The Bad Luck Wedding Cake

by Geralyn Dawson

  Approaching the cottage, he saw that all was dark. She must have gone to bed. Apparently Tye’s hunch had been wrong. Claire wasn’t in need of help. Claire was…

  Sitting on the porch swing. Crying. And dammit, he hated it when women cried.

  It felt natural—too natural—to sit down beside her and take her into his arms. She melted against him, emitting soft, sad whimpers rather than sobs. “Ah, sugar, don’t. Everything will be all right.”

  “All right?” She pulled away from him. “My da barrels in and steals away my dream and you say everything will be all right? What world are you living in, Tye McBride. Obviously not the real one. And what are you doing here? You were supposed to go home and check on the Menaces.”

  “The Blessings, and I did,” he replied without the usual steel that crept into his voice when that objectionable nickname was used. He was glad to see the starch return to her spine, so hearing the word “Menaces” didn’t bother him as much as usual. “I came back to see what happened to the Claire Donovan I know. She disappeared and left a milksop in her place.”

  “Oh, Tye. I don’t know if I can stand up to them again. I tried a little tonight, but it is so hard.”

  She rose from the swing and walked away from him, down the front porch steps and out into the yard. Moonlight illuminated her expression, revealing the tracks of her tears. She looked so damned sad that had her father or brothers been standing by, Tye would have decked them.

  “I can’t believe he’s taking my bakery.”

  He followed her off the porch. “I can’t believe you are going to let them.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain.”

  “I’m not certain I understand everything myself.”

  “Maybe telling me will help you get it straight in your head.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she nodded. “I guess it’s simple enough, really. They are my family and I love them. My refusal to marry Reid led them into bankruptcy. I used Da’s money to open The Confectionary. I see why he thinks he has the right to come in and take over.”

  “And you, Claire? What do you think? Do you think he has that right?”

  She paused a long moment before saying, “No. No, I don’t. Not if he intends to shove me aside. I’ll admit to sharing some of the responsibility for the failure of the family business, but I’m no more to blame than the rest of them. If Brian and Patrick hadn’t lobbied so hard to have their own bakeries, Da wouldn’t have taken out those loans. But it was his decision to borrow the money. No one else’s. Maybe fathers throughout history have sacrificed their daughters on the altar of matrimony in the interests of the clan, but darn it, this isn’t the Old Country. It was wrong of them to expect me to marry a man I didn’t love, for money. I’m no whore, by God.”

  Backbone and starch. Good girl. “Now you’re talking.”

  She was also marching back and forth, her voice rising with every word. The woman had passion in her. No denying it.

  “Why is it that just because I’m a girl, I don’t count as much as the boys? I have hopes and dreams, too. Why are theirs more important than mine?”

  “They’re not.”

  She whirled on Tye. “Tell that to my father, would you? And to my mother and brothers, too. They certainly aren’t in on that little secret.” She stepped closer, staring up at him. “You have sisters. Are they ignored in favor of the boys?”

  Tye laughed at the idea. “No, that’s not the case at all. My sisters have always run the roost at Oak Grove. Drove me and Trace nuts when we were growing up.”

  “Well, it’s not that way in my family. You should have heard my father after you left, Tye. I built The Confectionary from nothing, and does he acknowledge my accomplishment? No. He criticizes how much Magic I have in stock. How dare he do this? How dare he ignore me and my accomplishments just because my plumbing is different from Brian’s and Patrick’s? How dare he steal my shop from me in one breath, then tell me he loves me in another?”

  Tye cleared his throat “He’ll dare as long as you let him, girl. You stood up to him before by running away from your wedding. You gonna stand up to him this time?”

  The question doused her fire like a pail of cold water. He again saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes as she looked at him and said, “How can I? Did you see my father’s pain when he admitted to losing the business? They are bankrupt, Tye. They have no place to go. What else can I do?”

  “I’m not saying throw them out. I’m saying stand and fight for what you want. You want to share The Confectionary with them, then fine. The key word there is share. Don’t let them shove you aside. You are a strong woman, Claire. Be strong around them. Show up at the bakery same time as always. Your hard work has earned you that right. Don’t give it away for lack of mettle to stand up to your pa. You can do it. You’ve done it before.”

