The Baker's Christmas Miracle

by Cheryl Wright

  Not that he’d been proven to be right. Not always anyway.

  Heading toward the adjoining door, bucket of soapy water in her hands, she was as quiet as she could be, not wanting to disturb the men with their conversation.

  When she arrived there, however, the door was stuck. Abigail turned the doorknob several times, and even rattled the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What are you doing?” Her husband stood behind her, a scowl on his face. She cowered down from him. He took a step back, now frowning.

  “I, I’m trying to open the door. I need to scrub the tables and chairs.”

  He reached out and took the bucket from her hands, handing it over to Patrick who had now joined them. His hands sat gently on her arms. “What you need to do is join us in the sitting room.”

  He studied her face, and she wondered what he was trying to determine. “The tables need to be scrubbed. And the chairs,” she said, almost desperately. “Everything must be clean for tomorrow’s customers.”

  He shook his head and tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back – her new husband was not going to see her distress. “I, I should have done it before supper, but I ran out of time.”

  His arms snaked around her back and he pulled her closer. “Dear Abigail,” he whispered. “What have they done to you?”

  The movement of his hands circling over her back was soothing, and she sank into him. Her arms slowly went around his waist.

  Tears slid down her face. She was beginning to wonder the same thing herself. Over time she’d changed from being a treasured daughter to being a slave to her father’s business.

  She lifted her hand to wipe the tears before they were seen, but it was too late. Ethan’s arms slid underneath her and he carried her to the bedroom, where he laid her gently on the bed.

  Patrick followed, a bemused look on his face, but Ethan slammed the bedroom door in his face. “That boy needs to grow up,” he said under his breath, then looked down at her with sadness.

  His fingers gently caressed her face, and she immediately felt relaxed. Abigail looked up at him, her eyes beginning to close. He pulled off her shoes, then undid the fastenings at the back of her gown. He helped her slide in under the covers.

  It had been such a long day, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Ethan leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. “I’ll leave the room so you can change into your nightgown.”

  She appreciated the thought, but she had no nightgown.

  Abigail slipped out of her gown, leaving on only her chemise and drawers. She hung her gown up in the wardrobe and slipped in under the covers once more.

  Her eyes fluttered closed the moment her head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what she’d been through, but she’s traumatized,” Ethan said to his brother as his finger pounded Patrick’s chest. “You need to be more sensitive to other people’s feelings.”

  Patrick stared at him momentarily, then chuckle. Ethan scowled. “It’s not a joke. Change your attitude or you can get accommodation at the hotel.”

  That wiped the smile off his face. “You don’t mean that, surely?” He plonked down into a chair in the sitting room. “I mean, I’m blood. I helped you build this house, the bakery…you, you don’t even know Abigail.” He looked more wounded by the minute.

  “You are blood, there’s no doubting it, but Abigail is my wife. And she clearly needs looking after.” He sat opposite his brother, but wasn’t feeling very accommodating toward him right now. “You’ve been a tremendous help, Patrick, and I truly appreciate it. But I can’t allow you to be anything but respectful toward my wife.”

  He watched as the tiniest beginning of a smile passed his brother’s lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He frowned.

  Ethan straightened in his chair. “I most certainly am. And now there’s a woman in the house, there are new rules. Especially no walking around half naked. Or using bad language.”

  Patrick pouted. “I thought being married was meant to be fun.”

  “You’re not the one married though, are you?” Ethan grinned briefly, then got out of his chair. “I need to check on Abigail. I’ll say goodnight now. See you in the morning.”

  “Sure.”

  Ethan stood and was about to leave the room when Patrick spoke. “I’m really sorry,” he said quietly, and sounded like he meant it.

  Patrick was clearly unhappy, but Abigail had to be his priority from now on. His brother was old enough and independent enough to look after himself. He could stay for as long as he abided by the rules. Besides, he’d been paying him wages – as much as a complete stranger would have been paid, so he needn’t feel bad about making him leave if it came to that.

  Ethan made his way to the bedroom and carefully opened the door. Abigail was asleep under the covers. At least she appeared to be.

  He closed the door quietly and gazed down at her.

  This morning he was living the life of a bachelor who had recently begun his own business in a new town. Tonight he was a married man trying to work out what had happened to his wife to make her behave in such a strange way.

  He stood watching her gentle breathing for some time, was mesmerized by it. By her. Abigail was strong and helpful one minute, and weak and broken the next.

  Her actions were confusing, but he vowed to get to the bottom of it.

  She gently groaned in her sleep and rolled over, her streaked hair spreading out over the pillow. It looked so soft, and it took all his effort not to reach out and touch it. Touch her.

  He pulled the covers up over her almost bare shoulders, then made his way to the other side of the bed. He sat on the easy chair, which was in the corner near the window, and began to undress.

  Ethan hadn’t planned on having a wife tonight, but he wasn’t unhappy about it either. Abigail was very likeable, and was obviously used to hard work. It would be nice to have a helping hand, but she needed to slow down.

