As she approached the table, John Donovan scowled. “What mischief are you up to now, Daughter? Didn’t you throw a fuss about not coming to work today? What are you doing in my bakery?”
It was, she thought, a singularly poor choice of words. Her temper fizzed like vinegar and soda. “Your bakery, Da? Is it really? Did you start this bakery from nothing? Did your hard work make it the viable business it is today? Or was it my efforts that built this shop?”
Her father leaned back in his chair, his chin dropping in shock. “She’s doing it again, Peg,” he said, his voice perplexed. “What’s gotten into the girl?”
Her mother asked, “What is the matter, Claire?”
“What is the matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter. I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting all the time. Tired of losing. My bakery, my friends, my freedom. The curtains I sewed for this shop. Lars eloped with Loretta Davis, did you know that? I didn’t even know she was the one for him. I’ve hardly talked with him since the Donovans came to town.”
“Lars eloped?” John said, his eyes rounding with surprise. “I don’t believe it. Why, he hasn’t—”
“See?” Claire interrupted, glaring at her mother while pointing toward her father. “He’s doing it again. I’m in the process of telling you my deepest feelings, and he glosses right over them and zeroes in on the man in my conversation.”
Tears stung her eyes and she furiously blinked them away. “Why don’t I matter as much as your sons, Da? Why do you value them so much more than me? I have hopes and wishes and dreams just like Patrick and Brian. Why do theirs count and mine not?”
“Catherine Claire.” His mouth hung open and he shook his head. “How can you say these things?”
“It’s easy. It’s been this way all my life. I’ve just never understood it. Why should the boys be allowed to marry the women they love, but I must marry according to your decree? Why shouldn’t I get the same choices and opportunities as they? I’m as talented, as intelligent. I know I’m better at figures than both of them put together.”
“But you’re a girl,” John Donovan declared. “Girls aren’t equal to boys. That’s not the way the world works.”
“I’m not talking about the world, Da. I’m talking about our family. Whether I like it or not, men run the world and that’s not about to change anytime soon. I can live with that. But I can’t live with my place in this family. You should love me as much as you love your sons.”
“I do, pumpkin. You know I do.” John Donovan looked helplessly at his wife.
“Apparently not, John.” Peggy Donovan patted her lips with her napkin, then set it on the table. Rising from her chair, she stood beside her daughter. “Claire is right. You do treat her like a second-class citizen.”
“I don’t treat her any differently than I treat you.”
Peggy turned to Claire. “I never knew you, Daughter, and it shames me. I should have realized what lay at the source of your rebellion. You are so like your father.” She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Claire’s ear. “Do you know that? I see so much more of him in you, than of myself.”
“Mama, I—”
Peggy lay her finger against Claire’s lips. “My turn. You are right. We have never listened to you. You were the little girl your father and I wanted so desperately. Our princess. We wanted to cosset you and protect you and provide for you. I never realized that your fairy tale might be different from mine.”
“Peggy,” John broke in.
“Hush,” she told him, never looking away from her daughter. “For once, my daughter has my attention at the moment.”
Her mother was actually standing up for her. Suddenly it was too much for Claire, and the tears she’d fought back since leaving Willow Hill spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
“Oh.” Peggy clicked her tongue and wiped her daughter’s tears with her husband’s napkins. “Come along, water pot. We need to talk, and I know just the way we should go about it.” She extended her hand, palm out, toward her husband. “Give me money, John. Your daughter and I are going shopping.”
***
THE RECEPTION honoring newlyweds Loretta and Lars Sundine was Maybelle Davis’s attempt to socially save face. Her housekeeper admitted to Peggy Donovan— who told Claire—that privately, Maybelle despaired at the thought of having a baker-accountant for a son-in-law rather than the titled gentleman she’d longed for. In other words, Tye McBride. Publicly, the doctor’s wife told a different story. When Maybelle Davis hired Claire to provide sweets for the party, she acted tickled to death with the husband her dear, darling Loretta had chosen.
