said more gently. “It’s a grand old building, but it’s too much for Us. I’m tired of fighting it. I’m afraid the decision is made.”
“But, Gladys, how can it be that simple? That final? There must be some way—”
“It’s got to be done,” Gladys cut her off. “And the Bensons seem very serious about their offer.”
“If it was anyone but them,” Madeline said. She seemed so worked Up. Gladys could only think it was nerves. The best thing to do about nerves was to ignore them.
“One good thing, I suppose they’ll let the grocery bill go,” she said.
“Gladys.”
“So it goes.”
“But you’ve held out this long. What about your history?”
“Madeline, stop,” Gladys said, abruptly tired of the girl’s naïveté. “I haven’t a choice. I’ve been nickel-and-diming my way along for months now, and it isn’t working. The summer taxes will be due in September. More money I haven’t got. I only just got the winter taxes paid, and then they were late. And history?” She swept a pile of paper scraps into the garbage can that sat at her feet. “History doesn’t pay the bills. History won’t feed Us or keep Us warm. It’s just something that’s over and done with.”
Madeline seemed to have deflated in front of her. Again Gladys felt an Unexpected stab of sympathy. “Do you want to take a walk?” she asked. She knew how Madeline liked walking. Gladys liked walking too. Funny that they’d not done any of it together.
“Isn’t it awfully late? And what about Arbutus?”
“Sound asleep,” Gladys declared. “And late? What’s late? I’m an old lady, I don’t sleep anyway. And you’re a young one, full of vim and vigor.”
A reluctant smile spread across Madeline’s face.
Main Street was empty except