After a while, Claire pushed to her feet. "I suppose I'll get started on breakfast."
Gram patted her arm as she walked by. "I usually have toast and an egg, darlin', but fix whatever you like."
"That sounds fine." Claire cringed as she stepped into the house. She couldn't let Gram know how hard that simple request would be. Eyeing the cook stove that had been the scene of so much turmoil the night before, she forced herself toward it. Would there be enough coals left so she could just add wood? Lord, please let there be coals. Give me strength. She'd known she wouldn't always have Mama to tend the fire, and the day had come. She could do this.
The stove door was warm to the touch. A good sign, but it still raised bumps over Claire's arms. Several white coals sat in a cluster inside the fire box, and Claire exhaled a shaky breath. Thank you, Lord.
Beside the stove lay a stack of split wood, and next to it, a smaller pile of kindling. Who kept Gram supplied in wood? She must pay a lad to help, for how could Gram possibly manage this herself? At home, Papa bartered services with a family down the road. Ready firewood in exchange for the medicine their son needed to quell his breathing episodes.
As Claire loaded the small strips of wood into the firebox, she steeled herself against the red glow of the embers coming to life. She had to overcome this fear. Today. It couldn't cripple her any longer. She had work today and people to help. Namely, Gram.
The embers flickered into flame, and Claire closed the iron door against the red glow. At least it was started now, and she could focus on a more pleasant task. Cooking.
After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, Claire unwrapped Gram's burned hand, applied the salve the doctor had left, and redressed the wound. Gram kept her mind distracted from the obvious pain by prattling on about how wonderful Doc Bryan and his younger brother Doc Alex were. How Alex finally got smart and married up with a sweet little mountain gal who fit him "better 'an two chicks in the same egg."
"It's special when ye find the man God made fer ya, Clara Lee. More than special." She patted Claire's cheek as Claire tied the loose ends of the bandage in place. "When ye find him, don't waste time. Treasure every moment God gives ye."
Before Claire could decide how to answer, Gram sat up straighter. "Well, best we start on the bread for today. I'm gettin' a late beginnin', but with the two of us, we'll make quick work of it."
"Bread?" Her mind stumbled over the sudden change in topic.
Gram rose and shuffled to the work counter, then groped along until she found her apron. "Yep, I bake a dozen loaves each mornin' fer Pearl to use in the café. She's got her hands full, what with her niece leavin' town. The money she pays helps cover expenses around here."
Claire glanced around the room. It was small and sparse, only slightly larger than their kitchen back home. The work counter, washbasin, and cook stove spanned one wall, and the table and four chairs held the center of the room. A pair of upholstered chairs on the opposite wall served as the remaining furniture. The floral pattern on the seats and backs looked worn and a little shredded, most likely due to many long evenings passed there. She could picture Gram in one, her hands busy with needlework. Claire had only met Grandpop once when she was five, but could envision him now with white hair and wire spectacles as he read to Gram.
A clatter behind jerked her from the happy scene. She whirled to see Gram unfolding a flour sack. A tin bowl sat on the counter beside her with a spoon handle sticking out. That must have been the clang. "Let me help you with that, Gram." She strode to her grandmother's side and pulled the sack closer so they could both reach it. "You tell me how much to measure out and I'll do it for you."
Gram's good hand settled over one of Claire's. "Darlin', there's nothin' I'd like more than fer you to work in the kitchen with me. But you don't have to do things for me. Work alongside."
“But your hand…” Claire's lower lip found its way between her teeth. "Sorry. What can I do?"
"How about you stoke the fire so it'll be ready. Then you can measure out the sourdough starter. I always make a mess o' that gooey stuff."
The fire. She had to overcome this. Claire moved to the fire, picked up a decent sized log, opened the door to the fire box, and closed her eyes as she shoved the wood inside. There. Claire dusted her hands and turned to work on the bread.
They settled into a comfortable rhythm, and by the time Claire pulled the eleventh and twelfth loaves from the oven, her feet ached from standing so long. But they'd really accomplished something. As she set the steaming fare out to cool, Gram finished wiping off the work counter, shook the crumbs into the scrap bucket, then draped the cloth over a hook.
