“How are my blackberries?” she called over her shoulder.
Two kitchen workers glanced at each other, their hands stained with blackberry juice. The taller of them spoke up hesitantly, “They are smashing up a bit, Miss.”
The brown eyes whisked away from the dough and hurried to inspect the blackberries. “You fold the blackberries in with the sugar,” she explained gently. “Don’t stir it like a soup. Just fold it like a silk sheet.”
The kitchen was so busy that no one noticed Rose for a good minute more, until she cleared her throat, at which moment a young waiter with a pouty mouth nearly dropped a tray of food.
“I am so sorry to startle you,” Rose apologized. “I merely wanted to ask if I could have some fresh milk and dessert brought up to my room.”
The waiter nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but not before the door behind Rose burst open. Rose moved aside, the wide door blocking her image from the entering visitor. The voice was hard to mistake for any other person than Charles Lars. Something about his condescending tone scratched on one’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“We have a young politician out there that wants to congratulate the cook for a fine meal,” he barked.
“That’s you, Meg,” one of the dishwashers piped excitedly.
Charles Lars snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Send that little tramp out? We’d be out of business within the week. Frank, you go.”
To Rose’s irritation, one of the young men, obviously no more than a mediocre help, took off his apron and walked over to a hook where a professional chef’s adornment hung. He donned it and walked towards Charles Lars.
“Remember to merely thank them and ask them to come again,” Charles Lars instructed as he led the faux chef out the door. He paused, having noticed Rose, “Is there something you need?” he asked.
Rose smiled. “Milk for my baby,” she said sweetly.
The odious man blinked and gave a fleeting glance at Daisy. “The kitchen is for clean folks,” he nodded at Daisy. “Please get your milk and leave before that baby soils something.”
Before Rose could say a worthy retort, he left. Angry, irritated, and shocked, Rose looked up at the young female chef. The face was calm, unflinching, but Rose did not miss the fire that flashed in her eyes. Rose liked her instantly.
“What is her name?” Rose asked the waiter as she nodded towards the young woman.
“Meg,” the waiter replied softly. “Charles Lars’s step-daughter.” His words were nothing save self-explanatory, but the tone was one of pity.
“Ask her to bring up dessert when she has a moment from her duties.”
“I don’t know, Miss,” the waiter shook her head. “Meg isn’t allowed out of the kitchen.”
Rose smiled and rested Daisy on her hip while she reached into her purse. A highbred woman was not meant to carry around money, it was not delicate to do so. On the other hand, Rose had discovered on her horrible journey from New Orleans that although people were not so eager to help a single woman with a colored child, they became more amiable if she offered up a few coins.
The bribery worked like a charm on the waiter, and Rose, once she had milk for Daisy, hurried to her room eager to get out of her dress, which now felt tight after such a hearty meal. She was confused by her actions. What exactly was she going to say? That it was ghastly unfair that this young woman’s talent be hidden while some random man masqueraded as the chef. It was unfair, but wasn’t part of being a woman dealing with unfair behavior? And, Rose was not exactly a grand example of female success now, was she?
“Daisy,” she sighed upon entering her room, “I should just leave things alone. There is already enough havoc in my life.” She kissed the round cheeks knowing perfectly well that one’s plans were not always God’s.“Well, I suppose if I left things alone I wouldn’t have you now, would I?” Rose blew on Daisy’s stomach then fetched a diaper. After both of them were dressed and ready for bed, there came a timid knock on the door. Leaving Daisy content in the bassinette, Rose stepped over to the door and opened it with a smile.
Meg stood holding a tray, looking completely lost. “Your dessert and milk, Miss. I was told you wanted them brought up to your room,” her words tumbled over her lips.
Rose laughed and opened the door wide. “Please come in. My! That dessert looks scrumptious!”
Meg smiled with restrained pride. “Blackberry cobbler with ice cream. I hope you like it.”
“I am sure I will, considering you made it.”
