The Fruitcake Challenge (Christmas Traditions Book 3)

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  She removed her apron. Would the one she’d wear at the bakery in the Upper Peninsula be pretty? She’d pull her pink calico floral print with ruffles from her cedar hopeless chest to wear if her employer allowed her to don the frilly garment for work.

  Mrs. Peyton ceased chopping potatoes for pasties. “Jo, Frenchie’s waiting.”

  Inhaling the pleasant co-mingling scents of beef pasties and sugar and vanilla, Jo turned from center of the kitchen. Today they were fully staffed. Even Irma came in to start doing some cooking ahead for the upcoming holidays. Thousands of cookies would be baked between now and Christmas.

  Pearl paused in rolling out dough and looked up as Jo headed toward the back door. “I need some cocoa powder off that shipment, if’n you don’t mind.”

  “Sure thing.” She opened the door and shivered as the frosty lake breeze penetrated her threadbare dress.

  Outside, Mr. Brevort sat high atop the buckboard. He directed his team to pull the dray as close to the back door as possible.

  The horses tried to shake their heads but he held them steady and shouted at them in French, “Arrêtez de tirer.” Stop pulling.

  They calmed.

  “Most of the food goes inside, mademoiselle.” The elderly man stumbled beneath a burlap bag marked on the front in bold black letters—WALNUTS. He caught himself and adjusted his load. “Open the door for me, s’il vous plait?”

  “Oh, yes.” She did so and then went to the wagon to inspect his purchases.

  She gasped when she spied crates of expensive dried fruit—cherries, apples, raisins, and dates. Tears pricked her eyes. The shanty boys had thrown in much money to help her continue to create her fruitcakes.

  Pearl accompanied Mr. Brevort back out again. “Oh Frenchie, I’d love to try your recipe tonight—I have everything ready to go.”

  “Merci.” He grasped Pearl’s flour-streaked hand and raised it to his lips. “And I would wager it would taste as good or better than my maman’s.”

  To Jo’s amazement, Pearl blushed.

  Later that night, after dinner, they served up Mr. Brevort’s French variant of fruitcake. Ruth and the ladies served the slices to all the men. Once again, Tom was served last, coming to the front of the building and to Jo for his sample. As usual, she found her breath coming in short and difficult efforts whenever he was so near.

  Mrs. Peyton pressed close to Jo, and whispered, “Tom’s so handsome, what do you bet his mother’s a French woman? This could be the cake that does the trick, Jo.”

  Passing the small tin plate of fruitcake to Tom, their fingers brushed and she felt the warmth of his touch. Her heartbeat sped up. He gave her a slow grin then plunged his fork into the cake and scooped out a large portion.

  Waiting in rapt attention, she watched him lift the light and moist creation to his full lips. He winked at her and she felt heat creeping into her cheeks.

  After he swallowed, he blinked. Then, he slowly shook his head, but Jo could see genuine remorse in his eyes. He shrugged. “I won’t lie. It’s the fruit in the cake—just doesn’t taste as moist as what my mother used.”

  Jo knew he took the Word seriously. “The Good Book says don’t lie, Tom, so I’ll keep trying.” Her voice sounded soft and decidedly feminine to her ears. This man was affecting her in strange ways.

  “Thank you, Josephine. I admire a woman who perseveres.”

  Ruth leaned in and whispered, “Bible talks about persevering in trials and I’d say Tom is your trial.”

  Jo chuckled. He had been a trial and the man still frustrated her, but he’d grown on her.

  “I better go sit down.” Tom’s emerald eyes captured hers. “But I’d like to walk you home later, if you’re agreeable.”

  She nodded, wanting to feel his arm around her again, as he escorted her to the cabin.

  Pa waved Jo over so she could sit and take her meal. Tonight Pa had directed Tom to sit at the table nearest the back door, and farthest from her. This was also where he read to the children at night after the men cleared out from dinner. She watched the bulging muscles in Tom’s back strain against the checked fabric of his shirt as he headed up the narrow path between the tables, and then blinked away the sight as she went to her father’s side.

