Under Starry Skies by Judy Ann Davis

with an array of mirrors and gas lights. Later, once she had some profits to spare, she would have murals painted along the room’s expansive, newly painted walls. For now, the only portrait adorning the room was a large oil painting of her grandmother she had discovered while sifting through the dust and junk stored in the attic of the cottage. It showed a vivacious young woman, seated demurely atop an open wagon, pulled by a team of four, gray, stout-shouldered mules. In the Arbitration Room, she hung a series of pictures depicting lumbering operations she had stumbled across in her uncle’s office.
    Under Amos’s meticulous directions, all the bedrooms on the third floor were cleaned, disinfected, aired, and ready for patrons. Abigail closed down all but six, pilfering the best furniture from each room and redistributing them among the others. The largest room, at the very head of the stairs on the second floor, she relegated to Amos, despite his protests for something smaller, less fancy.
    With the help of Will Singer, she rehired the cook and two serving girls for the kitchen and dining room. On the advice of Tye, she located a crusty old lumberman, Charlie Haney, who had injured his back in the woods and was looking for less strenuous work as a bar keeper. Noted best for his ability to make lively conversation, Haney was also an expert at distinguishing good whiskey and ale from the smell alone, and it was through him, she was able to engage the services of a piano player and two Irish sisters whose voices were as light as mockingbirds. Big Jake was the last to be added to her staff. At two hundred pounds, the robust trapper could break a man in half with his well-muscled arms. Abigail hoped his looks alone would keep the peace, but she cautioned him to remove anyone from the premises who started the slightest disturbance including any gentleman who entered the guest parlor without a calling card or a good reason.
    Yet, despite her frugal maneuvering, she still needed new draperies, carpeting, and some much-needed paint for the dining room. Although she hated the thought of being indebted to anyone, she realized there was only one way she’d ever be able to complete the room and open the inn—borrow the money. She approached Emma the same afternoon.
    “If we make the place as presentable as possible,” she told her aunt, “we have a better chance of enticing people to return.”
    “I know, my dear, but the object of allowing you to manage the Mule Shed was to make money, not for you to spend it,” Emma replied curtly, standing like a queen in the center of her furniture-shrouded parlor.
    “Have you been down to see it?” Abigail swallowed, trying hard not to disguise her irritation.
    Emma shook her head. “Why on earth would I want to go down there and see the pitiful place that did little more than take up hours and hours of your uncle’s time?”
    “It’s really coming along. Sometimes you have to invest time, money, and effort before you get to reap the rewards. A few hundred dollars would go a long way to help the time and effort.”
    “Oh, my. Really, my dear.” A shadow of annoyance crossed Emma’s face. “Whatever makes you think I’d risk my money on Henry’s old, dusty, flea-bitten place?”
    “But you’re more than willing to take half the profits if I succeed?”
    Emma threw back her head and let out a frightful peal of laughter setting Abigail’s nerves on edge. “What an ungrateful thing for a penniless waif to say! In view of your situation, I shall overlook your boldness.”
    Abigial felt her cheeks grow hot. It took every ounce of energy to swallow her fury and pride. She wanted to shout at the old biddy. “I apologize, Aunt Emma, but we do need to secure the money. If I can’t get any help from you, I’ll be forced to ask for a loan from the bank. Certainly Uncle Henry was well-known in town and his credit was excellent.”
    Emma’s brutal look was almost too much to bear.