Love's Sweet Beginning

by Ann Shorey

  Cassie thought she’d swoon from joy. Here’s where he’d ask if he could court her. She drew in a breath. “What’s the question?” Her heart trip-hammered while she waited for his response.

  “If I hire a girl to help you, would you be interested in operating a bakery from the restaurant kitchen, just for your pies? Of course I’d increase your salary.”

  “What!?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

  “I thought about this all last night. You’ve shown a good head for numbers, so you can keep your own records. We’d meet at the end of the day and I’d enter the totals in my ledger.”

  She felt like sinking through the floor of the buggy. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts—her words had been bad enough. Speechless, she released his hand and scooted toward her side of the buggy seat.

  He leaned toward her. “I know this is sudden. Take as long as you need to answer.”

  Moments ticked by while she struggled to form a response. Despite her dismay at the turn their conversation had taken, his proposition sounded appealing. She enjoyed the clockwork timing of baking pies between scheduled mealtimes. With a little rearranging, she and Jenny could make the kitchen a more efficient place to work. And with an extra helper she could handle more orders.

  She dipped her head toward her lap. A few months ago, she hadn’t known she possessed the ability to bake a single pie, much less take orders and sell them. The Lord had blessed her. She couldn’t let embarrassed pride stand in her way.

  Jacob shifted on the seat. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am. Thank you for the opportunity.” She kept her head down, lest he see the disappointment in her eyes. How silly she’d been to think he wanted anything more than a business relationship.

  18

  On Friday evening, Jacob leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, watching while Miss Haddon bustled about the space, directing Wash as he rearranged the work area.

  “That table under the window goes here by the door,” she told him, leading the way across the room. “That way the shelves are opposite. Since the pie pans are stored there, they’ll be easier to reach.”

  “Yes, missy.” Wash maneuvered the thick wooden worktable around the stationary counter where the washbasin rested. The muscles in his arms stood out from bearing the weight.

  She stopped next to Jacob and turned to him with a smile. “If I work on this side, Jenny will have the area around the range for meal preparation.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’ve talked about this plan all week. I’m so glad you approve of the arrangement.”

  He shifted his weight on his crutches in order to stand taller. “You do whatever’s necessary. This corner is your bakery. If there’s anything else you need, just say so.”

  “Well, there is one thing. You mentioned hiring a girl to help. Have you found someone?” She flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. That’s your business, not mine.”

  “Miss Haddon, I told you we’d work together on this enterprise. I’ve had an idea I’d like to—”

  The table bumped against the wall. “This where you want it, missy?” Wash wiped his brow with his forearm.

  “Yes. Thank you so much.”

  “Need anything else moved?”

  “No. I’m sorry to have kept you from your other chores.”

  “Mr. West said I was to do anything you wanted. Just holler.” He grabbed a bucket and headed for the pump in the alley. The screen door banged.

  She lifted her warm gaze to meet his. “Anything I wanted? You’re very kind.”

  Jacob fought down the jolt of pleasure that shot through him.

  “Just doing what’s good for business. After all, I asked you to take on a big job.” He winced at the unintended gruffness in his voice.

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Her expression flattened. “You mentioned an idea a moment ago. Please tell me more.”

  He pivoted so that he faced the grocery. “I need to get off this leg. Please come to my office for a minute. We can talk there.”

  She walked beside him through the dining room, matching her pace to his. Her skirts whispered over the wooden floor. “I forgot about your leg,” she said, her tone regretful. “I’m sorry to keep you standing for so long.”

  “No need to apologize. I wanted to be there.” He stepped to one side so she could enter his office, then used a crutch to point at one of the chairs. “Please, let’s sit for a moment.”

  His senses jangled when she brushed past him, the crisp fragrance of lavender trailing in her wake.

  She gazed around the storeroom for a moment, then perched on the edge of a chair. “You’re going to tell me about your idea, Mr. West?”

  He drew his chair close to hers. The lamp on the table enfolded them in an intimate circle of light.