  “Have a seat, darlin’.” He even stood and motioned for her brothers to do the same. From the end of the table, Mr. Brevort held his French fruitcake aloft, tears streaming down his pale cheeks and into his snowy beard. “Plus parfait—beyond perfection, Josephine and Pearl.”

  Patting her hair, Pearl slid in next to the man. Mr. Brevort covered her free hand with his. “Merci beaucoup. Thank you so much for your kindness to an old man.”

  “Pshaw, we’re not that old, Frenchie. I bet you could still beat me at a game of checkers.”

  “You’re on.” He laughed.

  Was it Jo’s imagination or did they both have spots of red on their cheeks? Had this fruitcake challenge sparked yet another courtship?

  She slid into her spot next to Pa and he and her brothers sat again, exhaling loudly as though the effort strained what few manners they’d recalled from Ma’s instruction.

  Pa said a quick blessing. When she looked up, his gaze locked with hers.

  “Frenchie told me what it cost to fill those racks in the storeroom with all those jars of fruit.”

  Jo buttered her roll. “Pa, those men chipped in on the purchase of their own free will.”

  “Would you say it was about half of what you and Tom came home with?” The growl in his voice was worse than usual.

  “Maybe.” She kept her tone light. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman, not a child to be scolded.

  His neck grew crimson above his red and black checked wool shirt. “Which means you couldn’t have paid for that entire order I gave you without putting it on credit. And what have I told you about that before?”

  Exhaling loudly, she set her roll on the edge of the blue and white speckleware plate. “We don’t charge any items.”

  “That’s right.” He eyed her as he bit into his own roll.

  Jo tugged at the cloth napkin on her lap.

  “Sure am glad Tom came up with this idea.” Moose reached in front of Jo and she leaned back to avoid getting whacked in the face as her brother passed a piece of the French fruitcake to their father.

  When Jo glared at her brother and pushed his arm away, Moose just laughed.

  Ox paused from filling his face. “We’re getting our sweet tooth satisfied. That’s for sure.”

  “Tom told me he made up the difference on the bill, Pa.” Ox tossed another slice of cake in their father’s direction and Pa caught it between his two beefy hands.

  “He did what?” Jo mentally reviewed the items they’d purchased. Tom never said a word to her about the excess cost.

  Pa’s black eyebrows drew together into one dark line. “We’ll talk about this later, Jo, and what it means. Your ma shoulda taught you better and Tom’s ma, too.”

  “But I didn’t know.” Her protest was met with Pa’s raised palm. She pressed the toes of her new boots together, ashamed that a man had purchased clothing for her. What if the others heard? Her brothers knew and their two big mouths combined might cause a problem. No. They’d have thunked Tom on the head and warned him not to spread that information around.

  At the end of the table Mr. Brevort and Pearl whispered to one another, their heads nearly touching. Then Frenchie stood. When the lumberjacks failed to quiet down, Sven, seated at the next table with Ruth, whistled loudly. Then the Swede came around and hoisted the smaller man up onto a bench.

  The Frenchman bowed. “I may not be a young homme—man—like Tom but I extend the same offer. Since Pearl has made a French fruitcake as good as Maman’s and I will propose.”

  The woman flushed as she clasped her hands to her bosom. Jo stared, dizziness blurring her vision.

  Moose leaned his flannel-covered shoulder into her. “We figure if Tom is offering to pay up then maybe he’s serious
. If you don’t want his proposal, Sis, you can still play a good joke on the axe man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Accept the same dare from the other men. Me and Ox could pay some of them like Irish Jack, Finlander Reino, and Scotty McNear to do the same bet.”

  She cringed. “I would never accept them—I’ve known them my entire life.”

  Moose shoveled a forkful of beef pasty into his mouth and grinned. Then he simply picked up the dough covered meat pie and ate it like a sandwich. Between bites, he said, “So? You could let them propose and then say no.”

  Wasn’t that what she’d already planned to do to Tom? Oh God, forgive me. She’d grown to care for the man. Maybe he really did intend to honor his offer. But she’d just written her acceptance for the bakery job in the Upper Peninsula. She didn’t want to be tied to a lumber camp nor to a man who worked in one. But Tom was so different from any man she’d even known. Of course she’d known manly men—they were lumberjacks. But Tom possessed a tenderness that made him seem like a masculine man who knew his own strength and how to restrain it.

