by Karen Kirst
Dot burst into the kitchen first and flung herself at him. “We’re back, Uncle Henry.”
“I see.” He scooped her into his arms. “It must be cold out there. Your cheeks are rosy, and your nose is red.” He popped the tip of it with a finger.
The little girl giggled. “The hot cocoa will warm us up. Is it ready?”
“It will be. I just have to fill the mugs.”
“And put whipped cream on top, right?”
“By all means. I can’t imagine cocoa without it.”
Marcie and Alex arrived, followed by Lavinia, who greeted Gladys, plumped the pillows behind her and pulled up the throw that had slipped off the side of the settee. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit better.”
“Helping Henry isn’t too taxing, is it?”
Gladys glanced at him and actually smiled. Her gruff exterior didn’t fool him. He’d seen the longing in the housekeeper’s eyes when he’d joked with the children. Not that he let on that he’d been watching her. If he had to guess, he’d say that the longtime servant had faced difficulties in the past, which had left her hardened. How sad. Life was meant to be enjoyed not endured.
She returned her attention to Lavinia. “I’m not much help, other than keeping him company and serving as his taster. Mr. Henry is a far better cook and baker than I’ll ever be. Just wait until you sit down to the meal tomorrow.”
He eagerly awaited Lavinia’s response. He’d poured himself into the preparations in the hope that she’d see how supportive he was of her plan to make this year’s holiday celebrations the best they could be. The fact that he was enjoying himself immensely was a bonus. He embraced any excuse to spend time cooking. His opportunities to do so were few and far between, but one day…
No. He wouldn’t be opening a restaurant after all. He’d been granted the privilege of caring for the children, and working well into the night wouldn’t fit with his new role in their lives.
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.” Lavinia’s words lacked conviction, and her smile appeared forced, which was puzzling.
Marcie bounded up to him. “I’m going to eat lots, Uncle Henry.”
“Me, too,” Alex added.
Henry shifted Dot to a more comfortable position on his hip. “How about you, Dimples? Are you going to fill your plate?”
She nodded so enthusiastically that her curls bounced.
“And what will be on it?” Henry asked.
“Food.”
Laughter erupted all around him, but he managed to keep a straight face. “What kind of food? Turkey? Stuffing?”
“She doesn’t like stuffing,” Marcie informed them. “But I do. Mama’s stuffing tasted so good.” The normally exuberant girl’s shoulders drooped, and her voice took on a sorrowful tone. “I wish she was still here to make it.”
“I miss her, too, sweetie, but I know she’d want us to be happy.” Lavinia wrapped an arm around Marcie and drew their niece to her side. “I think a cup of cocoa would be just the thing to cheer us up, and I heard your uncle say he’ll have it ready for you soon. Why don’t we get you out of your coats so you’re ready for it?”
The children trooped after Lavinia and returned shortly—without her. “Where’s your aunt?”
“In the parlor,” Alex said, “putting another log on the fire.”
“Very well. If you’ll take a seat at the table, I’ll serve you.”
They clambered into their chairs on the side opposite the pies and awaited their treat. He prepared the drinks with his back to them, carried over the steaming mugs and set one in front of each of them.
Dot clapped and squealed. “It has whipped cream and chocolate curls.”
Marcie smacked her lips, and Alex nodded appreciatively.
“I made a cup for you, too, Gladys.” He handed her one.
“Why, thank you. It’s right fancy.”
“What about Aunt Lavinia?” Dot asked. “She likes cocoa, too.”
“I’ll take her some while you stay here and keep Miss Gladys company.”
Moments later, he entered the parlor, mugs in hand. He held one out to Lavinia, who was seated in Pauline’s favorite chair, gazing at the fire. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She took the cocoa and stared at it. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“What do you mean?” He sat in Jack’s wingback armchair and sipped the tasty beverage.
“This isn’t an ordinary cup of cocoa.”
“I thought the children would appreciate that.”
“I’m sure they do, but…” She set her mug on the side table and turned to face him. The sadness he’d seen all those years ago had returned. She must have been thinking about her sister. “You could have told me you know how to cook.”
So that’s what this was all about? “What difference does it make?”
“You said you know your way around a kitchen the way a bachelor does, but it’s obvious you know a lot more than that. I saw the pies you made. They’re not the work of a novice. Have you worked in a restaurant or something?”
He’d spent as much time as possible in the one inside his hotel, but he didn’t advertise that fact since many men thought of cooking as women’s work. The miners he served appreciated a man who could broil a steak or whip up a mess of beans, but they didn’t come west expecting to eat white fricassee chicken or ragout of onions. If they knew he was a trained chef, he would become a laughingstock.
“I don’t see why it matters, but I received some instruction.”
“Where?”
She was certainly persistent. That trait could serve her well when she encountered obstacles. He’d have to remember that, since she seemed to consider him one. “Back in Philadelphia. I made some wrought iron railings for a widow who’d been a student at Mrs. Goodfellow’s cooking school when she was young. She paid for the materials, but I offered her free labor in exchange for lessons.”
“Why did you want to learn? Few men would.”