  “Wash told me about a woman he’s met. Her name’s Becca Rowan. Like him, she’s a former slave. Since the war ended, she’s been making her way north. She ended up in Noble Springs a few days ago.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Wash asked if I could give her a job. I’d like to hire her to help you, if you agree.”

  “Of course. What a perfect solution.” She beamed at him.

  “Not so fast. She was a field hand—I doubt she has any pie-making abilities. Maybe never worked in a modern kitchen.” He pinned her with his gaze. “She’d be more work than help, I’m afraid—at least in the beginning.”

  Her smile broadened. “Sounds like me when I first came here. You gave me a chance—why shouldn’t we do the same for Becca?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I’ll speak to Wash about her tonight. I’d like it if she could start tomorrow morning. I know Saturdays are busy, but she’d have a chance to learn her way around the kitchen at least.”

  She scooted back on her chair. “You’re a kind man, Mr. West. Everyone in town respects you.”

  He’d worked hard to earn their respect. If anyone knew—no, that would never happen. He cleared his throat. Was she simply being polite? Did he dare—?

  “I’m not as interested in what everyone thinks as I am in your opinion.” He gave a half laugh to cover his embarrassment. Drawing a deep breath, he touched the back of her hand.

  “When we’re by ourselves, I’d like it if you’d call me Jacob.” What if she refused, or worse yet, laughed at him?

  A blush painted her cheeks. “I’d like nothing better . . . Jacob. My given name is Cassiopeia, but my friends call me Cassie.”

  Her name sounded sweet in his ears, yet did he dare allow her into his heart? His courtship of Rosemary Saxon had been prompted by practical considerations. He knew with Cassie he wasn’t being a bit practical.

  “Cassie. I don’t suppose you’d want to go for a buggy ride with me on Sunday afternoon?”

  She chuckled. “That’s certainly a roundabout invitation. I would be pleased to go riding with you after church. In fact, would you care to join me for the services?”

  “No, thank you. It’s been a mighty long time since I’ve been inside a church. I don’t plan to start now.”

  She raised an eyebrow, then rose and turned toward the entrance. “It’s growing late. Please excuse me. I prefer to walk to my cabin while there’s still some daylight.”

  He knew his response disturbed her. Nevertheless, his decisions were his own business. He struggled to his feet, grabbing his crutches as he stood. “I wish I could offer to see you home. I’ll ask Wash to escort you.”

  “That’s kind of you, but risky for him. Don’t worry. I’ll be there in five minutes or less.” She paused in the doorway. “Please tell Wash I’m eager to meet Becca.” She whisked through the opening and disappeared toward the kitchen.

  Becca. For a few brief minutes he’d forgotten his intention to hire the woman. Cassie’s presence had that effect on him. He laughed at himself. As a young man he’d seen others smitten by a pretty girl and wondered how they could be so calf-eyed. Then he’d been
too busy surviving to think about girls.

  Now he understood.

  The next morning, Cassie stood in the restaurant kitchen admiring her new workspace. Sometime after she’d left last evening, Jacob had mounted a lamp on the wall over her table. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. Since her area had no windows, the light would help her to see well, no matter how cloudy the weather.

  “What are we baking in this fine corner today?” Jenny asked. She leaned against the table, arms folded over her round stomach.

  “Pecan, from the recipe you taught me last week—I hope. Mr. West planned to hire a helper for us last night. Her name’s Becca Rowan—she’s someone Wash recommended.”

  “She’s colored?”

  “Yes.” She noticed Jenny’s dubious expression. “Why?”

  “I never did hold with slavery. He better pay her the same as us.”

  “I didn’t think to inquire, but I expect he will. Wash wouldn’t have asked him if he were an unfair man.”

  “We’ll see. Once she gets started, I’ll make it my business to find out.”

  Cassie smiled at her outspoken friend. A kind heart beat beneath the woman’s peppery exterior. In certain ways, she reminded her of Mother.

