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Summer and fall were her strongest seasons, but even during those months she had too many vacant rooms.
    So she had hired a consultant, who’d suggested targeted advertising and specials, like honeymoon and anniversary packages, and discounts with river outfitters on the South Fork. She had decreased the nightly rates for longer stays and hired a professional designer to produce a slicker Web site with views of every room. And to make the inn unique, she’d begun a summer entertainment series featuring local crafters. Each summer she turned over the small, light-filled morning room off the kitchen to a valley artist, who set up a studio and spent part of most mornings demonstrating his or her craft, and teaching basics to interested guests. In exchange, Gayle paid a minimal stipend and sold the artists’ work in her small gift shop.
    Three years ago she’d invited a jewelry maker who created fabulous millefiori beads from polymer clay. Two years ago she’d brought in a stained-glass artist. Last year she’d welcomed a weaver, who set up an antique floor loom and wove new rugs for the inn’s entryway.
    This year, she’d invited the quilters.
    The SCC Bee was the official quilting group of the Shenandoah Community Church. Gayle was a former president of the board of deacons, and she was still heavily involved in the congregation’s activities. To help support the church’s prison ministry, she had asked the quilters to create a star quilt for the stairwell, a large space clearly visible from the inn’s front door.
    Until now she had never been able to fill the space with anything that pleased her. The size was odd, too large for a single oil painting, but a grouping looked out of place. Whatever she displayed there had to hang flat against the wall or risk being dislodged as guests made the turn.
    Since she’d decorated most of the inn with quilts, another quilt was the natural choice. Unfortunately, she had never found one that really suited the spot. So this year she had asked the Bee to create a top that would fit snugly and harmonize with the colors in the reception area, then to spend the summer quilting it in the morning room. In return, she promised a sizable donation to the church.
    The quilters, led by Helen Henry, who was the area’s most celebrated quilter, had agreed, and the top they’d created—after their usual good-natured squabbling—was perfect for the stairwell. Using Civil War reproduction fabrics of reds and golds, blues and greens, they had designed and beautifully executed a stunning wall hanging of four traditional stars, the intricately pieced arms of each touching those of its neighbors.
    Helen had pointed out that there was one star for Gayle, and one for each of her sons. Gayle didn’t know if the Bee had chosen to do four stars on purpose, but she appreciated the symbolism.
    The pattern was known as Touching Stars, and Gayle, who was not a quilter, could see that each diamond-pieced star was identical to the Lone Star that hung in Eric’s room, only these were scaled-down, intimate versions. She had fallen in love with the pattern and the quilt top at first sight, as well as the dozens of varied star blocks the quilters had pieced and quilted to sell in her shop as potholders or table toppers. Stars had been a favorite of quilters through the centuries, and there had been many to choose from.
    What could be more perfect for an inn named for the Native American legend that some believed had given the river its name? Daughter of the Stars, the Shenandoah River, where the morning stars had placed the brightest jewels from their crowns.
    This afternoon, with Eric still napping, Gayle enlisted Noah to help rearrange furniture in the morning room so the quilters, who were due tomorrow, could set up the old-fashioned quilt frame that would take up the center of the room. If they desired, guests would be encouraged to quilt a few stitches. By summer’s end, if not before, the quilt would