Maybelle’s attitude didn’t make a bit of difference to Claire. She was too busy being thrilled with having been hired for the job. Maybelle had wanted her to make the cake. Not her father or any of her brothers. Her. She’d said she trusted the quality of Claire’s products after having purchased various items over the course of many weeks. She didn’t have that extended experience with the baked goods the male Donovans produced. She also acted surprised that Claire even asked, when she denied any input from Lars in making the decision.
The work came at an opportune time for Claire—on the heels of her confrontation with her father. It subtly proved her point.
Overall, Claire was pleased with the progress she was making with her family. Her mother had listened to her—truly listened—for the first time in forever, and Da no longer protested her presence at the bakery every morning. True, lasting change came in little steps, she knew, and she was encouraged with the strides made so far.
Now if only she knew how to step where the McBride family was concerned. She had not spoken with Tye since the scene at Willow Hill two weeks earlier. Every time she recalled his charges, her anger erupted all over again. Throwing all her energies into reception delicacies had proved to be a welcome distraction, and as she carried the last plate of cookies to the serving table in the Davises’ backyard, she smiled with satisfaction at a job well done.
The setting was everything a bride could hope for. The sun was shining and a light, airy breeze carried just a hint of chill. Splashes of yellow ribbon decorated the yawning branches of the giant pecan trees that shaded a space of open lawn a perfect size for dancing. Purple irises swimming in clear glass bowls served as centerpieces for linen-draped tables placed in friendly groupings around the yard. Near the house magnolia blossoms perfumed the air, while closer to the makeshift dance floor a string trio tuned their instruments in preparation for the party.
And, on a round table at the foot of the back steps, Claire applied the finishing touches to the pièce de résistance of her career, her first bride’s cake. Her first Magical Wedding Cake.
She wondered what Tye would think when he saw it.
“Not that I want to see him,” she muttered, touching up a swirl of Magical vanilla icing. She was determined to put the man completely out of her mind.
She wondered if he’d be here today.
“Come on, Claire,” she softly scolded herself. “Concentrate on business. You want this cake to be perfect.”
And it was. Finished with the last of her touch-ups, she stepped away and allowed herself a moment of admiration. It was beautiful. Her best work ever. Perhaps the love she felt for the groom had somehow made itself known during the creation of this cake. Whatever the reason, Claire knew—and the family would certainly recognize—that with this effort she had proven her talents equal to those of her brothers.
It was a delicious feeling.
At that moment Lars Sundine appeared with his blushing bride on the back steps. He took one long look at the cake, then dipped into a bow. Loretta clapped her hands and squealed with delight. “Everything looks so beautiful and perfect. Why, this is going to be the most successful party this town has ever seen.”
For the first two hours of the festivities, Claire was inclined to agree. Wilhemina’s bright and airy laughter set the mood, and guests ate and danced and drank with gay abando
n. For a time she kept an anxious eye on the arrivals, wondering if Tye might show up, take a look at the wedding cake, and start yammering about aphrodisiacs.
Of course, it might be a good thing if he did. Look what the Magical Wedding Cake legend had done for the Donovan family business. Imagine what kind of a stir an Aphrodisiac Wedding Cake would cause.
Despite herself, she grinned and murmured, “It would be something to see.”
“What would be something to see?” asked the groom from behind her.
Claire turned with a smile. “Me on the dance floor. I love this tune.”
“Great minds think alike.” Lars extended his elbow to escort her toward the swirling crowd. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Claire.”
They danced two waltzes. It took that long for Lars to successfully tease her out of her pique over not being informed of the nuptials before the fact. “She’s a lovely young woman, Lars, and I’m very, very happy for the both of you. And now that you’re happy, I finally feel free to tell you, I never liked that Millicent Ayers.”
He grinned, and his gentle, loving gaze found his wife, laughing as she twirled in the arms of Patrick Donovan. “It was the luckiest day of my life when she dumped me.”
