by Caroline Lee
Oh, aye! He’d liked Briar for a long while; he’d admired her since the first time she came into Spratt’s to create such beautiful desserts for under-appreciative diners. And sure as the sun followed rain, he would clam up in that galling way, but that was because she was gentle and special…and now he knew that she actually believed in him, which was rare. But that conversation—and the ones since then—had done more than show him that he wanted to be part of her future; it’d shown him that he never would. She was going to marry a rich rancher or another farmer. Someone who could give her everything that she deserved.
Him? Well, Gordon MacKinnon didn’t have much beyond a name and a dream to offer her. It was probably why he hadn’t been able to make himself talk to her all these months. Why his tongue just tied itself into a knot whenever she had smiled at him, with one of those genuine pleased-to-see-you smiles. Because he knew that she deserved more than he could offer her.
He did have some money set aside and stored in various banks. Vincenzo had paid him well enough for the last decade, after all. And in the months he’d been in Everland, Gordon had taken every available odd-job he could find, to save even more. It wasn’t a fortune—it wasn’t even enough to buy a restaurant yet—but it was something.
And maybe it was enough to keep Briar the way her family expected her future husband to. Maybe it was enough, with how hard he worked, to move out of his little room in Vincenzo’s house and get an apartment for the two of them, and…
And what? And spend the rest of his life scraping to get by, to raise the money for a restaurant he’d never see?
Gordon sighed and rested his weight on his fists on the edge of the table. No. No, he couldn’t give up his dream, no matter how much he liked Briar. And he didn’t think that she would expect him to.
No matter how he’d started out in life, he was a grown man now who worked hard, doing an honest day’s work—several days’, really—and saved his money to build his dream. It wasn’t fair that he had to choose between that dream—that honest job, the work that made him happy—and the woman he loved.
Loved? Gordon’s eyes went wide, before he closed them tightly on a groan. Don’ be silly, Gordy lad. Ye’re just lustin’ after her, nothin’ more.
Right?
“You are no more happy today than yesterday, are you?” Yacob Spratt surprised him, slipping in through the same door Gordon had entered earlier. The wiry little man was as skinny as his wife was broad, with thinning grey hair and an easy smile. “You have burdens?”
Gordon cracked his knuckles once, then focused on wiping down the piles of spoons in front of him. It was easier than thinking about her. “We all have burdens, Yacob.”
“This is true, this is true. Yahweh gives them to each man, to test him, yo? But you are more burdened than usual, these many days.”
Snorting, Gordon didn’t look up. “Ye’re right, my friend.”
The small man didn’t push him for details, but began to bustle around the kitchen instead. Gordon heard him take the first batch of biscuits out of the oven to cool, and slide the second batch in. They worked well together, most evenings; Gordon managing the kitchen and dishing up Martha’s stews, and Yacob interacting with his customers. For all of Gordon’s irritation that he didn’t have a place of his own, he could respect the little Jewish man and his wife for what they’d built here in Everland. To hear Doc Carpenter tell it, the Spratts had been here since almost the beginning.
“Tonight, I think though, you will have something to smile about.”
“Oh, aye?” It didn’t seem likely.
“Yo. Mister Worth is here. He has been talking, I know, about having Misters King and Cole build him a grand new building at the end of the street. Which means he would sell his bank.” Still holding the towel and the spoon he was currently wiping, Gordon slowly turned to Yacob. “His fine bank, in the row there on the corner of Andersen and Perrault Street.”
The old man was smiling, and why not? Yacob knew how much Gordon wanted his own restaurant and had often spoken to Gordon of how he’d managed his Eatery through the years. Gordon had a learned many things from the Spratts. But now…
Like everyone else, Gordon had heard Mr. Worth talking about wanting a grander space. “Really? He’s planning on selling?” Everland’s current bank was ideally situated only a few doors down from the Van Winkle Inn and Pedlar’s Dry Goods. With its high ceilings, grand windows, and layout, it would require only a little work to make it a fancy restaurant. Exactly like the one Gordon had always dreamed of.
