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  The Innkeeper’s House

  A Hickory Grove Novel

  Elizabeth Bromke

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to locations, events, or people (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Elizabeth Bromke

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Jessica Parker Design

  The reproduction or distribution of this book without permission is a theft. If you would like to share this book or any part thereof (reviews excepted), please contact us through our website: elizabethbromke.com

  THE INNKEEPER’S HOUSE

  White Mountains, Arizona

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1—Greta

  Chapter 2—Luke

  Chapter 3—Greta

  Chapter 4—Luke

  Chapter 5—Greta

  Chapter 6—Luke

  Chapter 7—Greta

  Chapter 8—Luke

  Chapter 9—Greta

  Chapter 10—Luke

  Chapter 11—Greta

  Chapter 12—Luke

  Chapter 13—Greta

  Chapter 14—Luke

  Chapter 15—Greta

  Chapter 16—Luke

  Chapter 17—Greta

  Chapter 18—Luke

  Chapter 19—Greta

  Chapter 20—Luke

  Chapter 21—Greta

  Chapter 22—Luke

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Elizabeth Bromke

  About the Author

  For my readers.

  Chapter 1—Greta

  Four cardboard boxes, two large plastic storage bins, and a bucket with cleaning supplies stood in an orderly line on her classroom floor. Greta Houston pushed her fingertips into her temples and rubbed in circles.

  Inadvertently, a blonde wisp of her hair got pinched under her finger. “Ouch,” she whispered when it snapped out of her scalp. After rubbing the tender spot, she raked her fingers through her short waves and tied them into a messy ponytail at the back of her head. Strands fell away along her hairline, and she blew them out of her face and sighed with a finalizing huff. “It’s for the best,” Greta declared triumphantly to herself, striding to her desk to begin the emptying process.

  It was for the best.

  She’d made do at Innovative Learning Academy, the only place with an open teaching position mid school year. At least, the only one in the ten-mile radius of Mile Square, where Kadan both lived and worked. She’d had to settle in order to live near her ex-fiancé.

  Instead of high school sophomores with their classic literature and compelling research papers, she’d accepted stinky fourth graders with their mind-numbing spelling bees and cliché science projects. Instead of a classroom with windows, she’d been relegated to a pod on the inside of the school building. After all, without the proper elementary certification, Greta was little more than a warm body, holding a place for the pregnant teacher on leave.

  Greta’s career wasn’t the only part of her life in which she’d been forced to make concessions. Oh, no. When she met Kadan, she figured that his money (and he had a lot of it) would equate to some sort of upper-middle-class utopia. After all, he’d promised that if she bought the first-floor condo just two miles from his office, he would help cover the mortgage until they were married. At that point, they could turn it into rental income. It could be her little weekend project after they built the perfect family home.

  In her mind’s eye, together, Greta and Kadan would move mountains out in green-lawned suburbia with exactly two-point-five children and a minivan. She would tend a modest vegetable garden and plant flowers while the kids played in a safely fenced yard. Every weekday morning all three-point-five of them would wave pleasantly to Kadan as he left for work, his suit and tie in perfect order, for a pat eight-hour workday. Family dinners would commence at precisely five o’clock, leaving plenty of evening for Mommy and Daddy to cuddle on the sofa as the children snoozed upstairs.

  As the thirty-something ought to have realized much sooner in life, reality never jibed with one’s fantasy. The woulds quickly became would-nots.

  Besides the prevailing issue of her disappointing teaching position and oversized mortgage payment on a condo with no yard to speak of, other issues cropped up, multiplying in a short time span. Just weeks after he proposed, Kadan’s promises wore thin. That, and Greta started to learn about his lifestyle more intimately than she had when they were only dating on the weekends.

  Soon enough, Greta learned that he was happy to keep his sports car. He might only want one child. “Down the road,” he’d said. He was allergic to grass, by the way. And, in fact, Kadan’s days were quite long. Not as long as their engagement promised to be, however. She wanted two months. He wanted two years. Two years! Who could wait two years? Her clock was ticking, but the only thing pressuring Kadan was a sense of obligation, and traditionally, a three-year courtship was appropriate. She started to hate the word. By the bitter end, it became clear that a former country bumpkin like Greta Houston had no say in a relationship with a big-city heir. And, she had no place in his high-falutin’ life.

  And yet, it was not Greta who called the whole thing off.

  ***

  Initially, in the throes of her breakup, Greta assumed she’d be stuck there, in Indianapolis. Surely, she could find a better teaching job. But after turning to her older brother, Rhett, a plan materialized for her.

  Always the hero type, he’d flown into action, connecting with his so-called friend, Maggie. Greta remembered Maggie from her childhood. She was older, Rhett’s age. A little wild. A lot beautiful. Maggie, to Greta, was an enigmatic figure, cooler and more popular. A cheerleader type except more personable and friendly. At least, to Greta she had been.

  It turned out that Maggie had just moved into her family’s old farm. With Rhett’s help, she was converting the barn into a little apartment. Greta suspected there was more to that story, but she didn’t have the energy to badger her big brother. Instead, she’d weakly agreed to his idea: list her condo, quit her sub gig, and move home. To Hickory Grove.