  He pulled his nightgown up over his head, and eased himself into the bed trying not to disturb her. Abigail rolled over again, this time facing away from him. It was strange having another person in the bed with him, but he was sure he’d get used to it.

  He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

  When Ethan awoke it was to an empty bed. He reached across where his wife had slept, and the bedding was slightly warm. The indent of the pillow where her head had rested was still there.

  He leaned over. Her fragrance still lingered. He liked it. All of it.

  Shoving the covers back, he climbed out of bed and was greeting by the chilly morning air. The closer it got to Christmas, the worse it would be. Thank goodness he’d had the forethought to put a fireplace in the main bedroom.

  From now on, he’d ensure it was burning when they went to bed. At least they wouldn’t have such a rude awakening as today.

  He quickly dressed and made his way to the kitchen. The aroma of bacon and eggs assailed his senses before he even reached his destination.

  The warmth of the sitting room fire and the wood stove hit him as he walked down the hallway, and he instinctively knew Abigail had been up for quite some time already.

  As he entered the kitchen, she was a sight to behold. She looked far less tired this morning than she had yesterday, and the pretty salmon colored gown she wore matched her hair perfectly.

  “Good morning,” she said sweetly, then stepped forward and gently kissed his cheek.

  He pulled her into a hug, and she relaxed into him. “Good morning. I trust you slept well? You look much better today.”

  “Thank you. I did.” She pulled out of his grip and attended to the food sizzling on the stove. “Your coffee is on the table, and your meal is almost ready. Do sit down.” She indicated the table, so he did as he was instructed.

  Patrick appeared just moments later. “Good morning,” he said, then looked to Ethan as if questioning his standing in regard
to accommodation.

  “Your coffee is on the table,” Abigail told him sweetly. “Breakfast will be served in just a moment.”

  Patrick glanced across at him. Ethan shrugged. He might give off a façade of nonchalance, but deep down he was concerned.

  She placed food in front of each of them, then put her own at her setting. Then Abigail sat. She reached out her hands to them, this time prepared to give thanks for their food.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and Ethan said a prayer of thanks.

  She smiled coyly as they heaped their praises on her cooking, but jumped up to clear the table the moment they were finished.

  Ethan stood and came up behind her, ready to help with the dishes. She shook her head. “I don’t need help,” she said. “You get on with your baking. I’ll be out soon.”

  No matter how much he protested, she insisted. It seem to distress her to be told no, so he let it go.

  Glancing in the sitting room on his way through, Ethan discovered the fire was roaring. Unlocking the adjoining door, he grabbed for an apron, ready to begin the day’s work.

  He checked the temperature of the ovens before anything else, then measured out the flour and other ingredients.

  Kneading the bread on the spotless countertop had always been a time of reflection for Ethan, and today was no different.

  His new wife had him somewhat bamboozled. One minute she was relieving him of his duties in the bakery and taking orders, and only hours later she was a blubbering mess.

  There had to be a reason.

  Right at this moment, the best thing he could do was keep an eye on her, and ensure she wasn’t overloaded. Even if that was of her own hand.

  The adjoining door opened, and Abigail quickly joined him. She reached into the drawer and pulled out a fresh apron. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’m nearly done with the first batch of bread, but if you could check the stocks of cakes and slices, it would be really helpful.”

  She grabbed a notepad and pen, but before she could leave, he grabbed her gently by the wrist and pulled her close. Ethan looked down into her face. “I’m so glad you came,” he said softly.

  At first she looked up at him, but then she looked down, as though she was ashamed. “I am too,” she whispered, then pulled out of his grip and headed to the display counter.

  He could have held her like that all morning. And for once, he wished he had no customers, no one to distract him from his wife.

  He watched as Abigail noted down what supplies were there, and handed him the list. It was as though their brief encounter had never occurred.

  She rounded on the tables, checking their cleanliness. This is what had distressed her so much last night. She glanced up at him. “Not bad,” she said. “But I’ll give them a quick scrub. Customers can’t eat at dirty tables.”

  She left the room, presumably to retrieve a bucket of soapy water. Ethan put the bread in the ovens then checked the tables for himself. He couldn’t see anything, and ran his hands across the tables.

  Nothing. Not a thing.

  Abigail returned and began scrubbing the tables, drying them with a clean kitchen towel. She moved from table to table, then started over with the chairs.

  “When was the floor last washed?” she asked firmly.

  He glanced up from kneading his next batch of bread. “I washed it last night before I closed up for the evening.”

  She nodded, then dropped to her knees. Abigail ran her hands across the clean floor. “It’s not perfect, but close.” She pulled herself into a standing position again, then washed her hands at the bakery sink.

  Ethan removed the first batch of bread from the oven and tipped the loaves out of their tins. No sooner were they in the large sink, than Abigail was scrubbing them.

  He came up behind her, brandishing a clean dish towel. “I’ll dry,” he said, then moved closer while she washed.