  At the thought of her mother, worry prickled at the back of her mind. Two weeks had passed, and she’d had no letter. Why hadn’t she written?

  She startled when Jenny squeezed her arm. “You’re wool-gathering. What does Becca have to do with pecan pies?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I was thinking about my mother.”

  “Is she ill?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. I’ve written to her twice, but I haven’t had a response.” She bit her lower lip. “I pray I did the right thing by leaving her in Calusa.”

  “Bad news travels fast. You’d know if something was wrong.” Jenny pulled her into a brief hug. “Now, let’s talk about your first day in our bake shop.”

  Cassie forced her thoughts to the task at hand. “I plan to ask Becca to shell the pecans. Mr. West has a couple of sacks full in the storeroom. I noticed them last night.”

  Jenny raised an eyebrow.

  “I . . . I was in his office. That’s when he told me about Becca.” Warmth crept up her neck.

  She turned away when the screen door creaked, grateful for the interruption. A dark-skinned woman stood on the threshold, hands clasped together. From her unlined face and black hair, Cassie guessed her to be near her own age—middle twenties. The hemline on her faded turkey-red print dress stopped above the toes of her worn boots. When she stepped inside, she held her head at a proud angle, as if challenging them to look down on her.

  “You must be Becca Rowan.”

  “Yes. And you’re Missy Haddon. Mr. West told Wash you needed help.” Her tone was respectful, but not subservient.

  “That we do.” She turned toward Jenny. “Mrs. Fielder and I are glad you’re here. Goodness knows we can use another set of hands.”

  Becca took another step into the room. Her gaze swept the massive range with its side-by-side ovens, the worktables, the shelving along the walls. She held up her callused palms. “I never worked in a big kitchen. I been in the fields most of my life. Hope I don’t burn nothing.”

  “When I came here, I didn’t know the first thing about cooking—still don’t, really. But Mrs. Fielder helped me, and I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, I can cook all right—over a fire. Just never was allowed to work indoors with the kitchen help.” She pointed to the rack of cookware next to the range. “Never saw so many fancy skillets and such.”

  “Well, first things first. Put on one of these.” Cassie lifted a folded garment from a shelf.

  Becca examined the square-cut white cotton apron. “You give this to me for free?”

  “Mr. West supplies these for us. We wear a clean one each day. Before we leave in the evening, we drop the soiled one in that basket over there. The boy who works in the grocery—Timothy—his mother washes them.”

  “Lord have mercy. No one’s washed clothes for me since I was a baby.”

  After Becca fastened her apron, Cassie showed her around the kitchen, then led her to the shelf where the dishes were stored. “Our first task is to set the breakfast tables, then I start making pies.” She explained how to prepare the tables, and while Becca followed her directions, Cassie crossed to the grocery.

  Jacob stood at one of the shelves, shuffling bags of coffee from back to front. He turned when she entered. “How’s Becca getting along? Are you pleased with her?”

  “She just got here, but I’m sure she’ll do fine. In fact, I came to ask if you’d have Timothy carry over one of those sacks of pecans I noticed last night. I plan to put her to work shelling them.”

  “Consider it done.” He leaned his weight on his crutches and moved around the counter. A grin tugged at his lips. “This is working out better than I thought. You’re over here already—I don’t have to wait until evening to have a moment with you.”

  Her insides tickled. “You’re kind to say so, but I must—”

  The outer door opened. A tall blond man stepped inside, then came to an abrupt stop when he saw her.

  Garrett—no, Patrick—Fitzhugh removed his hat and bowed. “Miss Haddon. What wonderful luck. Your mother told me I’d find you at this establishment, but she said you’d be in the kitchen.” He rubbed his forehead. “I must have misunderstood.”

  Without considering her actions, she backed up until she stood close to Jacob. His solid presence steadied her as she stammered out her question.

  “My mother? What’s happened to her?”

  19

  Cassie held her breath, waiting for Mr. Fitzhugh’s reply. Jacob shifted on his crutches until his shoulder touched hers.