  After dinner, as she cleaned up with her helpers, Jo watched Tom reading to the children. And in turn, the older ones read sections aloud to the younger.

  “Very good, Mandy.” The tenderness in Tom’s voice carried above the kitchen clatter.

  Jo paused from scrubbing a pot and spied the little girl beaming as she clutched “The Adventures of Pinocchio” to her chest.

  Mrs. Peyton came alongside her. “Isn’t that sweet how Tom is with those young’uns?”

  Raising her eyebrows, Jo nodded in agreement. “I bet he’d be a good father.”

  Oh my, had she really said that aloud? The older woman’s chuckle affirmed that she had.

  When the lesson and the cleaning were done, Sven and the parents arrived to accompany the children home. Mr. Brevort even returned for Pearl.

  Tom helped Jo as they extinguished the last of the kerosene lamps, saving one to see by. He put on his mackinaw coat and then assisted her into her heavy wool cape, pulling the hood up over her head. His fingers brushed her cheeks then lingered on the sides of her neck, sending a shiver of delight through her.

  His face grew thoughtful as he gazed down into her eyes. “It’s starting to snow.”

  So that was why he’d done what had seemed like an intimate gesture, pulling up her hood. Sure enough, through the window she spied flakes of white floating down on gentle puffs of wind. Tom held the lantern aloft as they exited the building. Once outside, he cupped her elbow as he guided her toward home. Jo kept her head down, to prevent the icy wind from hitting her face. But when they reached her stoop, Tom gently pulled her hood back and placed two fingers beneath her chin.

  She looked up into his face, the moonlight illuminating his fine features. “Jo, I think you are the finest woman I’ve ever known.”

  Now that simply wasn’t true. Was he like Pinocchio? His comment was like icy water splashing her, colder than the wind—how could he say such a thing when he’d been engaged to a lady doctor? An educated and refined lady, unlike her. “I thought you didn’t tell tales, Tom.”

  He grinned and took one step closer, grasping her right hand with his left. He circled his thumb on her palm, sending tremors through her. Dropping his hand from her face, he wrapped it around her back and pulled her closer, his face inches from hers. She stopped breathing. He was going to kiss her. A man, this man, the one she cared for, was going to press his lips to hers. She closed her eyes, ready to feel his mouth caress hers. She sensed the heat of him as his head bent closer. In just one second she’d be kissed.

  The door opened behind them and Tom jerked upright. A lamp held aloft cast a cold yellow glow on them. “Oh, it’s just you two. Come on in before you catch your death of cold, Jo.”

  Tom took two steps back. “Mr. Christy, Miss Christy—I wish you both a good evening.”

  Lying in his bunk, Tom inhaled the wood smoke of the lumberjack’s abode. What was the matter with Josephine? Was she angry with her father for his insistence that he would do right by her and marry her? He’d threatened to make sure no schools in Michigan hired him if he left the camp without his daughter. Not that Tom needed to be threatened. What had begun as somewhat of a prank to get the beautiful woman’s attention had gotten out of hand. And before he’d known it, he’d fallen head over heels for the fiery cook. But he was also a man of integrity. That day he’d written his mother and asked her for the recipe for her fruitcake and he intended to give it to Jo as a Christmas gift, along with his proposal. He’d have told the truth—she had to make a fruitcake as good as his mother’s and she would.

  Someone crept toward his bed. The floorboards creaked as Ox sat down on the trunk beside the bunk. “Pa is moving the camp to the Upper Peninsula. We want you to break it to her.”

  “What?” Tom sat up, leaning on his elbows. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

  “She’s gonna be roarin’ mad when she hears. We figure if you tell her she’ll take it better—‘specially if you soften it with the offer of marriage.”

  Tom swallowed hard. This meant he, too, would be moving. “How many of the men already know?”

  “None. We’re waiting until spring for the move and we’ll start telling them after the winter thaw.”

  “The way we’re going, there might not be a hard freeze for a while much less to worry about the thaw.”

