by Regina Scott
As if to prove it, Ciara and Aiden glared at the clerk.
Mr. Weinclef swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat again. “Indeed, indeed. My words were not well chosen. Oh, look, here we are at the store.” He hurried ahead to open the door for Maddie.
Trying to put a damper on her response to the prejudice, she ushered Ciara and Aiden inside, with Michael right behind. Still, it was hard to forget. New York had been a swamp of despair for so many people of her heritage. She still remembered caricatures in the papers showing Irishmen as drunken apes, Irishwomen as grasping pigs. Shops had posted signs saying No Irish Need Apply. That hatred had only fueled the fury of the Dead Rabbits. She didn’t want to see such things happen here. Surely Seattle was different.
“Look, Maddie,” Aiden called. “Eggs.”
Maddie followed him to a crate set up along the wall, where he and Ciara were gazing at six tan shells nestled in wood shavings. Ciara pointed to the price written in black on the white card beside them.
“Well, no one will be paying that,” she declared.
“On the contrary, Miss Ciara,” Mr. Weinclef said, joining them. “We generally sell out before noon.”
Ciara frowned, but Maddie was glad her sister stopped short of accusing the man of telling tales.
“And look here,” Aiden said, tugging on Ciara’s arm. “Five pennies for a lemon!”
“Brought from California at great expense,” Mr. Weinclef said, chest puffing. “As are most of the goods in this store. We trade with the British forts to the north too, and all the way to China and the Japanese Islands.”
Ciara’s eyes widened.
“With so many goods to stock,” Michael put in, “you must need someone to uncrate and shelve them.”
Mr. Weinclef scowled at him. “That, sir, is my job.”
“And very good you are about it too,” Maddie assured him. “Why, I wouldn’t have found half the things I needed for my bakery but for your help. Sure-n a fine enterprising lad like yourself deserves an assistant.”
Mr. Weinclef nodded, head jiggling on his neck. “That I do, Miss O’Rourke, and no mistake.”
Maddie seized Michael’s arm and dragged him forward. “And aren’t you fortunate that Mr. Haggerty is looking for just such a position?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t too keen on being named Mr. Weinclef’s underling, but the clerk reacted even more strongly. He stumbled back and adjusted his bow tie with trembling fingers.
“I am not in a position of authority to be interviewing staff,” he sputtered. “No, no, it is simply too much to ask, even for you, Miss O’Rourke.”
“Might there be a manager I could talk with instead?” Michael asked.
As if accepting his fate, Mr. Weinclef sagged. “This way.” He waved a hand toward the back of the shop.
With a wink to Maddie, Michael followed him.
Maddie sent Ciara to the back of the store as well to pick up her dress and coat from Nora’s corner. While they waited, Aiden darted about the store, examining everything from a wide-mouthed bear trap on the rough wood wall to the bright bolts of calico stacked in a corner. Spices and fruits vied with men’s cologne to scent the air.
Maddie followed her brother more slowly, peeking around boxes and displays to check on how Michael was faring. She could see him at the rear counter, nodding to something one of the Kellogg brothers, who owned the store, was saying.
She had to admire Michael’s tenacity. He seemed to be making a good case for himself. Still, for all she’d championed his cause, she had a hard time seeing him threading his way through the crowded store on a regular basis. Why, those shoulders of his would never make it past the first display!
“Here for more supplies, Miss O’Rourke?”
Maddie turned at the question to find Charles Terry standing in the aisle. Mr. Terry was accorded one of the finest fellows in Seattle, having been among the first to arrive in the area and lend a hand in building many a business. Tall and slender, with a mass of dark hair and bushy beard and mustache veined with silver for all he was a few years shy of forty, his keen gray eyes always drew Maddie’s attention.
That and the fact that he owned the other bakery in town.
“Good day to you, Mr. Terry,” she said with a nod. “Thank you for asking, but I have all the supplies I need at the moment.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile. “And here I was sure you must have sold out, considering the number of customers that have been flocking to your door.”
How did he know? It wasn’t as if the two establishments were within eyesight of each other. His Eureka Bakery was down on the bluff overlooking the Sound, hers higher on the hill.
“We’ve been blessed to do well our first few weeks,” she acknowledged.
“Seattle ever rushes to the new and interesting,” he agreed. “A word of caution, if I may, one owner to another?”
Maddie couldn’t imagine what advice he might have for her, but she nodded for him to continue.
He leaned closer as if imparting a secret. “A pretty face may sell all manner of goods in this town, but will your avid followers still support you when it becomes known you favor a certain gentleman?”
His gaze ventured past her to where Michael was returning.
Maddie’s temper flared once more. “In the first place, Mr. Terry,” she said in ringing tones, “don’t be making the mistake of thinking my products inferior because they were made by someone with a pretty face. In the second, I have no favorite gentleman. If I hear rumors to the contrary, I’ll be knowing where to place the blame.”
Unlike Mr. Weinclef, Mr. Terry did not look away or beg her pardon. He merely inclined his head, smile still pleasant. “Words to the wise, Miss O’Rourke,” he said congenially before strolling away.