The tray trembled as Meg quickly put it down on the bedside table with a start. “Oh, you must be mistaken. I am not the cook.”
Rose sat on the bed. “You really want me to believe the boy who was following your every order is somehow the great chef of Red Bear Hotel? Sorry, my dear, but I was in the kitchen long enough to witness the truth behind the food.”
Meg frowned. “You were in the kitchen?”
“To request some milk for my daughter. You were so focused on your blackberries you didn’t notice. How long has Mr. Lars had a man pretend to be you?”
“Since I was sixteen. So it has been four years now. I always helped in the kitchen, but my dishes began to attract attention.”
Rose tilted her head. “I see.” She motioned to a chair. “Please, sit.”
Meg shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to prep food for tomorrow morning and then clean up and then plan next month’s menu. Then after that I need to-”
“Sleep hopefully?” Rose interrupted, eyeing Meg intently. When the young girl shook her head, the light strands fell from her face to reveal dark bruises and deep eye circles.
“Sleep?” Meg laughed a dry laugh. Clearly it was a pleasure she seldom enjoyed.
“Meg, if you will excuse me for being forward, where did you get those bruises on your brow?”
Her face went pale, then scarlet, and then pale again. “I, uh … I fell down the stairs and landed on my face.”
Rose bit her lip. She wished she could say that she had never seen a woman’s bruised face, nor heard the excuse of falling down stairs, but sadly it was all too common. Women were afraid to admit their husband’s, lover’s, father’s abusive ways. The stairs had become a sad, all too common alibi.“It was Mr. Lars, wasn’t it?” Rose asked quietly.
The widening of Meg’s eyes spoke before her words. “It was the stairs,” her voice was resolute, but her chin trembled. She looked so tired, so very tired, her reserve shaking as the desire to tell someone angrily and desperately grew within her.
“Meg,” Rose stood up and closed the space between them. Then, with a gentle gesture, she brushed aside the hair so carefully styled over Meg’s face. “Forgive me, but how long has this been going on?” There was a catch in Rose’s voice and her eyes misted over.
“Ever since he married my mother.” Meg blurted out before she could recall the words back to her mouth. Shocked at herself, she blinked, but could not stop the tears that stung the cuts on her cheek. “My father was kind but not loyal. He found better things and different dreams. After he left us, then Mr. Lars came along. He says … he says he won’t ever leave, and my mother clings to him as if he was her only reason for living.” Meg covered her face with her hands, sobbing even harder as she felt Rose wrap her arms around her.
Rose didn’t say anything knowing that Meg was talking more to herself than to her.
“I minded at first,” Meg continued. “I prayed that it would stop, begged God to show mercy and get rid of him,” she wiped her nose, her expression clouding with anger, “but God did not listen.”
Rose glanced over at Daisy. “It certainly does seem that way sometimes,” she turned back to Meg. “I do not believe any person deserves abuse, Meg. We women often take all kinds of abuse because we hold on to the hope that a man can change, but sadly,” she smiled wryly, thinking of Cade, “they rarely do, and sometimes it takes you being completely broken before you realize that. Have you thought about leaving thi
s place and finding work somewhere else?”
Meg rubbed her eyes. “Where else?”
Rose opened her mouth but nothing came out. Where could she go? It was clear this girl had culinary talent, but with a man playing her part no one would believe she was the chef of The Red Bear Hotel. Charles Lars would not give her a good recommendation, if only just to keep her. The world had no offers for a girl like Meg.
An idea suddenly formed into Rose’s mind. She quickly squelched it, but it emerged with a tenacity that she struggled to push down.
No. Absolutely not.
Yet, she found herself returning to the bassinette to pick up Daisy and motioning for Meg to join her on the bed. When the young woman did, Rose took a deep breath and gave a long exhale. “Meg, have you ever been to Tall Pine?”
Six
Cade Walker rubbed his bloodshot eyes. She had not come back. After weeks of looking forward to her pleadings and apologies, Rose was still gone. Not only that, but he heard she had returned to Denver with a little dark girl. Cade felt his gut contract. It was his fault her name was being dragged through the mud.
