by Ann Shorey
Jacob sat at the table in his corner office, fighting to keep his mind from wandering to Cassie and Patrick Fitzhugh. He’d heard the train arrive, so assumed Fitzhugh was on his way back to Calusa. What could the man have had to say that was important enough to keep Cassie waiting for two days? He hoped she’d tell him as soon as she had the opportunity.
It would be just like that mother of hers to come up with a scheme to send Cassie running to her side. He wished he could stand and pace the room, but being on crutches ruined the effect. Instead, he kicked the table with his left leg and stared at a blank sheet of paper in front of him.
He needed to tell Keegan Byrne about operating a bakery from the restaurant kitchen. Writing to him now would help pass the time until he had a legitimate reason to go to the kitchen. He tapped the end of a pen holder against the tabletop.
How to best present the situation to a man who was a stranger to him? Colin Riley had encouraged him to think of ways to help the business grow as the war years faded behind them. He had no idea how Mr. Byrne might react to the news.
Huffing out a breath, he dipped the pen nib into an inkpot.
Noble Springs 22nd June 1868
Dear Mr. Byrne,
This is to inform you that as of last week, I’ve added a new income-producing department to West & Riley’s kitchen. Miss Haddon has proved herself to be a proficient baker, to the extent that her pies are in demand by grocery customers as well as patrons at mealtimes. Thus encouraged, I instituted a bake shop solely for her management. She reports to me, of course.
He strove to keep his words noncommittal. His personal feelings for Cassie were of no concern to Keegan Byrne or anyone else in Boston.
Since the bake shop puts an extra strain on normal kitchen operations, I’ve hired another employee to assist with preparations, although Mrs. Fielder and Miss Haddon will continue to do the cooking in their respective roles.
The operation is in its infancy this month. In the future, I have every expectation that my decision will result in greater income, which will increase your agreed-upon share accordingly.
At any rate, he hoped so. The venture represented the largest gamble he’d taken since opening West & Riley’s. So far, the expenses of the bakery exceeded income. That wouldn’t always be the case, but for now every pie sale was important. If profits failed to materialize, he feared he’d have Mr. Byrne on his doorstep.
He rubbed his moist palms on his trouser legs before signing with a bold flourish.
After addressing an envelope, he grabbed his crutches and walk-hobbled to the grocery, smiling at the sight of a cleared space atop one counter. Three of Miss Haddon’s perfect pies would be cooling there soon.
Jenny carried a stack of empty serving bowls from the dining room to the washbasin. “Might as well cut those pies. They’re not going to improve just sitting there.”
“I know.” Cassie rolled her shoulders to release tension. Filling had boiled through the cracked crusts, leaving sticky residue down the outside of the pans. Worse than the first six pies, the crusts she’d assembled to fulfill customers’ orders had shrunk away from their crimped edges. Exposed apples were burned brown.
She tried to imagine Jacob’s reaction while she cut the crumbling desserts. She could pretend she’d intended to make apple pandowdy for the diners, but nothing could explain away the withered-looking offerings at the end of the worktable. She put her hand over her mouth, trying not to cry.
Within minutes of dessert being served, Jacob entered the kitchen. His gaze locked on hers. “The slices fell apart when the men tried to take them out of the pans. We had to use our spoons. I hope the others are . . .” His voice trailed off when he noticed the three remaining pies. “What will I tell my customers when they come in? Those are pig food.”
“Pig food?” Her words boiled with pent-up frustration. “You can tell your customers their orders aren’t ready. Something went wrong. Period. They can come back tomorrow.” She seized one of the pans and dumped the contents into a slop bucket.
Becca hurried from the washbasin to the table. “Wait!” She faced Jacob. “Mr. West, those are still pretty good. Can I take ’em with me tonight? I’ll share with Wash.”
“Yes, of course.”
Becca’s need and Jacob’s kindly response cooled Cassie’s temper. Maybe those pies didn’t look perfect, but obviously they weren’t swine fodder. She shouldn’t have thrown away something that could be shared.
