by Vivi Holt
“Well, a lotta men go down to the saloon or the hotel. There’s a restaurant ‘round the corner, but it’s pretty expensive to eat there too often. I dunno … I guess a lot of men just eat beans from a can or johnnycakes with butter most of the time. That’s why we’re all so skinny.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his almost-dry hair, then gulped down his coffee.
“I bet if someone opened a café selling home-cooked meals, they’d make a killing here,” said Della with a laugh. “I’d sure appreciate it, anyway.”
He sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for more’n a stale piece of bread for breakfast, then?”
“I’m afraid so.” She smiled ruefully, twisted her fingers together in front of her apron - and jumped at the pain of the burn, cradling her sore fingers.
“Well, I’m gonna head down to the mercantile,” he grumbled. “Sometimes they got some baked goods there in the mornin’ - maybe I’ll find somethin’ to eat.” He stood and slapped his hat onto his head.
Della felt downcast that she hadn’t lived up to his expectations, no matter how unreasonable they seemed. “I’m sorry.”
He stepped toward her and lifted a hand to trace the outline of her cheek. “Never mind - I’ll live,” he whispered with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bent to kiss her on the cheek. Her skin tingled beneath his lips, and she trembled at the look in his brown eyes. With a deep breath, she followed him to the staircase and waved goodbye.
Now what should I do? She remembered Honey saying she accompanied her children to school every morning, and decided to walk in that direction in hope she might run into the woman. She’d been scared half to death by her on their first meeting, but since then she’d grown to like her. And she knew Honey appreciated the friendship, given her troubles at home. She donned a bonnet and headed out through the bank, waving to Francisca and being careful not to disturb Tobias the guard, who looked as though he was dozing.
Outside, the brilliant sunshine blazed down on her, warming her immediately. The mud had dried and now the ground was hard and lumpy. She stepped over a pile of horse manure and around what looked like the remains of someone’s half-digested meal, and grimaced. This town needed a department of sanitation, she thought.
The schoolhouse was a small white building with a quaint bell tower above the porch. The ringing of the bell each morning to call the children to class could be heard all over Livingston. She’d resented it the first few mornings it had woken her. Back home, there were always parties and events to attend until well after midnight - she’d sleep in late the next day and take breakfast on a tray in her bedroom. But now, her routine had already changed - she woke early to fix Clem his morning coffee and usually went to bed just after supper. She sighed, remembering the sunlight streaming through the window and Sally lighting a fire in the hearth for her so she wouldn’t shiver when she dressed.
Children huddled around the front of the school, making their way up the stairs and inside. She saw Honey immediately, her legs encased in a small boy’s eager arms. He looked about five years old and seemed determined not to follow his siblings in, until Honey gave him a kiss and whispered something into his ear. He nodded, released her legs and trudged miserably up the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder at his mother at intervals.
Honey waved goodbye, turned to head home and almost ran into Della, converting her momentum into an embrace at the last second. “Della, how are you?” she cried.
Della’s cheeks warmed and her heart leaped. She usually felt so alone with Clem at work most of the time. It was nice to know she was making friends in her new hometown, however unlikely they might be. “I’m fine, I suppose. How about you?”
“Well, Joe’s feeling sorry for his behavior, so he’s on the water wagon at the moment. It goes in cycles - I’m just enjoying it for now. I really do love the lout — at least when he’s sober.” She looped her arm through Della’s and the two women walked down the street. “So what’s wrong? Why are you only fine?”
Della’s mouth twisted. “I can’t seem to do anything right - well, not in Clem’s eyes. It’s been so difficult for me, losing everyone and everything in my life. I moved across the country and had to adjust to … well, everything! And now he expects me to cook for him, though he knows I don’t know how. I was proud of myself for figuring out how to light a fire in the stove and heat up his morning coffee, but now he’s asking for pancakes and oatcakes and …” She sighed, her brow furrowed.
Honey laughed. “Most men do expect their wives to cook them a hot breakfast - that’s a fact. But don’t you worry about it - I’m a good cook if I do say so myself. I can teach you a few things. What are you doing right now?”
Della’s eyes widened and she turned to Honey with a grin. “Do you mean it? Really? Oh, that would be wonderful. I’m not doing anything right now.”
“Fine, then - let’s go to the mercantile, get some supplies and head over to my place for a cooking lesson. What do you say?”
Della nodded vigorously and threw her arms around Honey, squeezing her tight.
Honey laughed. “Whoa, you’ll strangle the breath right out of me!”
“Sorry,” said Della, pulling away. “I’m just so grateful.” Then she frowned. “But I don’t want to cost you. I know you’re … well, you have a lot of hungry mouths to feed.”
“Never mind that,” Honey said with a grin. “We’ll charge it to your husband’s account. With the meal he’ll be getting tonight, he won’t mind a bit.”
By the time the two women finished fixing supper for Della to take home with her, she was covered in a fine coating of flour, had a smear of pie filling across one cheek and her face was a bright shade of red from the heat of the oven that dominated Honey’s small kitchen. And she hadn’t felt that happy in weeks.