“I’m telling you that we will not take your cousin’s child!” he had yelled. Those words now haunted him. He had said them in desperation. Even as they left his tongue, he knew they were wrong. What kind of man had he become? A man who had once outsmarted train robbers by the dozens—now he was a man who had lost his money, his family’s respect, his wife.
Still, he had wanted Rose to yell, to fight. He had wanted an excuse for why he played the cards, why he drank.
But Rose had not yelled. Her cornflower blue eyes had not filled with tears as they once did. Instead, something else had passed over her face: pure resolve.
Cade had rummaged through her jewelry box until he found the jewelry he’d been looking for; his jaw clenched with emotion remembering when he’d given her the necklace. It was a delicate figure of a cow hanging on a silver chain.
He’d had it made especially for her after Rose had come back from a party yanking her hair pins out in frustration because she felt so different from the other women.
“They know magazines and scandal,” she’d shrugged and dabbed at her stubborn tears. “I know cows, and cows, and more cows.” She’d laughed at herself, shaking her head. “And I love my cows.”
“Don’t try to be like them,” Cade had said. “If I had wanted a gossiping woman with three hairdressers I would have married one.” He’d taken her in his arms. “I love that you worked on a dairy. It takes a true woman to milk a cow, and smell like one,” he’d teased before she grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him.
The day after, he had visited a silversmith and had the necklace made for her. He rubbed the necklace now in his fingers as he sat in a circle of men, all anticipating what they could win or lose.
With an audible growl Cade laid down a royal flush on the table. The buxom woman beside him smiled and stroked his knee. She meant nothing to Cade and was simply the flirtatious rebellion of a married man. Rose had ruined their appeal: Every woman was suddenly easy, gaudy, loud, and loose; the antithesis of the wife who had once loved him. He’d begun to hate Rose’s upright ways: They made him feel dirty and less of a man. Now he craved them. Somehow her faith, morals, and general outlook on life acted as an anchor, no matter how he himself chose to live. Scowling, he moved the woman’s hand. Her red painted lips turned down and she began to glance around, looking for a more interested party.
One by one, each participant laid down their row of cards. Cade felt the adrenaline coarse through his body. This is what he needed: the excitement, the rush of the unknown, the possibility that he would leave with heavier pockets.
“I’m all in.” Cade pushed everything he had to the center of the table. He was bluffing, of course. Luck had not been his friend this round. Adrenaline surged through him as his opponent grinned and laid down his own cards. At the sight of deadly Aces, Cade’s spirit fell. He watched the coins and cash he’d offered get swept up with manic glee as the opponent scooped up his winnings.
“I can make you feel better,” the high sugary voice beside him offered seductively. Cade turned and looked at her. She was beautiful with raven locks, clear skin, and a body so perfect it could make Aphrodite herself crumble. “I could make tonight a win for you,” she winked.
Cade let her long fingers trail his leg. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Freedom, excitement, losing and winning in the same night? Why not succumb to the one temptation he’d deflected throughout his marriage. Cade opened his mouth, but no words came. No words, no lust—nothing besides the memory of Rose teasing him, smiling softly, and caressing lazy hearts on his hand during church. No, of course he did not miss that.
“Who am I fooling?” he muttered, earning a confused scowl from the woman.
With a heavy sigh, Cade once again removed the hand from his leg and headed to the bar. More than a physical escape, he needed a strong drink—maybe a few.
/
What was she doing? What in both Heaven and Hades was she doing? Rose bit her lip while Daisy slept in her arms and Meg’s head rested on her shoulder.Two girls. Two lost girls. Rose gulped. Caring for Daisy had not been a choice. She knew the baby needed her and that she needed Daisy. Still, she had never cared for a child, and now she was suddenly having to feed, change, dress, wash, and travel with an infant—an infant who seemed to be doomed to harsh words and prejudice. Now she also had Meg, a young, hurt, and scared girl. Rose herself felt hurt and scared. How could she help Meg figure out a future when Rose did not even know her own? She glanced at Meg. Despite the girl’s best efforts to cover it, she had a pretty face. Interesting how some women hide their beauty, while others obsess over it. Rose had spent a good portion of her marriage primping and investing hours in her looks. If she were pretty enough, she had told herself countless times, Cade would love her enough to stop gambling. The problem must be her, not him. Of course now she knew why she had wanted the problem to be her, because then she could fix it.