She shot Jacob a contrite look. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been thinking clearly since talking with Mr. Fitzhugh this morning.” She wished she could respond to Jacob’s questioning gaze, but the matter felt too private to air. “I’ll come in earlier tomorrow and have the orders ready before noon. Would that be suitable?”
“It’ll have to be, won’t it?” The hint of a smile lifted the corners of his eyes. “In the meantime, maybe a few hours away from the kitchen this afternoon would help clear your mind.”
She peeked over her shoulder and saw Jenny’s mouth drop open. The woman’s reaction mirrored her own.
“Th . . . thank you, Mr. West. I’ll be happy to go, on one condition.”
“You’re giving me conditions?”
“Just one. Jenny and Becca should get free afternoons too. You did mention the possibility recently.”
“So I did.” He looked at the three of them. “Fine. One afternoon a week. Take turns.”
After one more glance at the ruined pies, Jacob pivoted toward the dining room. His crutches thumped a cadence across the floor.
“Whoo-ee, missy. You’re brave to speak up like that.” Becca shook her head in wonderment.
“I’m learning that sometimes I have to be.” Her mind flew to Mr. Fitzhugh’s stated purpose for coming to Noble Springs. If he ever dared to return, she prayed she’d find the words to send him away permanently.
When Cassie left the kitchen, she halted in the alley and stared across the street at the tall butternut tree where she and Mr. Fitzhugh stood that morning. She wished she’d paid more attention during Reverend French’s sermon yesterday. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember that he’d said anything about Old Testament laws applying to present-day life.
She bent her head over her clasped hands. Maybe Rosemary could set her mind at ease. Given all the soldiers she’d tended during the war, perhaps she’d heard discussions on the subject of widows’ remarriage.
Stepping from the shade into bright sunlight, she headed down Third Street toward the Stewarts’ home, planning a stop at the post office on the way. Regardless of Mr. Fitzhugh’s assurances, or perhaps because of them, she felt more worried than ever about her mother’s well-being.
As soon as she entered the small clapboard building across from the parsonage, the postmaster, Mr. Lyons, smiled up at her.
“Howdy, Miss Haddon. Looks like you finally got a letter from your mama.” He ran his fingers over the tray of mail before him and removed a square envelope. “Mrs. Elmer Bingham, Calusa, Missouri. Right?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She plucked the envelope from his fingers, wishing the letter had arrived before Mr. Fitzhugh’s visit.
Mr. Lyons leaned across the table. “Wonder how she’s getting along?”
“So do I. I’ll tell you after I read this.”
Rumor had it he sometimes read the mail before recipients did. People claimed that’s how he knew so much about Noble Springs’ residents. She tucked the envelope in her handbag and hurried out, ignoring his deflated expression. He probably wouldn’t be so eager for information if he’d already read this one.
Instead of continuing to Rosemary’s house, she doubled back, hastening toward the privacy of her cabin. Once inside, she broke the seal on the envelope and removed two closely written pages.
22
Cassie scanned her mother’s opening sentences containing polite inquiries about her health and a report on the weather. When she read the first lines of the second paragraph, her breath caught in her thro
at.
Rand is away more than he is at home. He did warn us that would be the case, but I didn’t realize how empty this little house could feel. Mr. Fitzhugh and Reverend Greeley have done much to make the lonely days here bearable. The good reverend seems to have made me a special mission project. He calls almost daily. Quite often we discuss passages of Scripture that he feels are particularly relevant to my situation.
Poor Mr. Fitzhugh is at loose ends with school dismissed for the summer. He, too, is lonely, since he has no wife. I must confess I’ve mentioned your name to him several times in that regard. If only you would join me here, I believe the two of you would find much in common. He’d be a far more suitable match than anyone you’ll find in Noble Springs. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the fine home the Fitzhugh family possesses in St. Louis.
Cassie stared at her mother’s words. Humiliation rocked her at the image of the three of them plotting her future as though she were a pawn in a chess game. No matter what her mother said, she would not return to Calusa.