What, did he think to frighten her with his thinly veiled threat? She knew the quality of her work. That it was served with a smile was only icing on the cake. Seattle’s bachelors were hungry for home cooking, and she met that need. It was as simple as that.
But if rumors began circulating that she was sweet on Michael Haggerty, she’d have more trouble on her hands than starting a new bakery or raising her sister and brother. Her friends Catherine Wallin and Allegra Howard would be all too happy to aid Ciara in matchmaking, and, by Nora’s comment the other day, the seamstress wasn’t far behind. Maddie wasn’t about to admit that she felt anything other than pity for the out-of-work Irishman.
Even though her heart called her liar.
* * *
Michael slowed as he approached Maddie. Once more her look was as fiery as her hair. What had upset her now?
“Something wrong?” he asked as he reached her.
“Nothing fresh air won’t cure,” she promised. Calling to Aiden, she swept for the door. Ciara hurried after them, clutching her folded clothes to her chest.
Weinclef was right behind her. Michael’s irritation rose. The clerk had gone out of his way to assure his employer that he needed no help after all. Michael had used every argument he could think of—his experience with the many goods coming in to the Brooklyn docks, his willingness to work for low wages to start as he learned the position, his ability to come in any hours needed—all to no avail. And every time he’d glanced toward the store, he’d seen Maddie gazing at him with such hope in her eyes that he’d wanted the job more than ever, if only to keep from disappointing her.
“You sound like a shopkeeper’s best friend, Mr. Haggerty,” Kellogg had assured him. “Unfortunately, Weinclef doesn’t seem to need help, and there are no other positions available.”
“Must you go, Miss O’Rourke?” the clerk asked now, darting around her before she could open the door. “I thought we might go for a walk, just the two of us.” He glanced back at Michael as if to make sure he knew he
was not invited.
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Weinclef,” she answered. “But it’s raining again, and I should be getting the children home for an early dinner. They didn’t have much breakfast.” She smiled at Ciara and Aiden as they joined her.
“No eggs,” Aiden said with a heavy sigh. “Chickens don’t like racing after all.”
Weinclef blinked as if he didn’t follow, then brightened. “No eggs? Why then, you must take some of ours. My treat.”
There he went again, falling all over himself to do Maddie a favor. Under the same circumstances, Katie would have accepted anything the clerk had offered and thought nothing of it. Ciara’s reaction wasn’t far off.
“Oh, thank you!” she cried, hugging her clothes, brown eyes glowing with gratitude.
Maddie, however, shook her head, velvet hat slipping with the movement. Michael had to clench his fist to keep from reaching out to right it.
“Very thoughtful of you, Mr. Weinclef,” she said, “but I can’t be accepting.”
Ciara deflated. Aiden gazed up at Maddie. “Why not?”
Michael found himself waiting for the answer.
“It isn’t right to be taking Mr. Kellogg’s only eggs when we know others may be needing them more,” Maddie told her brother.
Aiden frowned. “What others?”
Michael didn’t know whom she meant either. But he had a feeling she was simply trying to find an excuse that wouldn’t hurt the clerk’s feelings. She probably wouldn’t thank him for it, but Michael felt compelled to step in.
“Your sister has told you the way of it, Aiden,” he told the boy. “Leave be.”
Aiden pinched his lips together, but his scowl spoke for him.
“Thank you again for your escort today, Mr. Weinclef,” Maddie said with a smile that set the man blushing. “Be sure to stop by the bakery next week. I’ll have something sweet waiting just for you.”
Stammering his thanks, Weinclef opened the door to allow her to leave. The fellow looked so happy with the crumbs she offered him that Michael felt disgust growing inside him.
“Do you like him?” Ciara asked her sister, scrunching her nose.
Maddie kept her head high as she snapped open the umbrella. “Mr. Weinclef is a fine fellow, and I’m glad he’s my friend.”
Michael snorted, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Then why not take his eggs?” Ciara whined, glancing back at the store.
“Because he’s a fine fellow, as I said,” Maddie replied. “I won’t be impinging on his generosity. But I see no reason to slight him just because people will gossip if they see us together.” She angled the umbrella to try to cover Michael. He took it from her and held it over them all. She strode down the boardwalk so fast Ciara and Aiden had to scurry to keep up.
Who was gossiping? He’d noticed her talking to that curly-haired fellow in the store, but the man had left before Michael had heard any of the conversation.
Ciara and Aiden seemed to accept her word, for they fell to arguing over who had sung better in church. Michael leaned closer to Maddie, catching a whiff of cinnamon.
“If it’s gossip that concerns you,” he murmured, “I probably provide more fodder than Mr. Weinclef.”
“Nonsense,” she said, so forcefully that a strand of red hair flew up to tickle his nose.
“The truth,” he promised. “You must have seen how your customers reacted to me yesterday. They didn’t seem too pleased to find me in your employ.”
“You are not in my employ, Mr. Haggerty,” she said. “You are a friend of the family who’s helping while you look to establish yourself here. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
Surprised at her vehemence, he hesitated, and she reached out to pull Ciara and Aiden closer.