  Mr. Fitzhugh’s gaze bounced between them as though he’d just noticed Jacob. He stepped forward and held out his hand.

  “You must be Mr. West. Miss Haddon’s mother has mentioned you.” From his tone, the mention hadn’t been favorable.

  Jacob grasped the extended hand. “Jacob West. And your name?”

  “Patrick Fitzhugh. Miss Haddon and I are old friends.”

  Cassie gasped at the implication. They weren’t friends at all. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Fitzhugh. We’ve only met briefly on two occasions. Why would you come in here and pretend a relationship that doesn’t exist?”

  “My apologies. I confess I was presuming upon your engagement to my older brother. Had he lived, we’d have known each other well.” He sent her a winning smile. “Please forgive me for overstepping.”

  Jacob moved away from her side. Head lowered, he glared at Mr. Fitzhugh. “You’ve come at a busy time. Perhaps you and Miss Haddon could continue your conversation later.” His growl sent a shiver through her. Few people would ignore the power in that voice.

  Mr. Fitzhugh wasn’t one of them. “I understand.” He backed toward the entrance, then faced Cassie. “I’ll be here until Monday. Perhaps you’d allow me to escort you to church tomorrow. Your mother told me where you’re living and where you worship.”

  “My mother . . .” Cassie held out her hand. “Please tell me. Is she all right?”

  “She’s well.” He shot a glance in Jacob’s direction. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, when you’re free.”

  The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

  Jacob leaned against a counter, a stunned expression on his face. “You were engaged? How long ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We’re hardly that well acquainted, Mr. West.” She deliberately reverted to using his formal name. “If such a time ever comes, rest assured you’ll have all your questions answered.” She tightened her jaw. “Now I really must get back to the kitchen. Please don’t forget the pecans.”

  She strode through the dining room, her mind awash with new worries. Would Jacob lose interest in her because she’d once loved another? The prospect had caused her to answer his questions more sharply than she intended. Once again, her qu
ick tongue had run away with her.

  Then there was the issue of her mother’s welfare. She wished she didn’t have to wait until tomorrow morning to learn why Mother had sent Mr. Fitzhugh to Noble Springs.

  The beginnings of a headache throbbed in her temples.

  On Sunday morning, moments after tying the emerald-colored ribbons on her bonnet, Cassie heard a knock at her door. She checked her reflection in the mirror before answering. Worried green eyes stared back at her. Mr. Fitzhugh’s news couldn’t be too terrible, or he wouldn’t have made her wait a day before delivering his message. Or would he? Perhaps Jacob’s scowl intimidated him more than she believed.

  Her jaw dropped when she opened the door.

  “Jacob. Wh . . . what are you doing here?”

  “I believe you invited me to accompany you today.”

  He wore an iron-gray suit with a bright white shirt that accented his dusky complexion. His dark hair was freshly trimmed. He’d never looked more handsome.

  She glanced over his shoulder in time to see Mr. Fitzhugh approaching on the gravel walk. Sucking in a breath, she met Jacob’s eyes. “Yes, I did invite you, but you declined.”

  “I changed my mind.” He nodded toward the alley, where his black buggy waited, its bright red wheels gleaming in the sunlight. “Shall we go?”

  “I already agreed to Mr. Fitzhugh as my escort.” At that moment, the blond man arrived at her doorstep.

  Church bells pealed through the morning air. Cassie turned her eyes toward heaven. Lord, what do I do now?

  “Mr. West.” Mr. Fitzhugh touched the brim of his hat. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. I trust you’ll excuse us. Services are about to begin.”

  “I was going that way myself. No reason two of us can’t escort Miss Haddon. Last I heard, God’s not particular.”

  Cassie looked down to hide a smile. Jacob not only offered to go to church, he was arguing for the right. Wonder upon wonder. She rested her hand on his.

  “Would you mind if we all rode together in your buggy, since it’s close by?”

  “Fine idea.” He pointed toward the alley with one of his crutches. “This way, Fitzhugh.”