Her gaze dropped to the next paragraph.
As much as I value their companionship, I sorely miss having another woman to pass the time with. In hindsight, the days we had together at your Uncle Rudy’s were blessed. In some ways I wish we’d never left.
I’m doing my best to be brave here in this desolate town. At church this week, Reverend Greeley introduced me to a woman who operates a boardinghouse. I’m trying to decide whether to call on her. If only you were here, dearest Cassie, I could abide the wind and the incessant dust.
I remain,
Your loving Mother
The letter slipped through her fingers and drifted to the floor. She wouldn’t give up everything she’d accomplished here to run to her mother’s side. She owed her mother honor, yet in what manner?
Guilt gnawed at her conscience. Mother had to be miserable to look back on life at Uncle Rudy’s as a pleasant experience. She’d wanted to find her brother, and now that she’d done so, she was still miserable. Cassie considered the thought that perhaps her mother would be miserable no matter what her circumstances, then pushed the idea aside as disloyal.
The gravel path outside her door beckoned. She had questions, and she prayed Rosemary could supply the answers. She shoved the letter into her handbag and covered the distance between her cabin and her friend’s home with brisk strides.
Cassie stood on the doorstep listening to footsteps hurrying in response to her knock. Belatedly, she hoped she hadn’t disturbed the baby’s nap.
A wide smile lit Rosemary’s face when she opened the door. “What a joy to see you! Come in.” Her hair was pulled back in an untidy bun, and lavender shadows smudged the skin beneath her eyes. “You picked a perfect time to call. We’re having a little rest.” She led the way into the sitting room, where her two-week-old baby slept in a cradle in front of the sofa.
Cassie knelt beside the cradle and ran a finger over the infant’s soft black curls.
“Josephine Amanda is such a sweet name. Will you call her Josie?”
“Elijah already does. Josephine was his late mother’s name, but it’s a mouthful for such a wee one.” She sank onto the sofa.
Cassie kissed Josie’s forehead before standing. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to ask her questions.
Her friend patted a spot beside her, at the same time setting the cradle to rocking with the toe of one shoe. “Come, sit.” A grin teased at the corners of her mouth. “So, Jacob must have given you the afternoon off. And Faith told me he came to church with you yesterday, along with a handsome blond stranger. You’re cutting a swath through Noble Springs.”
“Not quite.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Did Faith tell you who the blond man was?”
“Garrett Fitzhugh’s brother, Patrick. How remarkable that your paths crossed. I don’t recall that you ever mentioned him.”
“I didn’t even remember meeting him. He said he saw me at Garrett’s funeral, but everything was such a blur at that time.”
Rosemary laid her hand over Cassie’s. “Of course it was. Faith also said he brought news of your mother. I pray she’s well.”
“Apparently her health is fine.” She dug Mother’s letter from her handbag and thrust the pages at Rosemary. “After you read what she has to say, I’ll tell you about Mr. Fitzhugh’s visit.”
Rosemary read the letter, then sent Cassie a look brimming with compassion. “She doesn’t make things easy for you, does she?”
“It gets worse.” She rose and paced across the room, then swung around to face her friend. “Apparently Reverend Greeley has convinced Mr. Fitzhugh that as Garrett’s brother, it’s his biblical duty to marry me in order to carry on the family line.”
“Impossible!”
“I agree, but that’s exactly what Mr. Fitzhugh told me. He referred to a passage in Deuteronomy. His preacher friend claims Old Testament law is still valid. I wondered if any war widows you knew had done such a thing.”
Rosemary shook her head. “No, none that I ever heard of. Of course the Old Testament is still valid, but those laws were written to specific people at a specific time. Those days have passed.”
“That’s what I said. But he seemed so sure.”
“The reverend who’s advising him sounds like a fanatic. We’ll pray the two of them stay in Calusa—far away from you. And you stay right here,” she said in a stern voice, then patted the space next to her again. “Now tell me about you and Jacob. How did you get him to go to church with you?”
