by Ann Shorey
Cassie brushed at the grit on her soiled taffeta skirt. If she’d known this journey was in the offing, she’d have brought a more practical garment. Her faded work dress would have been perfect.
Mother huffed while she arranged her fringed shawl over her brown poplin dress. “I can see why trains are taking over this country. I’d forgotten how dreadful coach travel is.”
“It’s miserable indeed.” Mr. Fitzhugh held out his arm to her mother, and she grasped his elbow. He looked down at Cassie as the three of them moved toward the doorway.
“I’ll have a word with the cook to be sure you get the best of whatever they’re serving.” He beamed as though he were escorting them into Auguste Reynard’s French restaurant in St. Louis.
She glanced around as she stepped into the dingy room. A bare wooden table, set with tin plates and utensils, waited a few feet from a black iron range. Flies bumped against the glass of a single window at the left of the door. When the sour smell of boiled cabbage and bacon fat assailed her nostrils, her stomach rebelled.
“A slice or two of bread will be plenty, thank you.”
Her mother stood beside the table and waited while Mr. Fitzhugh seated her. Once settled, she smiled up at him. “I’m quite hungry. If you will, I’ll take a large portion.”
Cassie flushed. A lady never admitted she was hungry. Mother seemed to have forgotten her manners—normally she went out of her way to remind people of her well-to-do background.
Stamping hooves and jingling harnesses warned them of the coach’s return. A shadow blocked the light when the driver stopped the stage in front of the building. While Mother and Mr. Fitzhugh gulped down their cabbage soup, Cassie finished one slice of the coarse brown bread she’d been served and wrapped the second piece in her handkerchief to save for later. No telling how long they’d be traveling before they reached Price City.
Late afternoon sun brushed long shadows over a collection of tents scattered in a low spot next to a thin trickle of a river. Wagonloads of what appeared to be railroad crossties sat parked some distance away. Beside the wagons, men swung pickaxes into the ground while teams of horses followed, pulling scrapers to smooth a roadbed.
The stagecoach rumbled to a stop in front of an unpainted two-story building, one of the few wooden structures that met Cassie’s eye.
She stared out at her bleak surroundings. “Where are we?”
Mr. Fitzhugh straightened the lapels of his dust-covered jacket. “I have no idea, but I’ll certainly find out for you.” He flung open the door of the coach and called up to the driver, “Why are we stopping here?”
The stage bounced, and in a moment the driver faced them, thumbs tucked in his belt. “You bought tickets to Price City. This here’s it.”
Cassie leaned forward. “Impossible. This isn’t a city. It’s not even a village.”
“Once the railroad’s done, the place will grow. They always do.” The driver waved toward the building beside him. “Soon as you ladies get down, I’ll take your trunk into the hotel there.”
Mr. Fitzhugh jumped out of the coach. “Let me assist you, Miss Haddon.”
Suddenly grateful for his presence, she offered her hand and allowed him to help her to the ground. Mr. Fitzhugh would look after them until they learned where they could spend the night. That rickety-looking frame structure couldn’t possibly be her uncle’s hotel.
First thing in the morning she and Mother would take the stage back to Calusa. Then she remembered—no weekend travel on this route. The stage ran Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to the west. But only Tuesday and Thursday to the east. She felt like collapsing in the dusty road and crying.
There wasn’t a telegraph pole to be seen in the scalped landscape. She was stranded here until next week with no way to get word to Jacob.
Cassie surveyed what passed for a lobby when Mr. Fitzhugh led them inside the two-story building. Three straight-backed wooden chairs sat around a square table in one corner of the small space. Keys dangled from a rack on a wall behind a narrow counter. Without rugs to deaden the sound, their footsteps echoed on the rough pine floorboards.
She darted an angry glance at her mother. “Are you sure this is a hotel? There’s no one here. Doesn’t Uncle Rand know you’re coming?”
Mother lifted her hands in a defenseless gesture. “How was I to tell him? I didn’t know myself until you agreed.”
Cassie tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Would she never learn?
In seconds, she sensed Mr. Fitzhugh at her side.
“This day has been a trial for all of us. If you ladies will wait over there, I’ll find the proprietor and secure a room for you.” He strode off down a dim hallway.
Cassie perched on the edge of a chair and rubbed at a headache throbbing in her right temple.
Mother slumped beside her. “I had no idea Price City looked like this. Rand described everything as though he’d invested in a prosperous community and this hotel was a booming business.” She laid her hand against Cassie’s cheek. “I’m sorry, dear.”
Cassie took her mother’s hand and kissed her fingers. “I know you didn’t do this deliberately. We’ll just make the best of things for the next few days until the stage comes back through.”
Mother straightened. “If Rand is here—”
“Do I hear my name taken in vain?” Uncle Rand burst into the room, his untucked shirt billowing behind him. His bushy red beard made him look like a hennaed bear. He strode over to them.
“By gar, Lizzie, you got here. You’re one persistent gal.” His stained teeth showed when he grinned at Cassie. “Been hoping your ma would come and help me run this place. Glad to have the two of you. Heard they’re finishing the track twenty miles east—trains will be here in another month. And where the train goes, telegraph follows.” He rubbed his hands together. “Things are bound to pick up soon.”
