He prayed they didn’t question what his vocation was. That had been a deal between himself and God when he’d come on this journey. Not that the Lord made deals, but Barden had offered one. He’d not share he was a vicar, and when he returned to England, he’d be the best parish priest he could be. Oh but how he’d been tempted, though, to tell Caroline. Lord, guide me.
Chapter 5
Caroline crumpled Barden’s note about the painting crew he’d hired and the cost incurred and then stuffed it into her pocket. Standing outside the inn and peering up, she’d have to agree. Yes, the paint was peeling. Yes, it needed to be done. But it seemed as soon as the Englishman tackled one idea, he’d moved on to the next.
Lord, this cannot be the kind of man You’d put me with. Leastwise on a permanent basis.
The new sheriff, a handsome man, rode by and tipped his hat at her. She offered him a tight smile. Abigail and he made a mighty fine-looking couple, even if those two were like she and Barden were—oil and water.
She wadded the note in her pocket into a tiny ball. If the auditions were ridiculous, then his fancying up the dinner was even more so. To allow their new cook, and her future husband, to sweep in and begin changing up things would have been something Pa would have put a stop to. But Pa wasn’t here. Frank wasn’t someone who had grand ideas. His one big idea had been serving in the Civil War. And he’d died before he could enlist. Poor Frank. But at least he’d been spared that horror.
Opening the front door to the restaurant, she went looking for Barden. He wasn’t in the dining room, which had been swept, mopped, windows cleaned, walls scrubbed, and new tablecloths laid down. But no meal had been started yet and Mae was lying down, so she didn’t wish to disturb her. Caroline wove through the kitchen. The back counter was covered with the new dishtowels, presumably over top the rolls they’d be eating that night.
“Barden’s outside.”
She exited the building. She needed to know what to have the boys and Deanna do when they arrived home from school.
She found Barden sitting at her mother’s bench, head bent as though he was in deep thought. “What all do you have for tonight?”
“Oh! Yes. Looks like several of the soldiers are amputees, a few with sword wounds, two with minie balls still inside them …”
“No! I meant the meal.” For someone whose primary purpose was to feed customers, Barden seemed awfully preoccupied with their life situation. “What are you serving them?”
“Oh.” Barden grinned, sending a warmth through her. He stood and took her hand and her heart began beating harder. “I’d rather keep it a surprise.”
She despised surprises. All of the surprises she’d had in her life had been horrid, up until now. She pulled her hand free. “Seriously. What are you feeding those soldiers?”
Cocking his head at her, Barden eyed her carefully. “You don’t trust me to make a good decision, do you?”
Caroline placed her hands on her hips, the plaid material bunching there in a wave of turquoises and blues. “You’re making many changes and decisions.”
Barden laughed. “Well then, I’m making one now. Go up and rest milady, before your feast is served this evening.”
Henry and Leonard walked up carrying a crate, each holding a loop of rope that extruded from each side.
Her soon-to-be-husband turned and held out his hand. “Stop right there, gentlemen. We don’t want to have Caroline guessing my menu, now do we?”
A small cart pulled by a brown-and-white pony stopped in the alleyway. Deanna called out, “Come on, Caroline, I’m taking you for a ride!”
Barden gestured for her to go on. “Don’t fret.”
Why on earth she was caving in so easily to this Englishman’s demands, Caroline couldn’t articulate. But she soon found herself in the cart with her dark-haired sister whisking her away.
“I’m to get you a new hair bow and I’m purchasing ribbons for myself and I would for Virginia, too, if she wasn’t being such a fuss budget this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was ornery toward me. Said I was a little girl and she was a young woman and that she no longer wore ribbons in her hair nor did she wish for Barden to buy her anything.”
“Barden?”
“Yes. He gave me some money to get us something.” Deanna clucked her tongue at the pony to urge her on. “He was so sweet. Said he wished he could purchase us all a whole new wardrobe, but he couldn’t.”
