Love's Sweet Beginning

by Ann Shorey

  “So many things happened in August. I’m glad the month is over.”

  “Have you heard from your mother?” Faith’s voice carried sympathy.

  “No, but it’s only been a couple of weeks.” A familiar ache settled around her heart. “Maybe she doesn’t know what to say now that she’s not playing a role.”

  “Give yourselves time. Healing will come.” She removed the last of the pins and held the shoulder seams while Cassie stepped out of the gown.

  “I do hope so. Jacob needs to forgive her as well. She’s treated him shamefully. He hasn’t said as much, but I know he’s glad she’s in Price City and not here with me.”

  Jacob tapped the end of a pen holder on the ledger page. The totals looked promising, but not what he’d hoped. Certainly not enough to comply with Byrne’s demands—if he planned to comply, which he didn’t. The purchase of the new range pushed August’s expenses over what he’d anticipated when he paid Colin for his share.

  He smiled to himself. Cassie’s pleasure at having her own oven for pies made the additional expense worth every penny. Stock orders for September would need to be trimmed, but he’d find a way. Perhaps Mrs. Fielder could offer suggestions for lowering meal costs.

  Since the dinner hour had passed, he knew she’d be relaxing with a mug of coffee before commencing supper preparations. He tucked the ledger into a drawer and crossed the empty dining room.

  As he’d assumed, Mrs. Fielder sat beside a worktable with a mug in one hand. Becca and Cassie were bent over another table, assembling pies. When she noticed him, Cassie flashed a brilliant smile.

  “Jac—Mr. West. Did you come for an afternoon snack? There are a few biscuits left from dinner.”

  “Not today.” He stepped close enough to give her hand a squeeze. “I came for advice from Mrs. Fielder about cutting food costs for the next month or so.”

  The mug thunked on the tabletop. “I never knew you were short of cash.” Mrs. Fielder stared at him with wide eyes. “We’ve been plenty busy.”

  He held up his hand. “It’s temporary. I made an investment in the business last month, then bought the new range, so I’m stretched right now.”

  Fresh admiration for Cassie swept over him. He’d confided his money situation to her almost a month ago, yet she hadn’t shared the news with Mrs. Fielder. A good quality in a businessman’s wife.

  Mrs. Fielder rested her chin on her fist. “Well, I can make more stews. Beans and bacon can be dressed up with ketchup and molasses so no one knows they’re eating cheap. Did it for years with my young’uns. More potatoes and gravy, not so many steaks and chops.”

  “I knew I could count on you. Is there some way to cut down on the amount of flour and lard you use?”

  “I can make more cornbread, but most of the flour and lard goes into the pies.” She leveled her gaze on Cassie.

  Cassie’s face flushed. “I don’t know how to make a pie without flour and lard.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t change a thing on the pies. With Mrs. Fielder’s help, we’ll shave costs elsewhere.”

  “How about we render our own lard now that we got two ranges? You can get pork fat cheap.”

  No doubt about it. Mrs. Fielder was a gem. He’d increase her salary as soon as he could.

  “If you teach me, I can make the lard,” Cassie said. “Seems only right, since I’m the one who uses the most.”

  “Be happy to show you how. You’re a good learner.”

  His heart filled with love as he looked at Cassie’s eager face. Three weeks and she’d be his wife. Everything he’d ever hoped for had come his way.

  He turned when he heard footsteps. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. West,” Timothy said. “There’s a man here to see you. He’s waiting in the grocery.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  Keegan Byrne’s bulk filled the entrance. “I’m here to collect a debt.” His gaze skimmed over the room. “Or else.”

  Jacob’s breathing slowed. His surroundings appeared in sharp focus. Cassie and the other two women watching him with wide eyes, Timothy fidgeting from foot to foot, tidy worktables, cookstoves—his life. He clenched his teeth.

  Byrne lunged into the room, stopping a few feet in front of him. “I’m sure you don’t want your workers involved in our dealings. Shall we go to your office?”

  “We can talk right here, Byrne.” Jacob let his cane fall to the floor and straightened to his full height.