After Lars, Claire danced with a number of customers, then rested for a time, conversing with the ladies. Relaxed and enjoying herself, she grinned at Lars, who had stopped in the middle of a dance to lay a lusty kiss on his blushing bride.
Then Claire’s pleasure ground to a halt with the arrival of her family—and the snake in a suit coat that slithered in with them.
“Look here, Claire,” said her da, his face wreathed in smiles. He gave the man beside him a hearty pat on the back. “Look who rode in on the morning train.”
She looked, all right. Looked and about lost the oysters she’d swallowed a moment ago. Must be the slime they have in common, she thought irreverently.
“He’s brought us good tidings,” John continued. “He’s managed to buy up our debts, and we’ll be able to get the company back. Isn’t this glorious news!”
Claire’s stomach went sour as Reid Jamieson took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth for a kiss as his gaze delved into hers, sending messages she couldn’t quite interpret. When she felt his lips touch her skin, it was all she could do not to jerk her hand away and wipe it on her skirt.
“Hello, love,” he said, his voice a husky drawl. “Fancy meeting you at a wedding reception.”
***
TYE PLUCKED a pickle from a tray on the serving table and plopped it in his mouth, ruefully observing the trouble Katrina was having choosing between the potato salad and baked beans. “Take a little of both, honey. You’re holding up the line.”
“That’s right.” Maribeth nudged her sister with an elbow. “You’d better get some and hurry up or you’ll miss out on the sweet potato pie.”
With that as a lure, Katrina skipped both the beans and the potato salad, leaving room on her plate for extra sweet potatoes. Tye knew she should eat more than one piece of roast beef and a stomach full of dessert that posed as a vegetable, but he simply didn’t have the heart to force the issue. This was the happiest he’d seen Katrina and her sisters in days, and he didn’t want to do or say anything that might dampen their spirits.
They’d come down with a severe case of missing their mama and papa.
Tye didn’t know what brought it on, but it sure had hit them hard. Kat came down with it first, waking up one night sobbing for Papa. After that the malady spread through the family like the chicken pox. Shoot, even he felt a twinge or two wishing Trace would come on home. Not that he didn’t enjoy his time with the Blessings, but truth be told, they had just about worn him out. Learning the truth about the girls’ business with the Magic and his subsequent call on Madam LaRue in the Acre still had him waking up with night sweats going on two weeks after the fact.
The witch had put a hex on him. He’d gone down to the Acre and given her the sharp side of his tongue for the better part of an hour. By the time he’d finished with her, she’d not only sworn never to give, sell, or otherwise distribute her wares to any person under the age of sixteen, she’d also found religion and sworn to lose twenty pounds to boot. But as he was leaving, she’d experienced a moment of bravery and done the deed. She’d predicted he’d tangle with a woman who would bring him to his knees. Each night ever since, he’d tussled with Claire Donovan in his dreams.
How was it, he wondered, that despite his never having taken her on that swimming trip, he dreamed of how she looked in dripping, detailed color damn near every time he closed his eyes? It was enough to make a man swear off sleep.
He felt bad about the way he’d talked to her. He sort of hoped he’d see her here today so he could apologize. Not that he didn’t mean most of what he’d said, but he could have said it nicer. And besides, once he said he was sorry, maybe he’d start getting some sleep at night.
The Blessings carried their laden plates to a table with their school friends while the string trio segued into a popular waltz. After helping the girls get settled, Tye dodged a gaggle of approaching women who had that “Lord McBride” look about them by sliding into the lone empty chair beside Lars Sundine. “Pretend to talk to me.”
“Is it lord season again?” the groom asked, looking decidedly unhappy for a man at his own wedding party.
“Still, and the hunting’s gotten worse than ever.” Tye gave his head a woeful shake. “Maybelle told me the Blessings had convinced most of the women in town that I was in love with your Loretta. Now they think I’m free again.”
Lars smirked. “And brokenhearted, too. They’ll be wanting the chance to heal you, all right.”
“With cream pies, it seems. I hate cream pies.”