A whole new wardrobe. Wouldn’t that be something? Why would such a notion even cross his mind? Perhaps because he knew he brought nothing to the marriage. Caroline drew in a slow breath. She really should ask him more about himself. He’d said he’d grown up in England and had older brothers. His father did something for the government and his mother stayed at home, presumably taking care of the family. What kind of parents allowed their educated son to run off to America, though? Truth be told, with knowing Frank all his life, it hadn’t been until they’d married that she really understood him better. And it would likely be the same with Barden. He’d tell her more when he was good and ready—like most men.
Three hours later, dressed in her best apricot-colored sateen church dress, Caroline descended the stairs. Her hands brushed over the freshly waxed banisters, the scent of lemon oil still lingering in the air. Pa wouldn’t have wanted Caroline to have continued in what he called her widow’s weeds, and it was time to give them up regardless of convention.
Virginia’s eyes glowed tonight. For the first time since her sweetheart had died, a year earlier, she’d changed out of solid dark clothing and into a floral-patterned dress of icy yellow, soft pinks, and cream. She led Caroline to a white cloth-covered table. Although most of the candleholders in the restaurant didn’t match, the glowing candles added a festive light to the lamps that hung from holders on the walls.
Captain Mitchell stood, bowed from the waist, and pulled Caroline’s chair from the table. The other two men attempted to rise. Lieutenant Andrews, she’d been told earlier, was missing one leg. The other man was weak from an ongoing sickness from the injuries he’d received in the war.
“Please, gentlemen, remain seated.”
Both nodded as Mitchell helped her. Caroline accommodated for the stiff crinoline beneath her skirt as she settled into the chair.
“A great idea, ma’am, of fancyin’ things up for the men.” Andrews removed the cloth napkin from the table and spread it across his lap.
“It’ll lift their spirits.” The captain scanned the room, filled with men all attired in their uniforms, all clean and neat.
Caroline laughed. “I think it is already cheering me up, too.”
Barden strode through the entrance from the kitchen, dressed in a close-fitting suit that she recognized as being one of Dr. Reed’s. The dark wool jacket and matching trousers made him appear taller, and if possible even more handsome. He carried a massive silver platter covered with roast beef slices. Amazing how displaying it in that way made it appear so much more appealing. The beef ranged from a reddish rare to a fully browned well-done. Steam rose from the platter as he approached their table. “Madam, choose your slice.”
Caroline pointed out a piece with just a hint of pink. “How on earth did you manage this?”
Captain Mitchell tapped the side of his temple. “Let’s just say the mayor was a charming woman and that the tavern smells strongly of roast beef.”
“That explains it!” She’d wondered why there’d been no scent of meat cooking.
Her sisters brought gravy boats into the room, while Henry and Leonard served rolls with crocks of fresh butter. Alvin carried around bowls of whipped potatoes.
“We’re trying to offer our guests a lovely dinner but with a family feel.” Barden smiled down at her. What would life with this man be like? Would he always be coming up with ideas?
Virginia lingered near one table in particular, and her brother, Alvin, at another. Her sister stared, in rapt attention, at a
handsome private with dark wavy hair and a moustache. He resembled the sweetheart she’d lost in the war. Caroline averted her gaze. So many of their town men gone, never to return.
“I understand your brother, Alvin, wishes to enlist, Mrs. Kane.” Captain Mitchell paused in slicing his almost-red rare piece of beef.
Caroline stifled the urge to gag. Somehow the image of the almost raw meat, a military captain, and the mention of her brother as a possible soldier contrived to make her feel ill. “Alvin is quite young, and he’s of much help to us here.”
Lieutenant Andrews swallowed the half roll he’d shoved into his mouth. “I reckon he’s older’n I was when I enlisted.”
“Older than David, too.” Captain Mitchell gestured with Mrs. Reed’s silver fork toward a smooth-faced boy huddled at the far end of a table, focused only on eating his food. “He’s sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” Caroline stiffened.
“He’ll learn a lot at a fort like Mackinac—with all these seasoned veterans there.”