  “I don’t think you want to do that.”

  “Do your worst, Byrne. I’m through hiding from my past.” He glanced at Cassie, wondering if she’d walk out the door when she learned what he’d done.

  “You’re even dumber than I thought you were.” His icy blue eyes narrowed. He held up his index finger. “I’ll give you one minute to think this over.”

  “I’ve had two weeks. I don’t need another minute. You’re not getting a cent out of me.”

  Byrne shook his head in mock sorrow. “You can’t bluff your way out of this, Westermann.” At Cassie’s gasp, he gave her a cold smile. “Bet he never told you that, did he, girlie? Did he tell you he’s spent time in jail for armed theft? More than once, isn’t that right, Jake?”

  He held Cassie’s gaze and replied directly to her. “Yes. Three times.” He refused to justify himself. A confession was worthless if it came wrapped in excuses.

  Cassie stared into Jacob’s eyes. His mother died when he was thirteen. No telling what he did to survive. She sidled next to him, took his arm, and faced Mr. Byrne. “How long ago did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “Awhile. What difference does it make? He’s a jailbird.”

  “No, he isn’t. He’s a well-respected man in this town. Your once-upon-a-time tales can’t change who he is now.” Her knees trembled, but she glared at Mr. Byrne without flinching.

  Jenny moved to Cassie’s side. “What a boy does don’t count when he’s a man. I’ve worked for Mr. West since he came here eight years ago. He’s a good man through and through.”

  “He gave me and my ma work when no one else would help.” Timothy’s young voice squeaked. “We’d be starvin’ if it weren’t for Mr. West.”

  “His name’s not Mr. West. He’s Jake Westermann, from the Boston slums.”

  Cassie raised her eyes to Jacob’s and he nodded confirmation.

  “It was. I stood before a judge and changed it to Jacob West seventeen years ago. Jake Westermann doesn’t exist.”

  “I know it’s not my place to interrupt white folks, but you’re houndin’ the wrong man.” Becca’s voice shook. “Don’t matter what his name is. No one here cares what he done back in Boston.”

  “Maybe no one in here cares. After all, he pays you good, doesn’t he? I’ll go see what the men at the wagon factory or the brickyard think of your boss.” He swung toward the door, then stopped short.

  Wash stood in the entrance, arms folded across his broad chest. He glowered down at Byrne. “Best you go back where you come from. Now.” Menace laced his deep voice. He stepped to one side and waited, his gaze never leaving the man’s face.

  Byrne ducked around him. After a moment, a door slammed.

  Cassie slumped against Jacob’s chest, not caring that they weren’t alone. “What a horrible man.”

  His arms tightened around her. “He won’t be back, thanks to you—thanks to all of you.” She heard tears in his voice.

  After Jacob returned to the grocery, she collapsed onto a chair. “I never dreamed I’d be able to stand up to someone like that. I was terrified.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.” Jenny patted her shoulder. “You’re going to make Mr. West a fine wife. A man likes a woman who’ll take up for him.”

  Poor Jacob. What a miserable life he’d led as a young man. She planned to spend the rest of her life making every day a joy.

  43

  A delivery wagon stopped outside the kitchen door the following Monday afternoon. Wash propped open the screen before carrying a vat fill
ed with slimy-looking, pinkish-white chunks into the room.

  Cassie felt her dinner rise in her throat. Swallowing hard, she stared at him. “What on earth is that?”

  “You never seen pork fat?”

  She shook her head. “On bacon maybe, not like this.” She backed away and bumped into Jenny.

  “We told Mr. West we could save money by rendering our own lard, remember? You said you wanted to learn how. This is the main ingredient—in fact, about the only ingredient.”

  “You mean I’m putting this in my piecrust?”

  Wash chuckled. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He rubbed Becca’s shoulder on his way out the door.

  “I’ll learn how if you want, missy.”

  “No, thank you, Becca. I said I’d make the lard, since I use most of it.” She prayed her dinner would stay down while she learned.