“Come with me,” she told them. “I want to show you something.” She turned the corner and started up the hill, lifting her skirts out of the mud. Michael lengthened his stride to keep up.
The rain stopped as they climbed the hill above the shops, away from the harbor. But the lack of precipitation didn’t mean anything would dry out soon, he was learning. From what he’d seen, Michael was amazed Seattle didn’t just wash itself down into the Sound. The entire town was built on a hillside, and every stretch of land that wasn’t covered by a building seemed to be covered in mud. Here and there, single-story whitewashed houses popped up like mushrooms. But the higher they climbed, the nicer the houses became.
Maddie stopped in front of one. The lovely two-story house had bric-a-brac dripping from the eaves and broad shutters framing every window. The wide front porch beckoned the weary traveler, as did the golden light shining from the parlor window. He’d never imagined anything so fine out in the wilderness.
“This is where Mr. Terry and his wife live,” Maddie told Ciara and Aiden. “He came to Seattle when he hadn’t even reached his majority. He worked hard, saved his pennies and now he has this and a farm on the Duwamish River.”
“It’s a castle,” Aiden said, eyeing the peaked points over the second-story windows.
“It’s not a castle,” Ciara scolded him. “Castles have moats. But it is a fine house.” She turned wistfully to Maddie. “Could we have something so nice one day?”
Maddie hugged her closer. “Someday, me darling. You see, Mr. Terry owns a bakery, just like me. I figure if he can rise so far, why can’t I? If I can make a success of it, we’ll have all this and more.”
Michael wished he could believe that. Once he’d thought that hard work and integrity would make his fortune. Then circumstances had pulled all his dreams from his grip. Maddie’s bakery was on shaky footing as it was, if the loss of a day’s worth of eggs could set her back. He’d seen how hard she worked just to make ends meet.
If this was what she really wanted, a fine house on the hill overlooking Puget Sound, how much harder would she have to work? And what would she have to sacrifice to make her dreams come true?
Chapter Ten
Maddie returned to the bakery with Michael, Ciara and Aiden, head high. Walking past the fine houses on Third Avenue always raised her spirits. On a sunny day, she could see Mount Rainier in one direction, and Puget Sound and the Olympics in the other. But most of all, she caught a glimpse of what she might become: prosperous, comfortable, safe. It was all up to her.
She could tell she’d made an impression on her sister, for Ciara had kept glancing back at the Terry house until it was out of sight, and now she nearly skipped into the bakery. That was hope. Perhaps faith in the future would help them past this rough patch.
Michael was more pensive, head bowed and hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. She supposed it was a fussy house for a man like him, all that fancy trim and pointy spires. But it seemed to her that something more was bothering him than Mr. Terry’s taste in homebuilding.
“Change out of your good clothes,” she told Aiden as her brother and sister started up the stairs. “And see that you hang up your new dress, Ciara. I’ll find something in the larder for dinner.”
Aiden heaved a sigh as if even climbing the stairs was too much. “What can you make with no eggs?”
Perhaps he’d learned his lesson. “I’ll bake the ham in a pie with a nice flaky crust,” she told him. “You’ll like that.”
Aiden’s lack of reply disagreed with her.
Foot on the stair, Michael hesitated.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Haggerty?” Maddie asked.
“So all this—” his hand swung to encompass the bakery and the flat above “—is for a pretty house on a hill.”
Heat pulsed through her. “You don’t understand.”
He turned from the stair and approached her, gaze searching hers. “Then help me understand.”
Maddie sighed. She owed him no explanation, yet she lon
ged to give him one. “You were raised in Five Points. Do you truly see so little value in a clean and comfortable place to live?”
Again he waved his hand. “You already have something clean and comfortable.”
“And what’s wrong with wanting more?” Maddie challenged him. “Perhaps just once in my life I’d like to wake up without feeling the burdens on my shoulders, to know that me and mine will be fed and sheltered, even if I spend the day reading or visiting friends. To feel as if I’m safe from the whims of others, unlike me mother, father and stepmother, who wearied themselves working and worrying. Is that too much to ask?”
His face looked sad. “No,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
Maddie threw up her hands. “Name me one person who doesn’t want that!”
He caught one of her hands and held it. “That wasn’t what I meant, Maddie. Many people in the world have all those things and think nothing of them. I doubt Mr. Weinclef or the Kellogg brothers lay awake at night listening for the next shot of a pistol, the shouts and screams of fear from the neighbors that tells you trouble is just a door away. I see how hard you’re working. How can you take on more?”
His hand was warm, the touch gentle, but she felt as if someone was standing behind her, prodding her with a stick. She pulled away from him. “I’ll take on as much as need be so Ciara and Aiden and I don’t have to worry about the future. And that will be soon, if this wedding is the success I’m hoping it will be.”
He shook his head. “You already serve every man in Seattle from what I can see.”
“But not many of their wives.” She hated to point it out to him lest he accuse her of selling her smile. “If this bakery is to prosper, I need the patronage of my own gender—the Denny ladies, Mrs. Maynard. They are the future of Seattle.”
At last his brow cleared. “So, along with security, you want respect.”
She nodded. “Now you have the right of it. Security for my family, respect for my work and my character. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