  “Once,” she said sullenly.

  “Twice. You’re still here tonight, aren’t you, and not at their rental. Make a run at three. Show up at work in the morning and don’t let them send you home.”

  He watched her think about it, watched the idea take hold and grow. “It’s hard, Tye.”

  He nodded. “Most things worthwhile are hard.”

  “But I can fight for what I want.”

  “Darn straight, you can. I’ll give you one more hint, and then I’d best be getting home. Work on your mother, Claire. I watched her while your pa was going at it. I think the right kind of convincing might bring her over to your side. If you get her standing with you, that might be all you’ll need.”

  Claire spat a laugh. “My mother take a stand against my father? You’d best get to bed, Tye, you’re sounding delirious. That will never happen.”

  “You never know, girl. Folks said Maribeth wouldn’t win the spelling bee, either.”

  “Why, Tye McBride, are you telling me to cheat?”

  He shrugged and tipped his nonexistent hat. “Like the saying goes, All is fair in love and war. Seems to me like this business with your family is a little bit of both.”

  ***

  EMMA VIVIDLY recalled the last time she’d visited Hell’s Half Acre. That was the day that marked the beginning of their papa’s courtship of Jenny Fortune, who was now their new mama. The Acre hadn’t been half so scary then as it was tonight. Of course, that last trip had been taken in the daylight, not during these shadowed hues of night.

  Tinny piano music and laughter spilled out onto the streets, surrounding the sisters as they made their way deeper into the Acre. The girls walked single file with Emma leading the way, Maribeth behind, and Katrina in the middle. Kat had a death grip on the back of Emma’s shirt, and Maribeth’s hold on the pouch containing the money they’d taken from Papa’s safe looked just as fierce. “Papa would blister our behinds if he knew what we were up to,” she grumbled. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “Shush!” Emma held up a hand for them to halt. Then, with her heart sitting like a lump in her throat, she yanked her youngest sister toward a nearby horse trough, gesturing that they should hide.

  A few seconds later a man came stumbling toward them out of the darkness. He smelled of cigar and sweet perfume, and Emma held her breath until the stink of him dispersed on the warm nighttime air. She made them wait for another seemingly interminable minute before they resumed their trek through the Acre. Their destination was one of the tiny single-room houses called cribs on Rusk Street. According to their friend Casey Tate, that was where Madame LaRue sold her wares.

  They had never actually met Madam LaRue, but Casey had told them all about her. She was the one who had sold him Spike, the fortune-teller fish. Emma had been intrigued by the idea of visiting her shop ever since they first learned about it, but up until now, nothing had been worth defying their father to such an extent as to risk a trip into the Acre. Now, though, they were dealing with Uncle Tye’s future happiness.

  They turned the corner onto Rusk Street, and Emma almost i
mmediately spied the red-and-purple glass lanterns Casey had told them to watch for halfway down the block. “What time is it?” Maribeth whispered.

  Katrina pulled a watch from her pocket. “Twelve-fifteen.”

  Maribeth met Emma’s gaze, and the girls nodded at one another. Madam LaRue opened for business only between the hours of midnight and three A.M. Casey hadn’t been able to tell them why, but Emma suspected the woman might have another job during the day. After all, how much work could a black-magic priestess find in Fort Worth, Texas?

  After hiding from two more pedestrians, the girls finally made their way to Madam LaRue’s doorway. Sucking in a breath, Emma linked hands first with Katrina, then Maribeth, and stepped inside.

  A cloying scent of incense in the air made Emma want to sneeze. Katrina spoke softly out the side of her mouth. “Ooh, it stinks in here. Reminds me of the time when Papa punished us by making us launder the tablecloths from the End-of-the-Line Saloon.”

  Emma only nodded in reply as she gazed in wonder and amazement at the boxes and jars occupying the shelves that lined the walls. The items hanging from the ceiling gave her a start: dead animals. Stuffed dead animals, she realized with some relief. Two chickens, a rooster. Oh, yuck, a hog’s head. She shivered a grimace.