  Jenny opened the firebox on the smaller range and pushed a few pieces of wood inside. “We don’t want too hot a fire.” She took a fork and transferred several slabs of fat onto a cutting board. “Chop this into little squares, not much bigger than your thumb.” Using a cleaver, she demonstrated with quick whacks, then handed the heavy knife to Cassie.

  “Soon as you’re done chopping, dump the pieces into this kettle.” Grabbing the wire handle, she swung a cast iron pot onto the table. “When you got it half full, put in a teacupful of water and set it on the range. You’re going to simmer this, not fry it.”

  Cassie curled her lip, but followed Jenny’s instructions. White lumps piled up in the kettle.

  Becca hung over her shoulder, watching. “I could do this part if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I need to learn.”

  After adding the water, Cassie set the pot on the range, thankful to be finished handling the slimy pieces of fat. “Now what?”

  “Leave it simmer. Stir every so often. When the cracklings float, your lard’s done.”

  Cassie hurried to the washbasin and scrubbed her greasy fingers. She hoped when she and Jacob married they could afford to buy lard already rendered for their home use. She’d ask him tonight before they met with Reverend French.

  “You want me to promise what?” Jacob almost laughed until he noticed the serious expression on Cassie’s face.

  “Promise you’ll purchase lard for our home. Jenny showed me how to render fat today. What a disgusting job.”

  He leaned close on the buggy seat and inhaled. “Is that why you smell like old beef?”

  “Jacob!” She gave his arm a playful swat. “It does stink when it’s cooking. That’s another reason I want you to buy rendered lard for us when we’re married.”

  “You don’t know stink until you’ve visited my old neighborhood in Boston.” He enjoyed the freedom to speak of his past. He hadn’t realized how evasive he’d had to be until the threat of exposure evaporated with Byrne, when the man’s campaign to harm him came to naught.

  Cassie looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  He kissed her cheek when he stopped the buggy in front of the Frenches’ house. “The past is past. You can talk to me about anything you want.”

  Joy lifted his steps as they walked to the door. Tonight they’d discuss their plans for the wedding. His wedding. To Cassie. Thank you, Lord. She’s more than I deserve.

  She slipped her hand into his as they followed the reverend to his study. Once they were seated, he rested a smile on both of them.

  “Less than three weeks now. Are you both sure of your intentions?”

  “We are.” They spoke at the same time, then grinned at each other.

  “The church is reserved for Friday evening, the twenty-fifth.” Reverend French placed a sheet of paper in front of him and dipped a pen in an inkwell. “How many guests do you expect?”

  “Rosemary and Elijah, Faith and Curt, Mr. Slocum . . .” Cassie counted off names on her fingers as she spoke, then stopped and looked at Jacob.

  “Do you know the exact number?”

  “Probably twenty-five. More if folks want to come.” He had all he could do to keep a silly grin off his face. “We’ll close the restaurant after the noon meal, so everyone can be there.”

  The reverend made a note on the paper, then directed his attention to Cassie. “And will your mother attend?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

  Jacob didn’t express his thoughts. He hoped his prospective mother-in-law would stay in Price City. Permanently.

  Cassie helped Jenny with the washing-up after Saturday’s noon meal since Becca had the afternoon off. Once they were finished, Jenny untied her apron and draped it over a chair.

  “I won’t be gone too long. Mr. West said I could give my daughter a hand for a couple of hours. She wants to wash quilts.”

  “There’s a nice breeze blowing. They’ll probably be dry by nightfall.”

  Jenny chuckled. “I’ll be back long before then.” She pointed to a tub of pork fat on the worktable. “You’ll be busy, looks like.”

  “I’ll never get to where I like rendering.” She wrinkled her nose. “The fat is slimy and smells bad when it melts.”

  “Once you get it on the stove, you can do something you like better.” Jenny gave her a quick hug and bustled out the door.

  Cassie stabbed a piece of fat with a long-handled fork and dropped the slab on a cutting board. While she chopped, she allowed her mind to drift to her wedding next Friday. Her gown hung in her bedroom. With Faith’s help, she’d assembled a small trousseau, including a white cambric nightdress with roses embroidered around the neck and hemline. Her cheeks heated as her imagination strayed to their wedding night. Only six more days. With an effort of will, she herded her thoughts back into the kitchen as she heaped pieces of fat into the iron kettle.