Cassie explained her Sunday morning, then relayed the story of the picnic at Pioneer Lake. Tears gathered beneath her lashes. “We had such a perfect afternoon, then Mr. Fitzhugh’s words this morning spoiled everything. I ruined nine pies, lost my temper with Jacob, and selfishly threw away good food without thinking of anyone but myself. That’s why he gave me the afternoon off. He’s probably regretting ever letting me come to work for him.”
“I doubt that. Will you tell him what Mr. Fitzhugh said?”
“No. We agreed to let the past stay buried.”
“Secrets between couples have a way of exploding at inopportune times.”
“My former engagement is no secret. As for the rest, Mr. Fitzhugh’s notions will only upset Jacob. Right now, he’s upset enough with me as it is.”
A week and a half following Cassie’s pie disaster, Jacob entered the kitchen soon after breakfast had been served. Six pies were lined on the worktable ready to go in the oven. The tangy-sweet aroma of hot blueberries rose from four more cooling beneath a window.
Cassie beamed at him and blotted perspiration from her forehead with a corner of her apron. “Six orders today, plus pies for dinner. Independence Day is keeping us busy.”
“That’s what I came to see you about.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “There’s a fireworks display tonight at Pioneer Lake. Would you like to attend?”
“Oh, yes! I’d love to.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’ll hurry home after work and change my dress, then we can leave whenever you say.”
He squeezed her hand, ignoring the presence of the other two women in the kitchen. “If we leave by seven, we’ll have plenty of time to find a good vantage point.”
“I’ll be ready.”
The look she gave him swirled through his insides like hot butter. Tonight couldn’t come soon enough to suit him.
With reluctance, he left the kitchen to return to the grocery. When he’d crutched halfway through the dining room, the street door to the restaurant opened. Two well-dressed men paused on the threshold.
He pointed to a sign on the wall stating mealtimes. “Dinner seating won’t be for another two hours, gentlemen. Please come back then.”
The taller of the two, a beefy redhead, took a step inside. “We’re not here to eat. I’m looking for Jacob West. Are you him?”
“I am. What can I do for you?”
“You can sho
w me around this fine establishment.” His boots thudded as he wove his way around the empty tables. When he reached Jacob, he extended his hand. “Keegan Byrne.” He pointed at his companion, a skinny man with greased-down hair. “My assistant, Lenny Ruggero.”
Jacob’s heart threatened to stop beating. He couldn’t be sure, but something about Ruggero’s appearance seemed familiar. He shrugged off the notion. The fact that Keegan Byrne had come all the way from Boston was concern enough.
He clasped Byrne’s hand with what he hoped passed for sincerity. “Welcome. Never expected to see you here. Colin was content with written reports.”
“It’s bad business to step into something sight unseen. Colin told me you had a small operation. Then you send me a letter about opening a bake shop and got my curiosity going.” His ice-blue eyes bored into Jacob’s. “In the two months since I bought his share from Riley, you’ve added three new workers. Kind of cuts into profits, doesn’t it?”
“A necessary expense if we’re to increase business.” Jacob pivoted toward the grocery entrance. “Please come with me. My office is this way. I’ll show you how income has grown.”
“I don’t want to see your numbers. Show me why you need so much help.”
He tightened his grip on his crutches. In spite of Byrne’s attempt to dress like a gentleman, he resembled a street brawler. Why Colin had agreed to sell his business to such a man was a mystery.
“Very well. In here’s the grocery.” He led the way into the spacious room, lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling shelving. His clerk, Timothy, glanced at them before grabbing a duster and attacking a display of tinned milk.
Jacob waved his hand at the array of tins, bottles, and boxes on the shelves. “I sell everything ladies need to keep their families well fed. Since my wealthier customers learned of the bake shop, trade has increased. They come in to order a pie, and end up buying an additional item or two.” He felt a flash of pride in Cassie’s efforts. In the beginning, he’d hired her out of a charitable impulse and had been rewarded with a helper of uncommon skill. The greatest reward had been opening his heart to her, something he’d never anticipated.