Since Honey was teaching Della all the cooking basics she could in their few hours together, Della had decided she might as well make extra for Honey to feed her own family that night and sell to the neighbors for a bit of cash. It was the only way she could think of to thank Honey for her efforts, since she didn’t have money of her own. She decided she’d have to speak with Clem about an allowance, since it had pained her not to be able to give Honey anything other than a few ingredients. She beamed as she lifted the casserole dish filled with venison and potato stew into her hands, then stacked a huckleberry pie on top of it. Honey set a butter cake on the pie, and Della wrapped the lot in a dish towel, hugging it against her body. “This looks wonderful, Honey - I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re most welcome, my dear. I hope you’ll both enjoy it.” Honey took a cloth and wiped the smear of huckleberry compote from Della’s cheek.
Della laughed. “You know, I tasted a little here and there, and your food is absolutely delicious. Clem told me last night that most of the men in town go hungry for a lack of good home-cooked meals. You could probably make a fortune selling food like this - so many men are here without a wife and family.”
Honey’s brow furrowed and she put her hands on her plump hips. “Do you think so?”
“I do. You should consider it. It might give you a chance to make a bit of money of your own, so you’re not always relying on … well, you know.” Della blushed. She hated to criticize another woman’s husband, even if he did deserve it.
Honey chewed her cheek thoughtfully. “You may be right. I’ll think about it.”
“Well, I’d best get going before Clem finishes work, or he’ll be wondering where on Earth I am.” Della grinned and stepped through Honey’s front door and onto the street. A buggy trotted by and the afternoon breeze lifted her hair to fly around her face and blow dust into her eyes. “Oh dear, it’s either mud or dust in this town,” she said with a grimace.
“That’s the truth!” Honey laughed. “See you later, Della my dear. The children will be home from school any moment. I’m glad we made those extra cakes and cookies - they’ll think Christmas has come early when they see
all the good food in our kitchen.” She ducked her head, then whispered with tears in her wide brown eyes. “It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen such a bounty, so really it’s you I have to thank.”
Della smiled and nodded goodbye, unable to speak. It didn’t matter how much money there was in the world, she decided - there was nothing more satisfying than helping a friend in need.
When she reached home, she climbed the stairs to the apartment and set the food on the kitchen table with a sigh. She shook her arms and hands with relief - they’d cramped up under the weight halfway home and she’d feared she’d drop the lot right there on Main Street. Only the memory of how much hard work they’d put into fixing it gave her the resolve to ignore the pain and keep trudging onward.
She opened some windows to air out the stuffy room, chastising herself for not thinking of it before she’d left home that morning, then stashed the food in the small pantry and collapsed on the bed with her arms splayed out across the mattress. She’d just lay here a bit to recover - she couldn’t remember working so hard in her life before. Every muscle ached, her back hurt, her feet throbbed, and she had a horrible headache, her eyeballs seeming to pulse with every heartbeat. She lifted a hand to wipe her forehead, then let it collapse back on the bed with a cry - it seemed every little movement caused her pain. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes.
When she next opened them, the room was dark. She sat up in fright and glanced around - what time was it? A sound beside the bed caught her ear, and she turned to find Clem sitting on a rocking chair on the other side of the bed, puffing on his pipe in the darkness. “Clem?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just sitting. I wanted to make sure yer all right, but didn’t wanna wake you.” He let out a long stream of smoke and it floated through the air.
She jumped to her feet and smoothed her hair and skirts with her hands. “How long have you been here?”
“Oh, only a few minutes. Don’t fret, it ain’t that late.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. I wanted to greet you when you came home.” She bustled out of the room.
Clem followed close behind her and sat at the kitchen table. “Never mind - yer doin’ it now. Should we go to the hotel for supper?”
She shook her head and grinned. “No need. I made supper.”
He half-smiled in surprise, his eyebrows arching. “Ya did what?”
“You heard me.” She tied an apron around her waist and retrieved the food, one item at a time, from the pantry, setting it all on the table in front of him. “We have venison and potato stew, huckleberry pie and butter cake.”
His head jerked back as he laughed. “Is that so? Now where in tarnation didja learn to do that?”
She pretended to be peeved by his question. “If you must know, at the Barnes’. I went over there today and Honey showed me how to cook a few things. I hope to go back again sometime and learn more. This is what we made, along with a meal for her family and a few other things.” Suddenly she felt her heart lurch. “Um … I charged it all to your account at the mercantile. I hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “Not at all - that’s why I got an account there, so ya can get whatever ya need. And if all this tastes as amazin’ as it looks and smells, it’s well worth the expense.”
Her entire body flooded with warmth under his praises. “Well, let me get you a plate then.” She reheated the stew and ladled out two bowls while he washed up in the bedroom. She’d sampled it at Honey’s and it seemed delicious to her, but perhaps Clem didn’t like venison stew. She’d soon find out.
They held hands while he said the blessing, and again a thrill ran through her at his touch. It was so familiar yet strange to hold hands with this man she’d just begun to get to know. Her family had never held hands to say grace, always bowing their heads over linked fingers. She liked it - it made her feel closer to him somehow.