Cassie put her hand to her throat. “I’m not planning to stay.”
“Sure you are. Families help one another. You want to be useful, don’t you?”
She stared up at her gruff uncle, the name she’d been called in St. Louis ringing in her ears.
Useless.
Mentally, she groped for a response, but the words wouldn’t come.
28
Cassie startled awake. The door to the room she and her mother shared rattled in response to pounding on the flimsy boards.
“You gals going to sleep all day? Thought you was going to help with breakfast.”
Mother sat up in bed. “We’ll be down in a shake, Rand.”
He grunted and stomped away.
Cassie gazed out the window at the gray pre-dawn. “What are you saying? Doesn’t he already have a cook?” she whispered.
“He does, but the man is unreliable.”
Cassie pushed herself up on her elbow. “I didn’t promise I’d help with breakfast or anything else.”
“I might have said something after you went to bed.”
“You didn’t! What happened to your claim that you reared me to be a lady, not a cook?”
Mother ignored her question and swung her feet to the floor. “Hurry. Foremen for the work crews will be here soon.”
“You know even less about feeding workmen than I do. Besides, I have nothing suitable to wear. I intended to leave for Noble Springs two days ago, so all I brought with me was a change of undergarments.”
“You can wear this.” Mother rummaged in her trunk and drew out a faded yellow calico skirt and bodice. “With an apron on no one will be able to see that it’s a little large for you.”
Groaning, Cassie threw off the bedcovers and stood. “How can you offer to work in a kitchen? Do you even know one end of a skillet from another?”
“You can teach me.”
“I bake pies—I don’t cook breakfasts.”
Mother tightened her jaw. “I’m going to overlook your sass. My brother is expecting help, and we need to do what we can.”
Cassie wondered what h
ad become of the weepy woman who drooped and complained at every mishap. More and more, her mother reminded her of Jenny Fielder.
Floorboards creaked as she stalked across the room. She slipped on the yellow calico garments, rolled the waist over to tighten the fit, then braided her hair and pinned the braids at the back of her head. If her uncle expected her to be useful, she’d show him what useful looked like.
“I’m ready. Where’s the kitchen?”
Cassie followed her mother into a kitchen half the size of the one in Jacob’s restaurant. The sweetish-sour smell of spoiled food greeted them when they entered. With its small range, one worktable, and narrow shelves near an interior door, the room would have been better suited to a private home rather than a hotel. A pang of loneliness for West & Riley’s clean and orderly restaurant caught her by surprise. She’d never dreamed a kitchen could feel like home, but Jacob’s did.
A grizzled man stepped through an open door leading to the rear of the hotel. He kept one hand on the small of his back as he hobbled toward them.
“Rand said you two was going to take my job away.”
“Not at all,” Cassie said. “I’m only here for—”
“My brother informed me you needed help.” Mother bit off the words in a no-nonsense tone of voice.
Cassie blinked at the steel of authority beneath her mother’s words. She sounded like her old self, ordering their servants around in the days before the war.
“Don’t need no help. Been cooking here since I got down in the back. Had to quit the railroad. You git me fired, I got no place to go.”
“We’re not here to get you fired, are we?” Cassie sent her mother a pointed glance. Then she looked at the floor, littered with crumbs and food scraps. “I’ll sweep while you get the fire started. Tell us what you’re cooking this morning so we can work together.”
He clumped to the stove and threw kindling into the firebox. “Gonna make biscuits and ham gravy. You want to sweep, fine. Then go on with you.”
“That’s it? What about eggs?”
His face reddened beneath his patchy whiskers. “See? That’s why you got no bidness in here. You don’t know nothing about railroad camps. Won’t have no eggs ’til the next supply wagon comes through.”
Cassie grabbed a broom from a corner. “Then as soon as I’ve finished the floor, I’ll start on the biscuits. How many men usually come for breakfast?”
“Eight or ten. The crew bosses. Rest of ’em eat in the camp. But I already told you—”
“We’ll work together, Mr. . . ?”
She remembered how uncertain she’d felt about keeping her job when Jacob first hired her. Uncle Rand’s cook had more to lose than she’d had. At least she was young and healthy.
“Just call me Fred.” He shook his head, glancing between Cassie and her mother. “The flour’s in a bin under the table. Make plenty.”
She hid a triumphant smile and worked the broom across to where her mother stood in the doorway. “I’ve helped make biscuits for Jenny, the cook at West & Riley’s. I’ll show you what she taught me. By the time I leave on Tuesday, you’ll be an expert.”
Mother lowered her voice to a sibilant whisper. “You expect me to work with this old man? Rand wants both of us here.”
“He doesn’t need both of us.” She patted her mother’s arm. “Don’t worry. Uncle Rand’s hotel is a long way from being crowded. By the time the rail line is finished, you’ll know all there is to know about this kitchen.”
“You’ve changed. Mr. West has been a bad influence on you.”
Cassie let the comment bounce off without responding. If Jacob’s influence helped her to stand up for herself, so much the better. She crossed to the shelves and selected the largest bowl she saw, then took down several baking pans.
