The Mrs. Claus Chronicles
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Greenhouse Letters Important Delivery Inn for All Seasons Bells First Lady
An Inn for All Seasons
Chapter 4 of the Mrs. Claus Chronicles
Santa’s Village, April–June 1932
The late spring air had grown soft, laced with the scent of fir needles and the distant sweetness of Crumbelle’s lemon drop buns cooling on the windowsill. Chris and Merry Lou walked hand in hand beneath the arching branches of the Great Fir Tree, their path winding past flower boxes bursting with scarlet and gold.
“Just three months away,” Chris murmured, a kind of awe in his voice. “It still doesn’t feel quite real.”
“It will,” Merry Lou said, smiling up at him. “You’ll see. Everything’s coming together.”
But everything wasn’t quite coming together—not yet.
That revelation hit them, oddly enough, during a routine meeting at the Great Hearth Hall. Bernard stood at the head of the table with a sheaf of notes in one hand and a pencil stuck behind his ear. “All right,” he said briskly. “Menu options are progressing, dress fittings are scheduled, and the Harmonica Club has promised to rehearse more quietly. But I have one very large concern.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “Only one?”
Bernard shot him a look. “Where are we putting everyone?”
A silence fell around the table. Merry Lou blinked. “Everyone…?”
Bernard tapped the list with the back of his pencil. “The mayor of Dromstad is coming. So is the mayor of Rostlic. We’ve got a few dwarves coming up from Dwarfheim—formal envoys, no less. Elves from Ice Skate, Cobblerton, even some from Lone Pine have said they’ll attend. That’s not counting any human guests from Ainslo.”
Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s… what? Twenty people?”
“Forty,” Bernard corrected. “If you include plus-ones, aides, and the odd cousin who hears there's cake.”
Merry Lou glanced around the room. “There’s no hotel here,” she said aloud, surprised she hadn’t realized it before. “We’ve got bunks and cottages for the elves who live here. But no guest quarters. No proper accommodations.”
Bernard gave a solemn nod. “Not unless you’d like to bunk the mayor of Dromstad with the stablehands.”
Merry Lou’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then she sat forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Then let’s build one.”
The plan began over tea and honey scones at Crumbelle’s Bakery. Elvira Silktouch brought a roll of paper from the post office, and Merry Lou began sketching.
“I’m not talking about something grand or garish,” she said. “Just enough to house about forty guests, give or take. Comfortable rooms, good heating, and a sitting room where people can read or visit.” She drew quick rectangles to represent the bedrooms, then added a central hearth and a wide set of front doors. “And we’ll need a small restaurant for breakfast and supper. Not everyone’s used to the idea of a cafeteria.”
Crumbelle nodded thoughtfully as she refilled their tea. “Guests might enjoy a late-night cocoa without waiting for Festival Hours.”
“I want it to feel warm,” Merry Lou added. “A place where they’ll feel welcome from the moment they walk through the door.”
Elvira tilted her head. “What will it be called?”
Merry Lou hesitated.
“Kris Inn?” Crumbelle offered.
“Kringle Hall?” said Tandy.
Merry Lou smiled. “No… Santa’s Village Inn.”
Elvira's eyes sparkled. “That’s perfect.”
The next morning, the idea spread through Santa’s Village like whipped cream on cocoa.
Within days, volunteers poured in. The Shoe Elves from Cobblerton arrived with satchels of brass fittings and wooden pegs. True Elves from Restful Wood brought bundles of cedar beams and magical hearthstones that glowed with warmth even on chilly nights. Even a small party of dwarves from Dwarfheim, led by a bearded stonecarver named Bromli Ironpost, delivered two ornately carved lintels and offered to help with the foundation.
“This is the kind of work I like,” Bromli said gruffly. “Stone, timber, and reason to celebrate.”
Jorbin Gearstripe, fresh off a maintenance schedule at the Sleigh Yard, was appointed construction foreman. “We’ll have the frame up by week’s end,” he declared, arms folded. “But only if Santa stops trying to help.”
Chris blinked. “Why?”
“Because every time you lift a beam, five elves stop to watch.”
Chris backed off, grinning. “Fair.”
Merry Lou spent most days on-site. Though she had no magical gifts like the elves, her eye for detail was sharp, and her memory for comfort came from her own childhood. She oversaw the choice of woolen bedspreads and selected stone tiles for the restaurant floor in warm earth tones.
“It smells like a farm kitchen,” Kathy Clockwright said approvingly as the mortar set. “Which is just what you want from an inn.”
Kathy herself handled the furniture, designing tables and chairs for the restaurant, while Len Thornley worked with local weavers to make curtains and towels. They added hand-stitched runners, lantern sconces with flickering magic candlelight, and a sitting room filled with overstuffed chairs, board games, and a fireplace big enough to roast chestnuts.
Behind the inn’s kitchen, a tiny garden was planted with peppermint, rosemary, and fiddleleaf fig—Merry Lou’s personal touch. She placed one fig in a glazed clay pot beside the front desk.
“I’ll bet most of the guests won’t notice,” she told Chris. “But it’ll mean something to me.”
By mid-June, the Inn was finished.
Outside, carved wooden signs swung from iron brackets. “Santa’s Village Inn,” they read in curling gold letters. Inside, soft music played from a hidden harmonium, and fresh bread baked in the restaurant oven. The staff, mostly young True Elves with nervous energy, rehearsed greetings and set the table twice just to make sure it was straight.
The grand opening took place on a summer evening. Lanterns hung from every pine tree, casting golden light on the garden walk. The guests arrived one by one—Mayor Dal Tinder from Dromstad, in a brown suit with candy-striped buttons. Brenna Dal of Rostlic wore a wide green sash stitched with tiny sleigh bells. From Ainslo came Tilly Frothwhip, bearing a crate of peaches as a gift.
Three dwarves arrived fashionably late, stomping their boots on the porch and nodding with approval. “Solid frame. Excellent masonry,” one said. “Smells like fresh biscuits too.”
Inside, the inn bustled with gentle laughter and the clink of cocoa mugs. The sitting room filled with conversation in three languages, while the restaurant staff served up bowls of savory stew with crusty bread and candied turnip slaw.
There was one hiccup—naturally.
Somehow, the guest registry had been swapped with the dessert menu. A confused elf at the front desk tried to check in “Butterscotch Fudge,” “Marzipan Logs,” and a mysterious “Surprise Snowball.”
Chris leaned in and whispered to Merry Lou, “Should we tell them the snowball’s bunking with the fudge?”
Merry Lou snorted. “Let’s just fix it before someone gets stuck in the storage closet.”
That night, after the guests had settled and the restaurant lights had dimmed, Chris and Merry Lou walked the quiet halls. The inn smelled of cedarwood, fresh linens, and faint peppermint from the potted garden outside.
They paused at the sitting room. A pair of elves from Ice Skate were curled up by the fire, one reading aloud from a picture book. Down the hallway, they heard dwarvish humming drifting from behind a thick oak door.
Chris glanced around, content. “This,” he said, “is going to make things much easier the next time we host visitors.”
Merry Lou nodded. “It’s exactly what I hoped for. A warm welcome. A peaceful night’s rest. A fine place for guests to stay.”
He smiled, taking her hand. “And it’s your doing.”
“Our doing,” she corrected. “But I’m glad I could help shape it.”
They lingered in the hallway a while longer before stepping outside, under the shimmer of northern lights just beginning to swirl across the sky. A gentle breeze lifted the hem of Merry Lou’s coat and stirred the fig leaves in the pot by the door.
Somewhere inside, a bell rang as someone called for tea.