  It would do her good to lay low for a while. Even if she only spent a month there, Greta could apply for a teaching position in Louisville or Corydon. Maybe she would reach out to some of her old classmates from college, the friends who’d faded away over the years. All she needed was a temporary fix. Then, she could leave heartbreak in her past, never to look back again.

  After all, nothing would keep Greta in the rural farming town. Not her brother. Or a cute barn. Not the ragamuffin children who lived at the farmhouse. Not even the bittersweet memories of growing up among the green hills and fireflies. The fish frys and sweet tea. Nothing.

  Chapter 2—Luke

  Luke Hart freed his lanyard from beneath a crisp white t-shirt and drew the silver whistle to his mouth. Three sharp bursts trilled from his lips.

  The sound echoed across the baseball field behind Hickory Grove Junior High, where a moving blob of unathletic preteens whined beneath the warm June sun. Their shoulders slumped forward, none opted to hustle. Instead, they muttered under their breath and strolled slower than molasses over to the chain link fence. Wind sprints were more wind and less sprint when it came to summer school.

  Luke shook his head and grinned.

  “Pop quiz!” he shouted at the small group of flunkies. “Why did Cinderella get kicked out of the baseball game?”

  Some of them shielded their eyes from the sun, half curious. The rest kicked at the ground, blowing up puffs of dirt across the bright green o
utfield.

  When no one replied, he answered it himself, holding back his own laughter. “Because she kept running away from the ball!”

  Several moans gave way to restrained chuckles. The social requirements of junior high prevented the poor fools from revealing just how little they minded spending their summer vacation outside with him. Still, Luke saw the hint of joy in their eyes and in their awkward attempts to pretend they were too cool for a phys. ed. joke.

  Summer school P.E. was a special kind of experience. Typically, the types of kids who had to make up a math class or retake science were naturally less motivated. At the far-left end of the bell curve? Sure, but they were still on the curve.

  Then you had your P.E. summer school kids. They were a different breed altogether. The sort of thirteen-year-old boy who failed gym class was not the sort Luke could personally relate to. That was just the thing, though. Sure, Luke loved sports, but he didn’t become a teacher or even a coach to train up the next Michael Jordan. He did it for the kids. Plain and simple.

  Luke would have had his own kids by then if it wasn’t for the fact that dating did not exist in Hickory Grove, Indiana. ‘Less of course you didn’t mind getting friendly with a distant cousin or one of your pal’s ex-wives. Luke minded that sort of thing, though, much to his own chagrin. And he wasn’t too interested in traveling to and from the big city just to bar hop. He’d rather tinker around in his shed or study tape for practice.

  The move from Louisville, with all its hustle and bustle, to a starkly different rural community that drifted out west of the Ohio River was dramatic. All signs ought to have pointed Luke anywhere else in the world. Then again, he would not have stopped to consider that fact. Luke wasn’t much of a planner. More of a go-along-to-get-alonger. And anyway, he knew the town from family visits. In fact, he only managed to nail a coaching and teaching gig with H.G.U.S.D. because of his Hart Family connections. That’s right. Some may think that education would be the one professional world distinctly devoid of nepotism. The opposite was true.

  Once class ended, and Luke was free to go about his business, he settled into his office, a small square space inside of the boys’ locker room. With little to do during June and July, teaching summer school was a no brainer. He could make some extra cash to stow away for a rainy day and get ready for the upcoming football season in one fell swoop.

  Luke tugged open the top drawer in his metal desk and withdrew his phone before tapping out a quick message.

  Lunch? Mally’s?

  Mark Ketchum taught Social Studies at Hickory Grove J.H.S. and had signed on for summer school, too. He was also the head coach of the high school football team and Luke’s superior in that capacity. Though their age gap was significant, the two had hit it off easily, meeting up for Wing Wednesdays and spending their Sundays together throughout football season. After mass, of course. There was a loose commonality there, too. Mark, a former Deacon, spent his whole life in the Catholic Church. Currently, though, he didn’t practice and instead identified as a term he was convinced he’d coined: Casual Catholic. Luke didn’t mind. He wasn’t the type to pass judgment on how other people lived their lives. What mattered about a person in Luke’s eyes was his heart. Not his parish record.

  Meet you there. Maybe they hired a girlfriend for you. Maybe one for me, too. LOL.

  Luke cringed at Mark’s teasing. Would he love to meet a local girl and fall in love? Sure. Was it going to happen? Suffice it to say that Luke started considering his aunt's plea that he look into Saint Meinrad’s Monastery. Still, the two men’s singleness was another dollop of glue that bound them. Mark was simply antsier about it than his younger counterpart.

  ***

  “Chicken tenders and fries, please.” Luke smiled at the girl taking his order. Gretchen Engel. He’d had her in class just a few years back.

  She nodded and smiled in return. “A Pepsi, too, Coach Hart?”

  He shook his head. “Just a water. Thanks, Gretchen.”

  She took Mark’s order then scurried off to the kitchen.

  Mark adjusted his silverware into a neat cascade and unfolded his napkin on his lap. “So, how is June?”