He rubbed the chair’s smooth wooden arms. “I happen to enjoy cooking.”
“It’s certainly a useful skill. You’ve proven that.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. A bit of the whipped cream remained on her upper lip, but she swiped it off with a finger and popped it in her mouth. She pulled out her finger, stared at it and blushed. The heightened color did nice things for her fair complexion. “Forgive me. That wasn’t very ladylike.”
“We’re practically family. You don’t have to pull out the company manners for me.”
She gave him a look that made him wonder if he was sporting a whipped-cream mustache himself. “Although we share the same wonderful nieces and nephew, you and I are most definitely not related.”
Her formal tone, the same one she’d used at the wedding, grated on him. “I realize I’m not up to Crowne standards, but I’m a decent fellow.”
She took a sudden interest in her mug, running a finger around its rim. When she finally looked at him, the stiffness was gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Like you, I’m aware that we come from different worlds—and different places. That’s put us at odds, whether we like it or not. But I meant what I said yesterday. I’ll work with you to see that the children are as happy as possible throughout the holidays.”
“They’re looking forward to Thanksgiving.”
She nodded. “You’ve seen to that.”
Her statement sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. Could it be she was jealous of his relationship with the children? If that was the case, she had no cause for concern. He would see that they wrote to her once she returned to Philadelphia. In the meantime, he had to do something to make her feel more welcome. “Gladys shared your menu with me, but is there anything special you’d like me to make?”
&n
bsp; His request earned him a hint of a smile. “Since you ask, did the woman who gave you lessons teach you how to make lemon meringue pie?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Goodfellow had been known for that particular pie. “I’ll whip one up right away.”
Lavinia stood, mug in hand, and he shot to his feet. “I’ll go see how the children are doing.” She crossed the room, paused in the doorway and turned to face him, wearing a warm smile. “Thank you, Henry.”
“My pleasure.” He liked seeing her happy. She would only be here a few weeks, but perhaps he could add a little joy to her life—before she faced the future and the difficult parting that was to come.
* * *
A tempting assortment of savory scents filled the air the following afternoon. The dining room table, although much smaller than the one at which Lavinia had eaten her Thanksgiving dinners back home, was groaning under the weight of the dishes already on it as Henry carried in yet another.
Clad in a black cutaway coat, white shirt and white silk cravat, he looked as fine as any waiter in her father’s restaurants. He’d even draped a white linen cloth over his arm. The children, their eyes as big as their dinner plates, delighted in his performance.
She had to admit he’d impressed her, too, both with his cooking and his appearance. More than once, she’d caught herself staring at him, which wouldn’t do. He might be an incredibly handsome man, as well as a talented one, but he was also the man intent upon exerting his rights as the children’s guardian.
He found a spot to squeeze in the gravy boat, surveyed the spread and nodded at her. “All’s ready for your dining pleasure, milady.”
Dot tugged on Lavinia’s sleeve. “Why did Uncle Henry call you that?”
Alex answered before Lavinia could. “It’s what a waiter in a fancy restaurant calls a fine lady.”
“How do you know?” Marcie asked. “You’ve never been to a place like that.”
“My friend Frankie went to San Francisco, and he told me.”
“Frankie fibbed. He’s never been there. His sister told me so.” Marcie gave her head a toss and stuck her pert little nose in the air.
Gladys put a finger to her lips and frowned. “Shh. Children in fancy restaurants don’t squabble.”
Henry removed the cloth from his arm and took his place at the head of the table.
Lavinia waited until the children were quiet to speak. “Your uncle put a lot of work into this meal. What do you say to him?”
The children chorused their thanks.
She sent Henry a smile. “I’ll add my thanks to theirs. Everything looks and smells great. Would you like to say grace?”
“I’d be happy to.” As soon as all heads were bowed, he began. “Thank You, Lord, for this meal we’re about to enjoy and the special people around this table. We think of two loved ones who are no longer with us, and we thank You that they were in our lives for as long as they were. Be with us in the year ahead, guiding us in the paths You would have us take. In Your name, I ask these things. Amen.”
Silence followed, broken by sniffles from the girls. Even Alex swiped at his eyes. Lavinia struggled to breathe, which was not an easy task given the ache lodged in her chest. Unable to speak, she grabbed the nearest bowl, scooped some mashed potatoes and helped Dot do the same.
Henry picked up the serving fork and carving knife. “Who wants a drumstick?” His well-timed question dispelled the fog of grief that had descended. Excited chatter soon filled the room.
They lingered over the meal, enjoying the delectable dishes. Lavinia sampled each one. Although everything tasted good, she agreed with Marcie. Stuffing was her favorite, and Henry’s was the best she’d ever had. His cooking was on par with that of the chefs her father hired for his restaurants.
To Lavinia’s surprise, Gladys was the last one done. She dabbed at her mouth and laid her napkin on the table. “You outdid yourself, Mr. Henry. Everything was delicious.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. I noticed you tucked in a fair amount.”
“I reckon that’s because food tastes better when someone else fixes it.”
He acknowledged Gladys’s compliment with a wink. “Is anyone ready for dessert?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m too full.”