“Thank you for teaching me to let go.” Rose whispered a small prayer just as the driver shouted that they would soon be approaching Tall Pine. Meg sat up with a kitten-like smile on her lips as she stretched out her arms. “Did he say we are here?” she asked sleepily.“Nearly,” Rose replied. “My husband used to say that one could smell cherry pastries and apple pie when they were a mile away from Tall Pine.” Rose shifted her weight. She would need to get used to not referring to Cade as her husband.
“Sounds like heaven.” Meg grinned.
Rose nodded in agreement. “Pretty close to it.”
The coach stopped just past the post office, and Rose’s heart began to race. She was about to step outside with Daisy and Meg to once again face more assumptions and whispers. She wished there was a way she could pin her whole history on her forehead so there would be no need to explain. That way no one would be misinformed, and in turn, she would not have to explain her marriage or divorce to anyone. The driver opened the door and offered Meg a hand. Then, holding her breath, Rose allowed herself to be escorted out.
The bright sun assaulted Rose’s eyes as she placed her small-heeled shoe on the ground. A small crowd had gathered to see the passengers. Much to her dismay, Rose recognized no one; she did, however, recognize the looks they gave to her daughter.
Immediately, Rose lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. She glanced at the crowd challengingly and held Daisy even higher on her chest. Daisy was hers, and if anyone had a problem with that fact, then they could simply keep their opinions to themselves.
Meg gazed wonderingly at the small crowd. “Which one is your mother?” she whispered anxiously.
Rose scanned the crowd; some came forward to embrace other passengers now exiting the coach. Most simply whispered to one another with their eyes darting to the cooing Daisy.
There was no sign of Rose’s doe-eyed mother, nor her tall father. She looked past the foreign faces and down the curved cobblestone road li
ned with glass-paned shops. Things were more colorful than she remembered. There were red geraniums and shops with green doors and yellow framed windows. A sudden warmth spread throughout Rose; this place held such good memories. Kyle Lampton’s bakery, the book store, Eliza’s dress shop, the post office, and the new school house. She could feel at home—if only her mother were among those looking at her.
“Rose!” a familiar masculine voice called out to her. Nearly running, a tall man with jet black curls and a face that looked carved from marble came towards them.
“Jonathan!” Rose felt her face break into a grin as her childhood friend rushed forward. “What are you doing in Tall Pine?” She grabbed his hand in hers, suddenly feeling more at ease.
Jonathan had lived near the dairy with his parents and several brothers—half of them were now employed on Castle Dairy, but Jonathan had left a few years back to study medicine at Harvard. The two had always been close and had sadly disappointed both their parents when no engagement emerged. It was hard to explain to others the lack of romantic feelings they had for each other. Most people in town had assumed that because the two spent so much time with one another, they ought to marry. Ironically, the last time Rose had seen him had been on her own wedding day.
Rose found herself once again wondering why she had not fallen in love with Jonathan. He was by all accounts her perfect match, but the feelings had never come. Then Cade came around, with his square jaw and that slow wink he used whenever he teased her. He came to Tall Pine, alongside his uncle, greeted by angry locals protesting the potential railroad that the Walker family wanted to run through Tall Pine. Cade was a crime consultant specializing in railway robberies.
In the end it was Cade, much to his father’s disapproval, who had convinced his family to not touch Tall Pine. He claimed it would be a tragedy to ruin such a beautiful place. Instantly, he became a local hero, winning Rose’s heart in the process.
The Ways of Heaven Page 3