“Yo. But if you buy it, my son, it would need much work. Remodeling, yo, to make the back area into kitchens.”
The unpolished spoons forgotten, Gordon let his mind race through the possibilities. The space would be perfect. He and Skipper King had already spoken about the pros and cons of renovating versus building new, and Gordon knew that he could count on Skip to help him make his dream a success. With what he had saved now, he could possibly buy the building—assuming Gilderoy Worth was anxious to get rid of it—and maybe even have a little to start on the renovations. But how much would it cost to complete them? How long would it take to see his restaurant come to life? Another decade, while he toiled here in Spratt’s kitchen?
“You are thinking about your burdens again, yo? I can see it on your face.”
Gordon sighed. “Sorry, Yacob. But, aye. It would cost less t’ buy a place an’ fix it up, than it would t’ build it from scratch. The bank is in a perfect location. But the money? I don’t think—”
“Then don’t think, my son! Mister Worth will come in tonight, as he always does. You serve him mama’s stew, yo? Bring him an extra biscuit or two. Talk to him, ask him his plans. You can make your dream happen, Gordon MacKinnon.”
You can make your dream happen.
Yacob Spratt and Briar Jorgenson both believed in him, apparently.
You can make your dream happen.
Maybe he could. Maybe he could scrimp, save, and borrow and bring his restaurant to life. But at what cost? By spending all of his money at once, on something he believed in, he’d be giving up his chance at Briar, wouldn’t he? Her family wouldn’t let a penniless day-laborer like himself court their only daughter.
But still, Yacob was right. It was useless worrying over “what ifs” if he didn’t know any of the details. Maybe Worth’s asking price was too high. Maybe whatever Gordon had saved in the last decade would be too little to make a difference.
And maybe, just maybe, his fortune—or lack thereof—wouldn’t matter to Briar.
The pastry dough wasn’t coming together. Briar frowned and folded a few more times, wondering if she’d misjudged the ingredients, or simply if her mood was off. She’d noticed over the years that her desserts tended not to work so well if her attitude was bad, or if she was impatient.
Forcing herself to step back and take a deep breath, Briar reconsidered. What had caused this slightly-nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach? Zelle had been gone for two weeks now, and the wheat harvest was finished. Which, of course, meant that she hadn’t seen Gordon in a few days.
Was that it? Was her mood tied to him?
Or was it something else? Something deeper, some kind of sense of anticipation that had spread throughout this house? Her parents and Nana Rose knew something—were planning something—and Briar and her brothers could feel it. Dread it.
Goodness! She was being melodramatic. Briar closed her eyes, still holding her flour-covered hands over the board, and concentrated on her breathing. She wasn’t going to let some nameless dread ruin her strawberry cutout cookies.
When she stepped back up to the counter, feeling much more relaxed, she began to cut the perfect-sized lump out of the lard to crumble into the dough. It was flawless this time, creamy and soft and well on its way to being ready.
Of course, that’s when Nana Rose walked into the kitchen.
“You’re getting your apron dirty, dear.”
Briar refused to b
e distracted, as she carefully molded the lump of dough on the board and reached for the roller. “Yes, Nana Rose. That’s what it’s there for,” she muttered.
“Speak up, Briar dear. You know a lady projects her voice.”
“I said,” Briar sighed, “that I’d rather wash the apron than the dress.” Nana Rose had always insisted on Briar wearing the fanciest gowns with the most up-to-date fashions. As her only granddaughter, the older woman had said, Briar was going to be the most fashionable young woman in town.
Personally, Briar had always thought that she was too plump to be called “fashionable” and that it was ridiculous to try to move easily around a kitchen in a bustle, but sometimes it was just easier to keep Nana Rose happy.
“If you would just listen to my advice, dear, you wouldn’t need to wash either of them.” Nana Rose’s advice mostly consisted of how to sweep majestically into a room, how to have all available men eating out of her hand, and how to flirt outrageously. All of it was wasted on Briar, who couldn’t sweep to save her life and thought that flirting—the way her grandmother did it, at least—was a bit dishonest. “A fine lady in a fine house has people who wash for her.”