"What say we sit and rest?" Claire picked up the list she'd been making of supplies they needed. "Can I refill your coffee?"
"Thank ye, dear. That'd be nice."
Claire filled her own mug, too, but frowned at the stuff. Cool milk would be nice right now. Maybe she could add it to her notes.
While Gram nursed her brew, Claire recounted the items she'd scratched on the paper. "I have sugar, potatoes and lard. Thought I'd get milk, too. Are there other staples we need for meals? Beans? Beef?"
She glanced up to see Gram shaking her head. "Put the baking supplies on the café's tab. I have enough of the rest. Get a pint of milk for yourself, but none for me."
Focusing her gaze on Gram, Claire absorbed the words. "You don't like milk?"
Gram's mouth pinched. "No, honey. Coffee's fine for me. I don't need it as rich as this, either."
Something didn't smell right here. She'd take a good inventory of the shelves before she left. "So when should I take the bread to Miss Pearl's?"
One side of Gram's mouth tipped up. "You'd best call her Aunt Pearl. She's not been a 'Miss' for many a year, but she won't talk about the Mister. She'll be expectin' ya soon. She’ll be even happier if you're early, so she don't have to worry 'bout the bread comin'."
"Would you like to walk with me?" Claire examined her grandmother as she debated the wisdom of the offering. Gram's shoulders stooped as she leaned both elbows on the table.
"Believe I'll let you enjoy the town on yer own this time." Gram stifled a yawn. "Me old bones would do well with a nap before we start bakin' the pies for tonight."
Claire's brows rose as her stomach tumbled. "Pies?"
Gram's smile was thinner than it had been that morning. "Yes, Clara Lee. I make the bread for lunch and somethin' sweet for after dinner."
Poor Gram was working herself into an early grave.
After Claire helped Gram to bed and sorted through the foodstuffs, the inventory of needed supplies grew into a lengthy list. Was money a problem? Or simply the challenge in getting to the store?
Claire removed her apron and swiped a hand to straighten her skirt. No matter the reason, Gram wouldn't go without again. Not as long as Claire Sullivan was here to help.
~ ~ ~
Aunt Pearl did seem thankful to have the bread before the lunch rush started. She flitted about the kitchen like a whirlwind. Claire hated to make her stop so she could ask for directions to the mercantile.
Aunt Pearl didn't stand still though. While pulling a tray of chicken pies from the oven, she rattled off the two turns and street names.
"Thank you, ma'am." Claire backed from the room.
Aunt Pearl glanced up with a nod, then turned back to stir the gravy on the stove.
Lanyard's Dry Goods turned out to be larger than Claire expected for the rustic town. With a long picture window on either side of the door, it spanned half a block. How hard must it be to get glass all the way to Montana, especially considering the week of travel in the back of a wagon traversing the mountain country.
She stepped through the front door, but no bell announced her presence like the mercantile back home. Perhaps that was too much trouble to ship. She bit back a grin.
So many familiar smells rushed at her in the densely packed store, Claire paused at the head of an aisle to savor them. Leather. Wood.
A dusty whiff like quilts long stored in a trunk.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
Claire jerked her eyelids open and glanced around for the source of the voice. A man stood behind the tall counter. About her age with a trim red mustache, freckles stood out against his pale skin.
"Um, yes." She squared her shoulders and stepped to the counter, pulling the list from her skirt pocket. "I need to have these items delivered to my grandmother's house. Mrs. Alice Malmgren on Ottawa Street." Holding the paper so he could see, she pointed to some of the entries. "The supplies I underlined will be used for Aunt Pearl's Café, and should be charged to her account. The remainder should be posted to my grandmother's tab. I imagine you're familiar with that arrangement?"
She paused to take a breath, her heart beating a rapid staccato. Would he think it strange for her to be purchasing items against the café's account? Shouldn't she need some kind of written authorization for that? This man didn't know her from Queen Elizabeth.