  It was a touchy subject, though. A grimace stretched Luke’s mouth. “I’m going to head to the hospital later.” He kept his eyes on his napkin, folding it as many times as it would go, into a thick, papery wedge. June Hart took a fall a week before. Turned out to be a blood clot, and she was still lying in a coma, machines breathing for her day and night. Luke didn’t want to think about it. He’d gone every day, so far, to visit. And each time it got harder, not easier. In fact, he really did not want to visit her at all anymore. It might just kill him to see the old woman, her chest rising unnaturally. Her skin gray and slipping away from her skeleton.

  Luke prayed for good news. He prayed for a phone call from his aunt. She made it! I’m driving her home now! He prayed the next time that he saw Mamaw Hart, that she’d be tucked beneath an afghan on her rocking chair in the little house behind the bed-and-breakfast she still owned. He prayed he’d get another chance to convince her to let him take over doing repairs so she didn’t have to keep hiring out. He prayed for strength to be a better grandson and step up to the plate. He prayed for a miracle.

  Mark cleared his throat and shifted on the bench. It squeaked. Luke glanced up and offered a grin.

  “Can I do anything?” Mark asked, rearranging his silverware again.

  Luke shook his head and changed the conversation as best he could. “Is your friend going to apply for the English position?”

  Glancing up, Mark’s face lifted. He, too, was happy to divert the topic. “Oh, no. He found a job up north.”

  “What do you think Mrs. Cook will do? Think she’ll merge the classes?” Talking about school hires was about as bland a thing as one could talk about, and yet it drove many of Mark and Luke’s breeze-shooting. There lay something of a hope each time another Hickory Grove Unified faculty member bit the dust. Who’d replace them? Who’d show up for the pre-service trainings?

  Shrugging, Mark thanked the waitress as she dropped their drinks and meals. He took a generous bite of his burger then spoke through a full mouth. “What about your mom?”

  Luke laughed. “She’s retiring. She’s had enough. Anyways, she doesn’t teach English.”

  Besides the fact that he liked working with kids, Luke’s folks had inspired him to go for teaching and turn it into the family biz, as his dad would say. His mom had been a school secretary but turned into a kindergarten teacher after some years. His father had served as Southern Community College’s head football coach for nearly forty years. A legend. Luke’s hero.

  Kurt Hart, Luke’s dad, was born and raised in Hickory Grove, the child of parents who adopted when they struggled to have babies of their own. Siblings Liesel and Kurt grew up and made their own ways in the world, Liesel returning to Hickory Grove after a failed attempt to join a convent, and Kurt fleeing to the big city with his high school sweetheart, May. The marriage turned sour, and the two split when Luke was still in school. It had crushed Kurt, though, and he never did recover. In fact, his health took such a hit that he suffered from a heart attack and passed years later.

  It was Luke’s Aunt Liesel who’d invited him to pursue a teaching opportunity in the tiny town just a thirty-minute drive from Louisville. Too traumatized to stick around Louisville, he took her up on it. Over time and after he’d purchased his own place near the school, Luke settled in enough, making new friends and returning home less and less. In fact, Hickory Grove became his home. There, he felt close to his roots but far enough away from the memory of his dad.

  “Maybe you should take a trip down to UofL and recruit.” Mark threw Luke a knowing wink, but Luke swatted it away.

  Luke rolled his eyes. “I’m thirty-six, man. And I’m a teacher. And a coach. I’m not interested in college girls.”

  Mark sulked. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”


  “Seems like you need to get out more.” Luke gave his friend a pointed look and took a long swig from his water and stared out the window. Maybe he needed to get out more, too.

  His phone buzzed on the table beside his plate and he glanced down at it. A call from his aunt. It could be about anything. It could be about the Fourth of July parade she was planning for Little Flock Catholic. It could be about her air conditioner making a funny noise.

  But he knew in his gut it was way worse.

  Chapter 3—Greta

  On her drive into town, Greta had made no less than a dozen phone calls, pulling off to the side of the road each time she had to search for and dial a new number. She called the girls from her teaching cohort at UofL. She called a cousin whose number she learned from another cousin. She called three school districts in the greater Louisville area.

  None of her personal contacts had any leads on openings for the fall. They each cooed over hearing from her and swore up and down to make a lunch date somewhere in the area. Maybe by then something would crop up and they’d be able to help.

  The school secretaries rattled off website addresses where Greta might put in an application. However, she’d better be warned that they did not anticipate any turnover for the new school year.

  The result of every single phone call was the same: a dead end.

  She’d have to look outside of her comfort zone if she wanted to get a job teaching English. Maybe broaden her search to Chicago or Nashville. She might have to consider applying with the inner-city schools. That might be even better than a suburban placement. She might make a real difference in a lower-income district.

  All Greta needed was an interview, and she’d take whatever came first. After that, things would settle in. They had to.

  In the past decade, life had twisted up and down and around like a roller coaster. Upon graduating, Greta slid into a string of long-term sub positions until she earned a place in her own classroom, at last. But then the passing of her mother crippled her, robbing her of any joy the small-town girl had managed to scrape together.