From the Book (3)
From Chapter 4 - Through These Doors
I think if I had to choose our most memorable guests from all the five years we’ve been at the Hummingbird, I’d choose Virgil and Sarah.
First of all, they were drop-ins, which meant we hadn’t talked with them on the phone and thus they came as a surprise. Second, they didn’t fit our usual profile—baby-boomers from the city with high-pressure, albeit fascinating jobs. Virgil and Sarah were retired, as was the couple they were traveling with, Calvin and Becky, and they were simple folk from a small town in southern Virginia, a place with a name like Badger Hollow or Bobcat Creek. When they rang our doorbell one afternoon we weren’t even sure they were looking to book a room.
“Hey there,” one of them said. “We jist come to look at the place.” Pam thought they were local, but when she asked, they said they weren’t. “We’re jist drivin’ round, and the man over to the gas station told us y’all rent rooms. Kin we see ‘em?” and in they trooped.
So Pam gave them a tour. From the start, it was clear they liked our inn. Virgil, patting the pillows and sitting on the beds, declared them “right comfortable.” Sarah commented on how “handsome and grand” everything looked. Their accents were classic Southern and their manner solid country, which is to say unsophisticated but friendly and polite. As Pam took them onto the veranda, one of the men spit over the rail and she heard the other describe our rooms as “purty fancy.”
When the tour ended, the four of them moved down the porch out of earshot and talked among themselves for a moment. At that point Pam and I were sure they weren’t going to stay, that our inn was either beyond their means or they’d meant it when they’d said they were “jist lookin.” But after a moment Sarah came over to where we were waiting and announced, “We’re thinking of stayin’ over, but Virgil wants to know what y’all are fixin’ for breakfast.”
We had other guests at the inn and had already decided to serve a Mexican egg soufflé, and Pam said so. Sarah looked glum, went back to the group, and shortly returned to us. “Virgil don’t care much for furin foods,” she declared.
Well, I was raised a country boy, so I leapt right in. “In that case, we’ll whip up some biscuits and gravy, do some ham, and fry up a few potatoes.” That did it. Upon hearing this new menu, Virgil said they’d take the Franklin room because he wanted to “try out that jacuzzi thang” and the other couple took the room with the king-size bed.
And they were an absolute delight. Everything pleased them: they liked our beds and told us so; Sarah wandered about the inn expressing amazement at the furnishings, the polished wooden floors, the rugs, the drapes, the pictures on the wall, even the wallpaper; and they fully approved of the breakfast we made them. This was their first stay in a B&B, and the amenities we provided, the fire we lit for them, and the attention we paid to them during their stay—all was regarded with wonder and appreciation.
That evening I went into the den to tend to the fire and Becky and Sarah, wearing nightgowns and light robes, were huddled up like children on one of the couches reading a single book. “Are you two sisters?” I asked. “No, but we’re sisters in the Lord,” Sarah said. I was totally charmed. Not only were they enjoying the inn, they weren’t intimidated by it either and had clearly decided they could relax. 
Over the years we’ve had guests with more money, more intriguing lifestyles, more polished ways, but when I think back on them, I’m still grateful for Virgil and Sarah.