His orange brows knit as he studied the list. Then without meeting her gaze, he turned toward a doorway behind him. "Just a second, ma'am."
Claire laced her fingers together. Did that mean he was gathering the supplies? Shouldn't he have more questions for her? Should she stand here and wait? She'd caught a glimpse of bolt goods on a long table and would love to examine the fabrics. Maybe they'd have some material she could use to recover Gram's chairs. And wouldn't new curtains do wonders to cheer up the place? A yellow floral would be nice and pleasant.
Just as Claire turned that direction, the door through which the clerk had disappeared opened again. She swiveled back. A tall, brawny man with a dark mustache and sideburns appeared, sleeves rolled to reveal sinewy muscles. The apron he wore did nothing to soften his toughness. He caught her gaze with raised brows. "Mrs. Malmgren's granddaughter?"
"Yes." Claire stepped forward and dipped a quick curtsy. "Miss Claire Sullivan."
His mouth pinched into a thin line. "I’m Bob Lanyard." He glanced down at the paper between his fingers. Her list. "I'm afraid we can't fill everything on here. We'll send the stuff for Pearl of course, but…" He raised his gaze to meet hers squarely. "Your grandmother has quite a tab here."
Claire swallowed, but it did nothing to quiet her racing heart. Still, she didn't drop her gaze. "How much?"
"Almost thirty dollars."
She fought to keep from coughing as the sum registered. Thirty? That was a month's wages for some men. How could Gram possibly rack up that much? Didn't she pay on the account at all? And how could this man allow it?
"Sir, I…" She struggled to find the question to ask first. "How… I mean, does she…?”
His face flicked a glimpse of sympathy. "We know things are hard on her, so I let her get the basic necessities. She comes and pays every week with what she makes from Pearl." A bit of steel crept back over his features. "Things cost a lot up here."
That was probably true, but thirty dollars? Claire inhaled a breath, then let it leak slowly. "Okay. Let's do the items for the café, the beans, and half the beef." She reached into her pocket for the five dollars she'd brought along just in case. It was all of her spending money, but she could part with a little for Gram. "How much will that be?"
"Two-fifty." He didn't move. Was he waiting for her to pay before he'd even package the stuff?
He must not have understood her. "What about for just the beans and meat? The remainder should go on Aunt Pearl's tab." She tried to keep a pleasant tone. No need to make the man feel dumb.
"Two fifty for the beans and meat." His dark brows rose a fraction, as if daring her to question him again.
Claire fought the urge to drop her jaw. This man was taking advantage. Fire stirred in her gut, spreading through her veins. She hated bullies. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she focused on the list in the man's hand while her mind whirled. Gram had said this was the best place to shop. Of course, Gram didn't know the man was fleecing her for every half-penny he could get.
She could go ahead and purchase the supplies for the café's baked goods, then shop elsewhere for their own food. But she needed to get back to help Gram with the pies. And maybe she wouldn’t have time to find another mercantile today. Gram's coffers were very close to empty, and they'd need something to eat tonight and tomorrow until she could get to another store.
Eyeing the man again, she spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll take the supplies underlined for the café, and half the amount of beans. How much will that be?"
He glanced at the list again. "Seventy-five cents."
She couldn't hold in the explosion any longer. "Seventy-five cents for a half sack of beans?"
His gaze locked with hers again and never wavered. "We get the beef local. The beans have to be imported from Illinois."
"I'll take the beef then." And he'd be lucky if she didn't beat him with it.
The man shrugged. "Fifty cents."
Chapter Three
Gram stirred in her chair when Claire stepped into the little house.
"There's my Clara Lee. I was about to start the vinegar pies."
The weight of Claire's ire with that bully of a storekeeper slid away at the sight of Gram, hair protruding at angles where she'd slept on it, and wrinkles of love caressing her face.
"Are you feeling better then?" She set the supplies on the work counter.
"Like a six week old kitten."
The image forced a smile onto Claire's face. "So glad to hear it."