For the next few minutes Tye questioned the Swede about his job at the bank and whether he’d continue working at the bakery now that he was a married man. His sudden interest in Lars’s life was mainly an effort to avoid accidentally catching a woman’s eye. When he finally thought it was safe to look away from the groom and glance around, he got his first good look at the centerpiece of the dessert table—the wedding cake.
Somehow he knew it was Claire’s work.
Well, hell. The girls can’t have any cake. No matter what Claire said, he knew how Magic affected him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to let the Blessings have any. They’d be sore as blisters at him, but he couldn’t let that stop him. “Magic strikes again.”
Then the little voice of truth inside him whispered, Be honest, McBride. It’s not the Magic that gets to you, it’s the woman herself.
“Did you say something?” Lars asked.
Tye shrugged, then gestured toward the table. “I’m surprised y’all haven’t already cut the wedding cake. We arrived late because the horny toads escaped their box and Maribeth wouldn’t leave home until we found them.”
Lars scowled and sipped his champagne. “So you didn’t hear the news?”
“What news?”
“The rumors about Claire’s cake,” he replied. “I could strangle John Donovan for bringing Reid here today of all days. The perfect day for him to spill his story. I can’t decide if John knew what he was doing or not. I’d like to doubt it, but…” he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“What the hell are you talking about, Sundine?”
Lars Sundine sighed and tossed back the rest of his champagne. “You didn’t hear the talk? All that nonsense about what a close call dear Loretta had today? How it was pure good luck she decided to wait until later than normal to cut the cake? Maybelle has sent word to the hotels and restaurants in town to deliver any cakes they might have on hand. My mother-in-law is beside herself with embarrassment, and my wife and I have had the first fight to break our wedded bliss.”
Tye couldn’t follow this conversation on a bet. “Embarrassment about what? I’m following only about half of what you’re saying. What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard about
the—” he cleared his throat and sneered “—Bad Luck Wedding Cake?”
“The Bad Luck Wedding Cake?” Tye repeated.
Lars thumped his empty champagne glass, tipping it over. “That’s what folks here in town are calling it. They’re saying Claire shouldn’t have risked Loretta’s and my happiness. I swear I want to box the ears of each and every one of these superstitious fools.”
Tye narrowed his eyes. “Does this have something to do with this fiancé person?”
“How did you guess.” Lars made a fist with his right hand and stared at it. “He needs more than his ears boxed, I’m telling you. I’m just about drunk enough to do it, too.” After a slight pause he added, “Loretta threatened to sleep at her mother’s house tonight. She didn’t like me defending Claire.”
“I’ll take over that job, I promise. You can keep your bride happy.” Tye reached over and set Sundine’s glass upright, then motioned for one of the waiters to come refill it. “But first you have to tell me the story. And start at the beginning so I can follow it this time.”
Sundine nodded sadly. “It’s that damned Reid Jamieson. I can’t believe he fooled us all. Everyone but Claire, that is. He’s the one who told Wilhemina Peters, and telling Wilhemina is telling everybody.”
“What did the son of…what did Jamieson say!”
“He told Wilhemina about the Bad Luck Wedding Cake. Actually, of course, it’s a Donovan’s Magical Wedding Cake. Do you know the story, McBride? The cakes have become quite famous in recent years, not only because they taste so delicious, but because of the legend.”
“I’ve heard some talk about it, but I don’t remember exactly what.”
Lars brushed a butterfly off his sleeve and continued, “One of Claire’s ancestors wrote in a journal that the marriages of those couples who served a Magical Cake at their weddings appeared to be blessed with an extra measure of happiness and prosperity. Well, Reid shows up here at my reception saying Claire broke the enchantment when she left him standing at the altar. Now everyone thinks the Magical Cakes are bewitched, that they are bad luck for brides and grooms and even for the Donovan family. They say the Donovans lost their business because of the Magical Wedding Cakes, not because of ill-considered business loans.”
The Bad Luck Wedding Cake Page 21