  Dragging her gaze from the ceiling, Emma focused on the imposing figure seated behind a black lacquered desk. Uneasiness sputtered through her. The woman wore a white silk turban and a flowing emerald-green robe. Bright red paint stained her fleshy cheeks and lips. Vivid blue colored the skin above brown eyes framed by the thickest, blackest lashes Emma had ever seen. Big gold hoops decorated her ears, and when she lifted her hand to tap a finger against her lips, Emma spied rings adorning each of her fingers and even her thumb.

  “She is more colors than a wildflower field,” Katrina said with awe, stepping forward for a better look.

  “I shall consider that a compliment,” Madam LaRue replied, her voice a soft, whispery hiss. “Now tell me, what quest brings three foolish children to my emporium during the talons of the night?”

  Talons of the night? A shiver raced up Emma’s spine, but she swallowed hard and loudly cleared her throat. “Hello, Madam LaRue. My name is Emma McBride and these are my sisters, Maribeth and Katrina.”

  Bells sewn to the trim on the woman’s sleeves tinkled as she clasped her hands atop the table. “The McBride Menaces, of course. I have long anticipated your arrival.”

  Emma glanced at Mari, then asked, “Why?”

  Again the bells sounded as Madam LaRue waved, her long, scarlet-painted fingernails flashing in the lamplight. “Your visit was foretold.”

  “Did you see us in your crystal ball?” Kat asked, her eyes wide with excitement. “Or maybe you have another fortune-teller fish other than Spike?”

  “No.” She cackled a laugh. “Your friend Casey suspected you might come.”

  “Oh.” Katrina’s face fell with disappointment. Emma knew she had long found the idea of a crystal ball intriguing.

  Madam LaRue smiled. “He didn’t tell me why you would visit me, however. Should I cast the Celtic stones and learn for myself, or do you wish to tell me?”

  As the black-magic priestess removed a tiny box containing three small, highly polished stones, Emma shook her head. “We shouldn’t waste time. We should get it and go.”

  “No,” Katrina protested. “Let’s see if she can guess what we’re here to buy. It’ll be fun.”

  Maribeth agreed with Kat and they stepped toward the table. Keeping a wary eye on the ceiling, Emma followed, positioning herself so that she didn’t stand beneath the hog’s head. If it slobbered on her she’d have heart palpitations.

  Madame LaRue lifted the stones from the box and brought them toward her face. Pursing her painted lips, she blew on them, then recited what sounded like an incantation. At least, Emma thought it was an incantation. The rhythms in her voice sounded similar to her own when she asked Spike for answers.

  She shook the rocks, then flung them like dice across the table. When they rolled to rest, she leaned over them, studying the surfaces.

  “What do you see?”

  “I see you brought cash with you to pay for my services.”

  Kat nodded. “That’s right. Mari won it in the spelling bee, and we’re borrowing it from the homeless dogs until we can earn enough to replace it. We have thirty dollars. We need to save some of it for Miss Blackstone’s vase, but it should be enough because Casey told us you charged twenty dollars for—”

  “Don’t tell her,” Emma said. “We’re trying to get her to guess, remember?”

  Madam LaRue flicked Emma a sharp-eyed glance. “The stones tell me you’ve come here to purchase a love potion; your sister didn’t need to say it.”

  “Wow.” Katrina leaned over the table. “Where does it say it? I can’t see.”

  “You should be happy you are blind to the Celtic stones,” Madam LaRue said, rising from her seat “You are not versed in the black arts. Such sight could blind you.”

  Mari yanked her little sister away from the table. “Get back here, Kat.”

  With a wicked laugh, the black-magic priestess turned to the shelves behind her. “You do prefer a potion to a spell, am I right?”

  “Yes,” Emma said. “We plan to pour it into sweet iced tea we’ll give to our uncle and the woman we want him to love.”

  Maribeth piped up. “That won’t hurt it, will it? Sweet tea won’t interfere with its magic?”