  Being close to her was his new favorite thing to do. Prior to Abigail arriving, baking and building up his business was where all his energy had been focused.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. He decided she was as happy about his nearness as he was. She passed over the first clean bread tin and he took it from her hands.

  Their hands brushed, and a thrill went up his arm. Did she feel that too? He glanced at her and she was staring at him, eyes wide.

  “Why don’t you get back to your baking, and I’ll deal with the tins?” she suggested, and all he could do was nod.

  It was a blessed relief to have help in the bakery. Already it was easier for him, and she’d been here such a short time.

  With the bakery cleaned and the loaves of bread cooling on the racks, Ethan began making slices and cakes. They’d been extremely popular so far, and had sold out most days.

  They were only weeks from Christmas and his mind went back to Abigail’s suggestion of producing Christmas fare.

  Dare he risk making such expensive items this soon after opening the doors?

  “Abigail,” he said gently. “We didn’t get to discuss your idea.”

  She turned to face him. Why did she seem so surprised at his comment?

  “Idea?” Had she really forgotten?

  “You mentioned making Christmas cakes and puddings to sell in the bakery.”

  She pulled her bottom lip in with her teeth. “Oh. Yes, I did.”

  He frowned.

  “I have an old family recipe,” she said. “It would be an expensive item to make, but I’m willing to bet it will be popular with your customers.”

  He frowned again. “How expensive?”

  She grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote down the recipe. Ethan checked it over. “I don’t think it would be too bad, but we’d have to get some supplies from the Mercantile in the beginning.”

  Abigail looked thoughtful. “You could make one and sell slices of it with coffee. That way people would get to try it before they bought a whole one.”

  It was an excellent idea. He pulled his pocket-watch out and checked the time, then pulled his apron over his head. “Let’s go to the Mercantile now. I’ll make the first one shortly since it takes so long to cook, and we’ll serve it tomorrow.”

  They would also buy a nightgown for Abigail, and whatever other clothing she needed, he told her.

  She pulled off her apron, and they went to the Mercantile together.

  Chapter Six

  While Ethan prepared his first Christmas cake, Abigail took orders from the customers and also prepared and served them.

  She could see it pained Ethan to have her doing everything, but it didn’t bother her at all. She was very used to running a bakery practically by herself.

  Father did most of the baking in the early morning, then often left her alone for the rest of the day. Theirs was a busy store, and at times she really struggled. But this bakery was quiet in comparison.

  The bell over the door jingled and she turned. “Hello Mrs Jensen,” she said, priding herself for remembering the older woman’s name. She guided the woman and her companions to a seat near the fire. “What would you like today, ladies?”

  After taking their orders, Abigail leaned in conspiratorially. “Tomorrow we’ll have fresh Christmas cake on offer,” she said quietly, putting her fingers across her lips as though it was a huge secret. She knew word would get around far quicker this way than any advertising Ethan might undertake.

  Mrs Jensen winked at her. “We’ll definitely be back tomorrow then,” she said, looking around the table. The other women nodded.

  It was all Abigail could do to stop herself from grinning. She understood how to run a business, and she knew how to get people to spread the word. She only hoped Ethan would be pleased.

  She made up their orders and delivered them to the table. More customers arrived as she handed them out.

  Ethan leaned over the counter. “I am nearly done,” he said quietly. “I’ll take over after that.”

  But she wouldn’
t allow it. She would continue to help him in the bakery as long as she could. Another hour or so and she would need to see to their supper, and would come back after that.

  She’d done it for so many years it was second nature. Except of course for the days her father disappeared, which was most days. Then she had to stay all day and improvise supper.

  She seated the latest customers then went behind the counter to make up their order. Ethan pulled her aside where the customers couldn’t see them.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “You’ve been amazing. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She frowned. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m your wife,” she said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help make your business successful.”

  “Abigail,” he said gently. “You’ve already done so much.” He pulled her close against him, and his hands went up her back. He rubbed gentle circles across her back and she didn’t want to move.

  She always felt so loved and wanted when he embraced her like this, felt like they’d been together forever.

  The bell over the door jingled again and she reluctantly stepped out of his arms.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, greeting their latest customers. “Let me guide you to your table.”

  When she took the orders to Ethan, he pulled her out of sight of the customers and hugged her. Had he sensed she needed it? Or did he need the affection as much as she did?

  She honestly didn’t care – finally she felt like she was wanted, and not a burden.

  She pulled out of his grip and peeked at the Christmas cake cooking in the oven. “Smells good,” she said, and Ethan leaned in over her shoulder.

  “Mmmm, it does. Let’s hope the customers like it.” His arm went up around her shoulders. “That was a great suggestion,” he told her. “You’re a great asset to this business.”

  Disappointment filled her. Was that all she was to him? An asset?

  She wanted to be more than an asset – she wanted to be a special part of his life.

  He stepped back from the oven, and turned her in his arms, then leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. Ever so lightly, but it was enough to send a thrill down her spine.