“Yes, Nana Rose.” Briar began to roll out the dough, patiently using gentle, even strokes and trying not to get irritated by her grandmother’s nagging. “But I’m not a fine lady in a fine house.” I’m a farmer’s daughter, who enjoys baking.
“Not yet, young lady, but you will be.”
It was the triumph in Nana Rose’s voice that made Briar straighten, a tingling of alarm at the base of her spine. “What do you mean?”
But the older woman just smiled mysteriously and moved around the counter in her slow glide. As a young woman, Briar Rose Swenssen had been a sensation on the Cincinnati stage, and it still showed. She now darkened her graying hair, and her lips were always an alarming shade of pink that no one could believe was natural. But still, years later, there was something elegant about the way she moved and the way she carried herself. She’d tried her best to tutor her namesake, but Briar had never seen a use for it. Not here in Everland, at least.
“Nana Rose?” she asked again, more forcefully. “What do you mean?”
“My dear, only that it’s high time that you got married. These clever little pastimes are adorable, of course.” The older woman waved one long-fingered hand at the pastry dough. “And I have to admit, your talents in the kitchen have certainly garnered more attention from eligible young men than I thought they would.”
Briar’s heart began to beat a little faster. Attention from eligible young men? She felt her cheeks heat, so she picked up the cutter and began to stamp out circles from the dough. There was only one eligible young man whose attention she wanted to catch, and judging from the way he’d hummed appreciatively when he’d tasted her chocolate eclairs, it had worked. Gordon MacKinnon was a man who knew the patience and talent that went into a perfect dish, and she’d seen the interest in his expression that day in the wheat field. And every day since then, the memory of which sometimes caused her to hug herself in excitement.
Maybe he hadn’t said much to her up until then, but she’d noticed him watching her, just like he had at Zelle’s wedding. And then, when he’d touched her, that day? She stifled her bemused sigh, lest Nana Rose hear it. There’d been a lot of sighing, since that touch. And since that conversation that followed it, beside the stream. Yes, Gordon was one young man whose attention she wouldn’t mind catching.
But apparently, Nana Rose wasn’t talking about Gordon. “Your father has been approached by quite a few young men interested in courting you, you know.”
She hadn’t. But instead of reacting, Briar forced herself to focus on the small circles of dough and tried to ignore the way her stomach tightened at the news. Pa wouldn’t just give permission for someone to court her, not without asking her first.
Would he?
“I dismissed them all, of course. None of them are worthy of my granddaughter.”
No. No, Pa wouldn’t give permission…but Nana Rose would.
Briar carefully set aside the last of the circles, and then reached for her crock of strawberry preserves from the spring, keeping her hand steady as she spooned out a small dollop in the center of each pastry round. “And when my baking catches the attention of someone you think is worthy enough?” How had she managed to keep her voice as steady as her hand? Maybe she’d learned something from Nana Rose’s lessons on decorum and deportment after all.
“Well then, my dear…” Briar didn’t have to look up to see the older woman’s satisfied smile; she could hear it. “Your future as a lady of leisure will finally be assured.”
There was something a little too pleased in her grandmother’s voice. And when Briar put down the preserves, and met Nana Rose’s eyes, she could see it too. Her grandmother had a secret, something that affected Briar. Maybe this was why the whole house had felt on edge for the last few days.
Briar narrowed her eyes, wondering if she’d be able to get her grandmother to confess.
“Don’t squint dear—you’ll get wrinkles. Have you been using that cream I gave you?”
No, the older woman wasn’t going to tell her secret until she was ready. “Yes, Nana Rose,” Briar lied, before bending back over her dough.
“And stand up straight, dear. You’ll get a hunch if you spend too long like that.”
“Yes, Nana Rose.” Briar tried, she really did, but anyone who’d ever rolled dough on a counter could tell her grandmother that it was almost impossible to do so without bending.
She’d bet Gordon would be able to tell Nana Rose that. Up until Zelle’s wedding, she’d thought of him often, but hadn’t realized he’d thought anything of her. But then, to find out that he was a kind, thoughtful man—as well as being undeniably handsome—who spoke to her like an equal…? He made Briar feel all sorts of tingly inside. She hoped that his dream of opening a restaurant came true. She wanted to help make it come true.