  After dropping more wood in the firebox, she moved the kettle to the top of the range. Holding her greasy hands in the air, she crossed to the sink and plunged them into the dishwater.

  “I’m looking for a Miss Haddon.” A boy with a bag slung over his shoulder peered through the screen. “D’you know if she’s here?”

  “I’m Miss Haddon.” She dried her hands on her apron and opened the door.

  “I have a telegram for you, miss.”

  Cassie bit her lip as she reached for the message. She’d never received a telegram, but knew without looking that the news wouldn’t be good. No one ever sent good news by telegram.

  “Thank you.” Her voice quivered.

  The boy touched his cap and ran down the alley.

  She opened the envelope, noting the sender’s location. Price City.

  With shaking fingers, she unfolded the yellow paper inside.

  RAND KILLED STOP AT HOTEL STOP PLEASE COME STOP MOTHER

  Tears burned Cassie’s eyelids. Her poor mother, alone again. After all the months she’d spent searching for Uncle Rand, now he was dead.

  “Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She’d leave tomorrow and bring her mother back to Noble Springs. If she didn’t want to share Jacob’s house, she could live in Mr. Slocum’s cabin.

  Cassie sprinted from the kitchen to the grocery to share the sad news with Jacob.

  When she entered, he smiled his wonderful smile. Then a frown creased his forehead. “You’re upset. What’s happened?”

  Before she could reply, he glanced at Timothy, who stood with a customer near a display of tinned soup. Jacob took her hand and led her to his office. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  She thrust the telegram at him.

  Color rose in his cheeks as he read the message. “Her brother’s dead and she’s at the hotel? How did she send a telegram? You said there’s no telegraph there.”

  “The telegraph follows the railroad. The line through Price City must be complete.” Cassie choked back a sob. “If I leave tomorrow, I can bring Mother back with me on Monday or Tuesday.”

  “You can’t!” He jumped to
his feet. “Our wedding’s Friday. If you’re delayed like you were last time . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “I have to go. Don’t you understand? She’s all alone. I’m all the family she has now.”

  “Wait a week, please. She won’t be any more alone than she is already.”

  “How heartless of you. I’m going. What would you do if—” She stopped. Jacob truly didn’t understand. She could talk all day and nothing would change.

  “Is this going to be our life? Your mother calls, you run?”

  “She’s my mother and I owe her—”

  “Choose, Cassie. Your mother or me. I won’t accept second place.”

  The sound of her heart thudding echoed in her ears. “Fine. I’m choosing—”

  “Wait.” He pivoted abruptly, turning his back to her. “I smell something burning.”

  “Oh my heavens. The lard!”

  She hoisted her skirt and ran toward the kitchen, jolting to a stop when she reached the entrance.

  The open damper glowed. Flames raced over the top of the range.

  44

  Cassie screamed and ran into the kitchen. She grabbed a pitcher and threw water over the burning fat. The fire traveled with the rivulets, down the sides of the range and across the floor until flames contacted the wall. They roared upward, jumping from board to board while she watched, horrified.

  Jacob grabbed her shoulder. “Get out! Now! I’ve sent Timothy to ring the fire bell.” He pushed her toward the door. “Go. Help will be here soon.”

  “Come with me.”

  “I need to save the ledgers and cash box.” He ducked away from the burning wall and limped toward his office, his cane pounding the floor.

  “Jacob! No!”

  The fire bell next to the courthouse pealed a steady clang, clang, clang. Within minutes the steeple bell joined in, sending a request for help across the community.

  The flames reached the ceiling and found the opening Wash had cut for the flue. In another moment they burned around the flue and spread overhead. Dazed, she stared at the growing conflagration.

  A hand clasped her upper arm and yanked her out the door. A fresh breeze whipped around the building, tugging at her skirt as Timothy pulled her out to the street. “Get back, Miss Haddon. You’re in danger.”