She glanced at the corner table, where Luke Collins conversed with his fiancée. If there was another war, would young David suffer what her newest employee had? “What of his parents? His family?”
Andrews and Mitchell exchanged a brief glance before both shook their heads.
Best not to pursue that topic. Caroline shifted the conversation to the weather and travel, and soon they were discussing the difficulties of a cross-country trip. Alvin and Virginia continued to linger at their respective stops as the soldiers passed the potatoes themselves and poured their gravy.
When Barden strolled through the room, Caroline tugged at his elbow. As he bent near, she inhaled his spicy sandalwood scent. A little lightheaded, she managed to get out her request. “Can you please check on Virginia and Alvin? They’re spending excessive time at those tables.”
He nodded then straightened. After circling the room, he discreetly stopped to talk with each sibling, who then moved back to the kitchen.
“Have you ever been to Michigan, Mrs. Kane?” Captain Mitchell grabbed another roll and dipped it into his gravy.
“I’ve never lived outside of Kansas.” Other than in her fantasies, where she lived in late eighteenth-century England surrounded by servants and in love with a man who was the epitome of gentlemanly courtliness. No wonder poor Frank Kane couldn’t live up to her expectations.
“I hear it is a beautiful place where the fort is situated, but winters can be brutal.”
“The lakes are as large as seas.” Andrews lifted his chin, a dab of potatoes dotting his cheek. She resisted the urge to wipe it for him and touched her own face in the same spot hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t.
“But the straits around the island freeze in the winter—it’s that cold!” Captain Mitchell feigned shivering.
“So you can walk to the mainland.” The lieutenant, finally sensing something, wiped his face with his hand.
Mitchell frowned. “If you dare.”
What did she dare do? Barden strode toward them, his eyes fixed on her, his smile doing something that launched butterflies in her stomach.
He touched her shoulder and leaned in. “Are you ready for coffee to be served?”
“Or tea?” She resisted the urge to cover his hand with hers. How could such a simple touch set her heart racing?
He grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek.
“A shame there’s no spirits served.” Captain Mitchell scanned the room. Was he looking for a liquor cabinet? “The men prefer their beer or liquor.”
“Shame there’s none to be had.” Andrews patted his chest, as though feeling for a bottle.
Caroline straightened in her chair. “Coffee or tea will go well with our dessert.” Not that she knew what Mae and Barden had come up with, but there had been a tremendous amount of whipping cream, crumbling of stale cake, and a pan of pudding prepared, plus jars of jelly opened.
“It’s a trifle.” Barden beamed in apparent self-satisfaction.
Kitchen work wasn’t trifling. It was hard. Bone wearying hard. “I beg to differ, as I viewed the results of that dessert preparation.”
Captain Mitchell laughed. “I believe Mr. Granville means it’s called trifle—a kind of English cake and custard concoction.”
“Oh. What an unusual name for a dessert. Especially when the mess in the kitchen from preparing it was no trifling matter.”
The men laughed, but she’d not meant to be funny. Caroline’s cheeks heated. Barden withdrew his hand from her shoulder.
Mr. Woodson emerged from the kitchen, a huge glass punch bowl in his arms. From across the room she spied the pretty layers of white for the cake, red for the jelly, pale yellow for the custard pudding, all topped by a cloud of whipped cream.
The men clapped and a few whistled, making Caroline’s ears ring. Someone suddenly strummed on a banjo.
Barden leaned back in, his face so close to hers, she could kiss him if she swiveled toward him. “Do you approve?” His murmur stirred a longing in her.
Did she approve of kissing in public? No, he couldn’t read her mind. He meant the trifle. Caroline turned toward him, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled his face closer, choosing at the last minute to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you, Barden.”
Hoots ensued. But the raucous laughter didn’t surprise her as much as did Barden’s reaction. For his face turned several shades paler as he hastily departed the room.