The second set of circle cut-outs had a smaller hole in the middle, making them look like doughnuts. Briar tried to focus on the placement of the holes, but thoughts of Gordon kept intruding…and Nana Rose wasn’t helping.
“Who are those for, girl?”
“For me,” Briar muttered, concentrating on the dough. There was no need to tell her grandmother that she was rather hoping to take this particular batch into the wheat fields tomorrow, where Gordon would be helping her father and brothers clean up.
“Well then, perhaps tomorrow afternoon you could make a batch of those chocolate drop cookies that I like so much.” Her grandmother’s voice was entirely too nonchalant. “Just in case we have anyone special over for tea on Thursday.”
Just in case…? Briar didn’t believe that for a moment, and just hummed and continued cutting, reaching the end of the dough.
“You should wear that lovely pale blue gown, dear.”
“To where, Nana Rose?” There. The last cut-out was complete and Briar lifted it and carefully placed it on top of the strawberry-preserve dough. She pinched the edges, making a perfect little tart.
“To tea, dear girl.” Her grandmother sounded exasperated.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Briar straightened, and tried to run back through the conversation in her head. “Tea on Thursday. Chocolate drop cookies. Blue gown. Sure.”
Nana Rose gasped. “Briar Rose Jorgensen! Decorum, if you please.”
“Right. Certainly, I meant. Certainly, I can make chocolate drop cookies, just in case.”
Despite her own repeated warnings about the danger of wrinkles, Nana Rose’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you’ll wear your blue gown?”
Briar smiled brightly, and made a noise that could’ve been agreement, and bent back over her pastries. Tea on Thursday? Unlikely. Whatever Nana Rose was planning, Briar wanted no part of it. As little as she liked farming, she’d much rather be out in the fields talking with Gordon—or even her brothers—than sitting stiffly in the parl
or with her grandmother’s friends, feeling completely inadequate.
Maybe that feeling would’ve been enough to make her change, at one point. Maybe, as a child, she’d tried to be everything her grandmother had wanted her to be. Maybe she’d tried to follow Nana Rose’s advice and rules about catching a man’s attention. But somewhere in the last five years or so—probably thanks to Zelle’s friendship—Briar had realized that it wasn’t going to work. She was never going to be the flirtatious temptress her grandmother had been in her day; never going to leave men vanquished in her wake.
And that was fine, because she didn’t want that. She had her friends, and her baking, and she knew who she was. That was much more important, to Briar’s thinking, than trying to be someone she wasn’t.
Too bad Nana Rose couldn’t understand that about her, too. The older woman sniffed once, and then swept out of the room, and Briar tried not to feel too hurt. Nana Rose had lived with them for years, and had spent most of them trying to mold Briar into someone she wasn’t. Sometimes she thought her grandmother’s entire purpose for being here in Everland was to make sure Briar didn’t follow her meek mother’s example and marry a mere farmer. To this end, she’d been training Briar for years to “catch a man,” but Briar didn’t want to catch a man. At least, she hadn’t until Gordon MacKinnon came to town with Vincenzo Bellini in the spring.
She’d been drawn to him from the beginning, and had loved watching him laugh with Max and Skipper King at church, or at other events. Then, to see him once a week at Spratt’s? And to share a workspace with him, even if he hadn’t spoken much to her? Thursday evenings had quickly become her favorite time of the week. She spent days looking forward to watching his capable hands handle the knives and biscuits, and smelling his delicious rosemary-and-sage scent when she and Gordon were pressed together in Mrs. Spratt's suddenly too-small kitchen.
And sometimes, he’d watch her when she wasn’t looking. She could feel him, feel his eyes on her, just like at Zelle’s wedding. His gaze had made her all squishy inside, like under-cooked bread. And then! And then, to have him speak to her, so frankly—finally! Briar knew that if there was one “eligible young man” in Everland that she wanted to attract, it was Gordon.