She held back as Gram gathered ingredients for the crust and floured the rolling surface. It was amazing how well Gram maneuvered using her delicate sense of touch. Each movement so patient until she had the object exactly as she wanted. While Gram kneaded and rolled out the pie crusts, Claire measured out ingredients for the filling. "How many did you say we're making?"
"Eighteen. Been making fifteen pies each night, but Pearl said she's runnin' short, so I said I'd make more. Those men get awful cranky when ya deny 'em somethin' sweet."
Eighteen pies. "I don't know how you do it, Gram."
Gram chuckled. "Sure puts Bill Lanyard on his toes keepin' up with my supplies."
All trace of a smile left Claire's mouth as she thought about that oversized shyster. Thirty dollars. How were they ever to repay such a sum? "Gram, how much does Aunt Pearl pay you for the baking?"
"Fifty cents a day. An' that's just for my time. She provides the foodstuffs."
So Gram had to work for three days just to buy a bag of beans. And if she worked every day of the week, she'd only earn…fifteen dollars in a month. Claire inhaled a deep breath. How could they ever repay the bill at Lanyard's store? Maybe she could negotiate with him to settle for a lower cost? After all, his prices were nothing short of robbery. But could they even pay half that sum?
No. The problem wasn't Gram spending too lavishly for her wages. The problem was nowhere near enough income.
"What's wrong, Clara Lee?" Gram's voice quivered with love.
Her chest squeezed. Gram and her brother Marcus were the only people who'd gotten away with calling her Clara Lee since she was five years old. In school, she'd hated the nickname. But the way Gram said it was special. "Gram, are there any respectable jobs for women here?"
Gram's shoulders stiffened. "Yer lookin' for a job?"
"Just to earn some spending money, help pay my way." The last thing she wanted was for Gram to think she didn't want to spend time with her. "The trip out here cost more than Papa expected, so I’m almost out of spending money. Not a long job, just a few hours a day while you're napping or something." She had to stop for a breath.
A smile played at the corners of Gram's mouth. "It's okay, Clara Lee. I understand you need a little somethin' of your own to do while you’re here. And I like that yer a hard worker."
Claire let out a long breath. Gram's mouth puckered in a thoughtful pose, so she stayed quiet.
At last, Gram said, "You should check with Aunt Pearl. She's been in sore need of help since
her niece married up with a rancher and moved up the mountain. She'd probably be more tickled than a robin with a worm to have you."
Four hours and eighteen pies later, Claire stood at the back door of the café with two crates stacked on top of each other. A faint aroma of vinegar mixed with the savory smells already had her stomach growling.
The door opened to her knock, and a black-haired woman Claire hadn't seen before stood with a spoon in one hand. A motion at the base of the woman's skirts caught Claire's attention. A toddler peeked from behind the fabric, her curls as dark as her mother's and a fist covering her mouth as she sucked a thumb.
Claire blinked. Had she come to the right door?
The woman turned away to stir a pot on the stove, the child trailing behind her with a hand clutching skirts. "Put them on the table, please."
The woman's voice was so soft, Claire wouldn't have understood the words if they hadn't been so carefully enunciated. Obeying, she placed the crates on the long, sturdy table in the center of the kitchen. "Do you want me to take the pies out of the boxes?"
"Yes, thank you." The woman's speech was proper, and a little formal. But something about her cadence had an exotic lilt. She didn't glance at Claire again, but spooned a creamy, lumpy substance onto plate after plate. Dumplings? The aroma filling the room brought a gurgle to Claire's stomach.
A noise behind grabbed her attention, and Aunt Pearl bustled into the room, an empty tray in hand. She didn’t seem to notice Claire's appearance as she strode to the counter beside the other woman and began loading plates on the tray. "How'do, Miss Sullivan. Hope your grandma's feelin' better. T'was good timing of you ta come when ya did."
"Yes, ma'am." With both women's backs facing her, she might as well have been talking to herself. "She seems much better today. We made eighteen vinegar pies like she said you'd asked."
"We'll need ever' one of 'em. Crowd's started early tonight." With the tray loaded, Aunt Pearl hoisted it to her shoulder and turned toward the cloth separating the dining room.
Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1 Page 46