He concluded, dipped his spoon into the stew, took an enormous bite - and his eyes widened in surprise. Once he swallowed, he exclaimed, “Whoa! Della, I do believe this is now my favorite dish.”
Her heart swelled and tears filled the corners of her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and smiled. A few weeks ago she’d never have believed she could pull off preparing an entire delicious meal. With help, of course, but Honey had insisted she do it herself, only overseeing the work. She felt a surge of pride for overcoming yet another obstacle. Perhaps she was stronger than she’d ever believed herself to be.
Chapter 6
Della stared at the kitchen in dismay. Dirty dishes filled the sink, and every piece of silverware they owned was coffee-stained or encrusted with old food.
Honey, Francisca and Abella had just arrived, calling on her right before noon. The three women had sat in the living room with a direct view into the kitchen and hadn’t said a word about the disarray, but Della was embarrassed just the same. She knew she should offer the women something to drink and probably even a bite of lunch, but she didn’t have a clean cup or plate to serve it with. Francisca had even had to move a pile of Della’s soiled dresses from the settee before she sat down, shifting it to the floor.
A cockroach scuttled across the pile of dirty dishes, and Della screamed.
The three visitors rushed into the kitchen to see what was the matter. Abella grabbed a frying pan out of the sink and held it above her head, ready to mete out punishment to whoever had attacked her friend.
Della pointed at the cockroach and yelled again, backing as far away as the kitchen wall would allow her to flee. Francisca and Honey joined in with screeches of their own and scrambled back away from the creature.
Abella just laughed and brought the frying pan down on the insect, squashing it in one quick movement.
Honey clutched her chest and laughed with relief. “Oh heavens above, girl, you have got to clean up in here!”
Della grimaced. “I know, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect visitors. I just don’t know what to do, it’s all so overwhelming, so I just leave it, in hopes it’ll disappear while I’m out.”
The women started laughing, bending double and struggling to regain their breath. Each time one of them saw the look on the others’ faces, they fell out again. Soon even Della joined them, seeing the absurdity of the situation.
Finally, they all calmed themselves and Abella rested her arm around Della’s shoulders, looking kindly into her eyes. “Oh, Della darling, if only it worked that way. Women everywhere would be able to spend their days with their feet up, sipping glasses of sherry and reading Moliere to their hearts’ content,” she said in her gentle French burr.
Della sighed. That did sound ideal.
“What does Señor White say about it?” asked Francisca, looking around in concern.
“Nothing, though I’m sure he’s disappointed. But I think he’s so happy I’m feeding him now, he’ll put up with just about anything from me.”
That set the women off again and they all guffawed as they made their way back to the sitting room. “Well, there is nothing for it,” said Abella with a frown. “We must help you clean up. We show you how it’s done, then you can make this place into a home for your wonderful husband.”
“Oh, thank you - I’d love some help.” Della felt the tears threatening again and wondered if she had become the kind of woman who cried at everything. A few weeks earlier, she wouldn’t have been able to remember the last time she’d wept, but now everything was different. “Do you really think he’s wonderful?”
All three women stared at Della in surprise. “What do you mean?” asked Francisca. “You do not know that about Señor White yourself?”
“Well … he seems nice, but …”
Honey interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Oh dear, he’s just about the kindest man you’ll find in this town. Or anywhere else, really.”
Abel
la nodded. “Oui, vraiment bien, bien. Monsieur White never visits the dance halls or the saloons, I know this for certain. He does not drink away his wages. He works hard and runs a fair business. My darling husband always says he would work with Clement White any day of the week, because he treats his customers with respect and is honorable in his dealings.”
Della’s mouth fell open and she arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes!” all three women said at once, their eyes fixed on hers.
Her heart warmed at their words. She knew her husband was a good man from how he’d treated her since she’d arrived. She just hadn’t realized quite how blessed she was to have found him. Truly, she probably didn’t deserve such a man, given the history of her own character - she’d begun to realize over the weeks she’d spent in Livingston that she’d previously lived a selfish, vapid existence. It seemed her husband had done just the opposite.
When Clem walked wearily up the staircase toward his apartment that evening, a pleasant aroma drifted down to greet him and he smiled in anticipation of the meal that lay ahead. Ever since Honey Barnes had started teaching Della how to cook, he’d seen a new talent arise in his young wife. She took great pleasure in trying out dishes, and each time he sighed in appreciation or sang her praises, she glowed a little brighter and smiled a little wider. She was changing right before his eyes. He had to admit, it was more than he’d believed possible, or even hoped for, when she’d first arrived.
The only thing he worried about - and it wasn’t so much a complaint as it was concern for their health - was the state of the apartment. She lived like a slob - every piece of clothing she took off, she simply discarded where she stood. Every dish, plate or cup she used she stacked on the kitchen table. He didn’t know how much longer he could put up with it. He’d been a fastidious man when he’d lived alone. But a little voice inside his head told him to wait a little longer, that if he jumped in to rescue her every time something was difficult, she’d never learn to embrace her new life. And what would become of them if God blessed them with children? He wouldn’t have time to run the bank and do all the housework, especially once they moved to the ranch house he’d dreamed of for so many years.