  “You’re right. We’re a little worried. That’s one reason for the decision to move camp soon. Pa bought land and it’s been staked.”

  “What if Jo and I don’t want to go with you?”

  “Shoot, you can go where you want when the men have gotten their full payment after the winter haul. Just need you to stay and teach the kids till then.”

  “All right.”

  “But if you want to come on as teacher up there, Pa’ll pay you the same as you’d make as a jack.”

  The muscles in Tom’s shoulders spasmed and he shifted his weight. “Is that what I’ll be paid now, too?”

  “Only if you take the contract for teacher up there next year.”

  Jo had said repeatedly that she wanted out of the lumber camps. “So you have me over a barrel.”

  “Go take a look up there and see what you think before you decide anything. It’s mighty pretty.”

  “Won’t be after you log it all out.” And he’d helped with that, too. All that White Gold in Michigan pine would be floating down the lake to the mills to be used in America’s huge building boom.

  Ox patted Tom’s shoulder and then rose. “Keep in mind that you have some other men considering on offering my sister marriage. And Pa said if she accepts one of their offers then she won’t have to marry you.”

  Tom snorted. “Jo won’t marry anybody she doesn’t want to marry, and if she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her.” Especially after Eugenia’s betrayal. He couldn’t bear to live through that again.

  “We’ll see. You think about taking the railroad barge across to check things out.” Ox headed to his own bunk.

  All Tom could think about, though, were hazel eyes beneath thickly fringed black eyelashes. Reddish-brown hair that curled around an ivory neck. Perfectly coral lips awaiting his kiss. The scent of soft floral combined with flour, sugar, and vanilla. He drifted toward sleep recollecting his arm wrapped around her, the feel of her waist beneath his fingers, the way her lips drew together in contemplation when the camp preacher spoke on the wages of sin, as though this sweet creature had any sins to repent of. Well maybe one, the same as his—stubborn pride. Lord forgive me for my arrogant attitude and make me worthy of such a fine woman. But if I’m not the one for her, I accept Your will. Amen.

  Reino Talvi slid a piece of paper across the counter toward Jo as the men flowed through the breakfast line. Although he’d been in the country for over twenty years, his mastery of English was still limited. She set down her ladle and opened the note, reading her brother’s cramped recording
of a Finnish fruitcake recipe. She set it aside.

  After passing the lumberjack his breakfast plate, Jo met Mr. Talvi’s pale blue eyes, lined by many years that had passed since he’d joined the camps. “So we’ve had Swedish and French and now we’re to try a Finnish variant of fruited cake?”

  He rattled off something in Finnish that she didn’t understand. Then he patted his shirt pocket, where a five-dollar bill peeked out—which she understood perfectly. Moose.

  The Finnish man smiled at her. “Bake?” He pointed to the recipe scribbled on a piece of the school children’s paper.

  She sighed. “Yes, Mr. Talvi, I’ll bake.”

  “Good.” He gave her a quick grin but his eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. Oh no, what if he thought Moose meant it? What if he misunderstood and thought she’d accept a proposal from him? The man, nearing fifty, was even older than Pa.

  Mr. Talvi glanced back at Mrs. Lehto and the widow cocked her head at him.

  “You doin’ okay, Reino? You look like you seen a ghost.”

  “No. No ghost. I yoost see pritty lady.” He continued to glance in the brunette cook’s direction. “You make recipe for Reino?”

  Jo exhaled in relief. The Finlander had misunderstood. She’d better warn Mrs. Lehto but the woman was already peering at the recipe.

  The line of men continued on. Where was Tom? All night long she’d imagined what his kiss would have felt like. Three men approached the counter together, Tom squeezed between Ox and Moose. What in the world?

  Ruth passed plates to Ox and Moose but then glanced at Jo. She stepped back and went to the bigger black stove as Jo prepared Tom’s plate. She always gave him extra now.

  Ox swiped a few biscuits from Tom’s plate. “Don’t think Tom needs all this additional grub.”

  “Nope.” Moose transferred two sausage links to his plate. “Pretty soon he won’t even be taking his breakfast with us.”

  “Why not?”

  Moose and Ox seemed to press in on Tom.