“Let’s get started on the biscuits. By the time the stove heats we should have them ready for the oven.”
“Humph.” Mother stuck her nose in the air and stalked to the worktable. With her head tipped to one side, she watched while Cassie used two knives to cut lard into the flour mixture. After a minute, she cleared her throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“Milk.” Mother took a step toward Fred and tapped him on the shoulder. “Where do you keep the milk?”
He snorted. “See them tins on the shelf? That there’s our cow.”
“In that case, we’ll need some water too. Where can I find that?”
“Pitcher’s right there.” He waved his hand in the general direction of a washstand outside the open back door. “Refill it from the pump after you’re done.”
Cassie hid a grin when her mother gave him a withering glance before seizing the pitcher in one hand and a tin of milk in the other. She slammed the two containers on the worktable next to the bowl. “Odious man! I don’t see how you can be so pleasant to him.”
Grumbling to herself, Mother took a spoon and formed a well in the center of the flour mixture. After opening the tin, she poured condensed milk and water together into the bowl.
Dumbfounded, Cassie watched while her mother stirred the mixture to perfect consistency, scattered flour on the tabletop, and scraped the biscuit dough out of the bowl into the mound of flour.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
Mother’s face reddened. She backed away from the table. “Just makes sense is all. Now, show me how you knead the dough and cut biscuits.”
As Cassie kneaded, she stole glances across the table. Her mother appeared to be paying close attention, but questions rose in Cassie’s mind. Mother had avoided anything resembling kitchen work for as long as she could remember. Perhaps instead of taking all their meals at Calusa’s restaurant, she’d been forced to cook for Uncle Rand from time to time. Cassie hid a smile at the rumpus that must have caused.
When the time came to serve the breakfast, Cassie and her mother filled bowls with biscuits. After Fred poured the ham gravy into tureens, he grabbed a bowl of biscuits and headed for the door to the dining room.
Mother lifted her hand to stop him. “Rand wants my daughter to serve the tables. The men are more likely to return if someone young and pretty brings them their breakfast.”
“Fine by me.” He plunked the bowl back on the worktable. “I’m ready to set a spell, anyways.”
Cassie recalled her first day at Jacob’s restaurant. He’d sent her to the kitchen and asked Jenny to serve the tables. At the time, she believed his actions were the result of her inexperience, but later she recognized he was being protective. She closed her eyes and wished she were back in Noble Springs at this very minute instead of trapped under her uncle’s roof.
She gaped at her mother. “I said I’d work in the kitchen, not act as a lure for Uncle Rand’s customers. How could you agree to such a thing?”
“It’s important that we help my brother succeed.” Mother pushed a tureen into Cassie’s hands. “Put the food on the tables and stay out of reach. You’ll be fine.”
When she entered the dining room, her cheeks burned at the appreciative murmur rising from the men seated at the tables. Before she could take a second step, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and spun around, almost dropping the gravy-filled tureen.
“Mr. Fitzhugh! You startled me.”
He leaned forward and spoke close to her ear. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard your mother. If she insists that you do the serving, I’ll stay at your side. This is no task for a lady.”
Cassie felt she’d melt with gratitude. “Thank you. I accept your offer.”
“You bringing the food or ain’t you?” one of the men called.
“Right away.” She walked to the first table, Mr. Fitzhugh at her side.
The man glanced between them, then looked down at his plate. “Thanks,” he mumbled when she placed the tureen in front of him.
“You’re welcome.” Mr. Fitzhugh spoke before she could respond. “We’ll have the biscuits out in a minute.”
When they returned to the kitchen, her mother stalked over to them. “What are you doing?” She glared at Mr. Fitzhugh. “She doesn’t need help serving just two tables.”
“With respect, Mrs. Bingham, she does. There are no lawmen in a railroad camp, and some of these men may have unsavory backgrounds. It’s best if they know your daughter’s protected.” The look he gave her cut off any room for argument.
Cassie lifted two bowls of biscuits from the worktable and handed one to him. “Customers are waiting, Patrick.”
29
On Monday evening, Cassie sat on the back porch of the hotel with her mother and Uncle Rand. Smoke from railroad workers’ campfires scented the air. Tents dotted the land to the north, some glowing with lantern light while others faded into the dusk.
Uncle Rand’s chair creaked when he leaned over to look at Cassie. “They’ll be bringing rails up any day now. Once they’re in, trains will be right behind. You’re making a big mistake by leaving.”
“Noble Springs is my home. I’m happy there.” Especially since that’s where Jacob lives.
“You could be happy here. Food’s improved with you in the kitchen, and once that dandy’s gone, you’ll really bring in the customers.”
Cassie thought he winked at her, but in the dim light she couldn’t be sure. She hated to think an unkind thought, but she’d never understand how this oaf could be her mother’s brother. She pushed to her feet.
“Please excuse me. It’s time I packed my things. What time do you expect the stage in the morning?”
He stared out at the horizon, as though the answer were written on the looming thunderclouds. “Usually around nine. Sure you won’t stay at least a few more days?”
“You don’t need me. Soon Mother will be as much a help as I am. She’s catching on in the kitchen very quickly.”