Oh no. Barden had seen that look before in the eyes of a young lady in one of the parish flocks he’d visited as a priest in training. When he’d gone to put his vestments away, in a backroom of the country church, the girl had popped out like a jack-in-the-box and grabbed him and kissed him before he could stop her. If the parish priest hadn’t been only steps behind him, Barden could have been in a world of trouble. As it was, he returned to school and had been warned of the strange proclivity some young ladies had toward men of the cloth. But he wasn’t in England. And he wasn’t a vicar. Not yet.
Barden pressed his fingertips to where Caroline had kissed his cheek, leaving him wanting more yet knowing he’d be leaving soon. He had to lay his cards on the table, figuratively speaking. Although, look where that had literally gotten him last time he’d done so. Thank God for the Freemans, who’d sheltered him.
Leonard, Henry, and Mae had cleaned up almost all of the pots and pans and bowls and were starting on the soup bowls.
The kitchen door swung in and Caroline joined them, frowning. But when she looked beyond him, at the orderly kitchen, she beamed. “You all have done so well at getting things washed and cleaned.”
Leonard tapped the pot he was drying. “Barden promised us a ride out to Lori’s ranch if we did a bang-up job.”
Barden drew closer to the youth and tapped his shoulder. “Which you did!”
“You promised what?” His employer’s voice held a warning.
“Mrs. Martinchek said I was welcome to come out on my day off …”
“Day off? I don’t get a day off.” Caroline’s scoff almost sounded like she was holding back tears.
His eyebrows tugged together. She was the owner and could choose whether she’d take a day to herself. “But I do receive time off, like the others. Do I not?”
Her mouth agape, Caroline cocked her head at him, reminding him of a beautiful canary from the hotel where he’d stayed in New York, upon arrival. “I suppose you do.”
Now didn’t seem like the time to ask about his wages. He clapped his hands. “There. Righto. It’s settled then.”
Her eyes took on a misty sheen. “I wish you’d ask me first.”
He’d never been much on asking. Barden simply did and often paid for the consequences later. Not a very priestly trait, but it was how God had made him. Or perhaps his privileged upbringing had brought this about. “I … could start doing that.” It might kill him, but he could try. Especially since he’d be answering to a board and to his superiors come autumn.
>
“I’ll go with you all.” Caroline’s lips formed a perfect pout. “It’s time I had a day off, too.”
Mr. Woodson carried the empty trifle bowl into the kitchen. “Ya’ll goin’ somewhere?”
Mae took it and set it into the dishpan. “They’re going out to the ranch tomorrow.”
The handyman turned toward Caroline. “I’ll hold down the fort, ma’am. No trouble at all, as long as Mae helps me.”
“Sure thing.” Mae beamed at Woodson and then winked at Barden. “If I were younger, I’d want to come out there myself and watch our very own Englishman on the ranch.”
Their own? How would she and the others feel when he departed? Yet he, too, had begun to think of these people as his own. He’d felt more a part of these Turtle Springs residents than he had in all his life at Cheatham Hall. It was as though he’d finally gotten where he was supposed to be.
Home.
Chapter 6
Muffled voices from the hallway woke Barden. Alvin and Virginia’s tones were an odd rush of excitement mixed with anger.
“Let’s ask Barden if he’ll put in a word for us.” Virginia’s voice was clearer now, as though she stood immediately outside his room.
The sharp rap on the door was clearly Alvin’s, which was confirmed when he slipped into the room holding a lamp then closed the door behind him. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“What is it?” Barden shifted onto his elbows as the iron-framed bed groaned in protest. “Anything wrong?”
In the lamplight, a dozen emotions flickered over the young man’s angular face. “No.”
“So you’re accustomed to entering bedchambers uninvited?”
“No.” Alvin ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I just wanted to ask before you and Caroline leave for the ranch.”
“Which isn’t for another hour or two.”
“Yes, well …” Alvin shifted his weight side to side, reminding Barden of a pupil about to be disciplined by the headmaster.
“Out with it then.”
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 42