  Madam LaRue smiled as she picked a small bottle from the shelf and turned around. She set it on the table with a flourish and said, “No, iced tea won’t damage the love potion at all. In fact, I suspect the flavors will complement. Your money, child?”

  Maribeth frowned. “Twenty dollars is a whole lot of money. That looks like an awful tiny bottle to be worth twenty dollars.”

  “And how much is your uncle’s happiness worth to you?”

  Man opened the bag, removed the bills, and counted them out carefully as Emma reached for the love potion. She tilted the clear glass bottle to one side, studying the dark, toffee-colored liquid. “How many doses is this? How much do we use?”

  “One spoonful per glass is enough,” Madam answered, scooping up the money and sticking it down into her bodice.

  Emma contemplated the bottle, and her gaze must have given her thoughts away because Maribeth snapped, “Don’t. You’re not going to use it on Casey Tate, Emma McBride. You’re too young for love potions.”

  A quick-thinking businesswoman, the priestess turned back to her inventory, this time removing a pink crystal from a jar. “This is a love charm, a more appropriate tool for a young woman your age. It’s two dollars.”

  “Mari?” Emma asked.

  Mari snorted and dug into the money pouch for the coins. “Don’t forget we have to save four dollars for Miss Blackstone’s vase.”

  After that, nothing would do but to buy something for Kat, too, so they waited another five minutes while Madam LaRue cast an arithmetic spell over the youngest sister. Emma had almost fainted when the priestess glanced up at the animals hanging above their heads.

  Thankfully, Madam LaRue chose a stuffed owl to use in her spell, not the hog, like Emma had feared. Finally, to her relief, they finished their business and departed the shop.

  “I feel smarter already,” Kat said, her chin lifted smugly in the air. “Wasn’t Madam LaRue wonderful?”

  Maribeth yanked her sister into the shadows and out of the streetlamp’s glare. “I sure hope she’s not a fake, and the whole spelling bee plan wasn’t a waste of time.”

  “A fake!” Kat protested. “Why would you say that? You saw her read the stones and learn what we came for. You’re not very nice to call her a fake, Maribeth McBride.”

  “I didn’t call her a fake. I said I hoped she wasn’t one. She could have figured out why we were there if this love potion is the only thing she sells for twenty dollars.”

  “I believe in her,” Emma said. “Ca
sey says she has the power and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Someone’s coming,” Kat said, and they flattened themselves against a wall of a small house similar to Madam LaRue’s. From inside, Emma heard a woman moan and a man groan, and something about the sounds made her put protective hands over Katrina’s ears. A group of laughing cowboys passed their hiding place, followed by a man weaving his way up the street. Emma recognized the banker, Mr. Reece, and slowly shook her head. When Papa got home she’d have to tell him to count his money closely next time he dealt with Fort Worth National.

  Emma jumped at the pop of a cork being released beside her. “Mari, what are you doing?” she whispered fiercely.

  “I want to see what it smells like.”

  “Well, don’t taste it, whatever you do.” Good heavens, Emma thought. All she needed was a sister in love with Mr. Reece. “I’m not stupid. I just want to…oh my.”

  “Oh my, what?”

  “The smell.”

  “Is it awful?”

  “No, it’s wonderful. Really wonderful. Smell it, Em.”

  Maribeth shoved the bottle beneath her nose, and Emma took a whiff. So surprised was she that she forgot to keep her voice down. “My stars. This love potion smells exactly like Miss Donovan’s Magic.”

  Then Emma forgot all about the love potion when a man’s voice came out of the shadows.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

  Emma knew the voice. She knew the voice and the stink of whiskey that swirled around them. Big Jack Bailey. Their mother’s gravest enemy. The man who shot Uncle Tye and almost killed Mama and the baby growing in her tummy. “Run, sisters!”

  Maribeth jerked the love potion away from Emma’s nose and slammed the cork back into it even as her feet took off running. Emma pushed Katrina forward, following right on her heels. For the space of a heartbeat she thought they had safely escaped, but the painful yank at her scalp told her he’d caught her pigtail. He tugged her backward, and she fell at his feet. Gazing upward, all she could see of his face was the eerie gleam of his eyes. Her heart leapt to her throat.