“Me, too.” Dot patted her stomach, producing three resounding thumps as evidence.
“I can squeeze in one more bite of stuffing.” Marcie forked a bite, ate it and licked the tines.
Lavinia overlooked the informality. It’s what the children were used to. There would be time enough to teach them proper etiquette when she got them back home. “I suggest we wait awhile. It’s a clear day. Perhaps the children would like to play outside, provided they put on their coats first.”
They voiced their approval of the plan and darted out of the dining room.
Gladys hopped up and began clearing the table, prompting Henry to stand as well. The children raced through the room and headed for the back door, with Marcie in the lead.
Lavinia rose and reached for Dot’s plate.
“You don’t need to do that, Miss Lavinia. I’m feeling a bit better this afternoon, and I want to help. It’s the least I can do after Mr. Henry did all the cooking. You two go on out and enjoy watching the children romp around.”
Lavinia wasn’t eager to spend time with Henry after their talk the day before. Following the startling revelation that he was an accomplished cook, she’d left the kitchen to collect her thoughts. Before she could, he’d shown up in the parlor bearing the prettiest mug of hot cocoa she’d ever seen with artfully carved chocolate curls on top of creamy white whipped cream. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d even added a pinch of cinnamon to the steaming beverage.
She still couldn’t believe that he was trained by a student of Mrs. Elizabeth Goodfellow, the renowned cooking instructor who’d run the most highly regarded cooking school in the country, conveniently located in Philadelphia.
And she, Miss Lavinia Hélène Crowne, daughter of a highly successful hotelier, couldn’t even fry an egg. If only she’d been allowed to learn some basic cooking skills, as many of her friends had, she would be able to provide meals for the children. Henry could do so, but she had to rely on Gladys.
Henry was quick to thank Gladys for her offer of help. “I put the block of ice in a pan at the base of the pie safe and covered the door with some towels, so you can store the leftovers there.”
Gladys sent him one of her rare smiles. “You made us an icebox? How clever.”
He laughed. “You haven’t seen it yet. It’s not pretty.”
“If it keeps the food from spoiling, I don’t care what it looks like.” Gladys entered the kitchen with a dish in each hand, leaving Lavinia alone with Henry.
An awkward silence descended on the room.
“Do you want—”
“I’ll go fetch—” she said at the same time.
He nodded at her. “Ladies first.”
“I was going to say that I’ll get my cloak and head out back. And you?”
“You answered my question. I was going to see if you wanted to join the children.”
He waited in the dining room while she retrieved her cloak. They passed Gladys on their way out.
The late November day was clear but chilly. A breeze sent crispy brown leaves from the massive oak tree somersaulting over the ground. The large limb that had trapped her was nowhere to be seen.
“When did you find time to move the branch?”
“I saw to that while you and Dot went to the grocer’s to pick up the spices I needed yesterday. It’s behind the shed, waiting to be cut into firewood. I’ll get the lumber and shingles tomorrow and repair the shed on Saturday, provided the weather holds.”
The children were involved in a rousing game of tag, zigz
agging across the backyard. Marcie chased after Alex with Dot not far behind. How they could run after all they’d eaten was a mystery.
Lavinia took a seat on the porch swing, sitting to one side so there would be room for Henry. He inclined his head toward the open spot as if asking permission. She nodded. He sat and promptly pushed his feet against the floor, setting them rocking.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, relishing the soothing motion of the swing. The children’s laughter helped drown out the distant rumble of the stamp mill at Leland Stanford’s Lincoln Mine north of town, which operated around the clock, even on holidays.
The quest for gold drove the town and many of its inhabitants. Although Mr. Stanford’s formerly fledgling mine was now doing well, most of the men who’d come west in the hope of striking it rich had little to show for their efforts. She’d been happy that Jack had come to California prepared to ply his trade, knowing a blacksmith’s services would be in high demand. He’d done all right for himself and built a nice home for his family, a larger one than she would have expected.
Lavinia stood and ran a hand along the wrought iron railing with its decorative pattern. The front porch had a matching railing, but the one on the staircase inside the house was even more beautiful. “This reminds me of Jack and Pauline. I can see my sister’s creative flair in the twists and curlicues, along with your brother’s fine workmanship.”
Henry smiled. “Pauline did have an eye for design. She wanted something even more elaborate, but I had to remind her that there was a limit to my, er, a blacksmith’s abilities.” He looked away, but not before she saw his lips pressed firmly together, obviously regretting his slip.
“I see. He was the salesman, but you did much of the work. Your talent is evident here as well as at the Crowne Jewel. Father might not have been happy about hiring Jack and having him win my sister’s heart, but he’s pleased with the job you did. Whenever he gives a tour of that hotel, he points out your artistry.”
The swing’s chains attached to the balcony overhead creaked rhythmically as Henry kept the swing in motion. “I appreciate the compliment, but I haven’t practiced that trade in years. Long enough for these to come clean.” He held up his hands and turned them so she could see the palms and then the backs. “I can offer to shake a lady’s hand these days without offending her sensibilities.”
