by C. T. Worth
Hunter furrowed his brow. “May I speak to you for a moment?”
She nodded, and he pulled her away by the elbow, calling over his shoulder that they would be back momentarily. Once they were out of earshot, he asked, “What was that? We don’t even know each other. Why did you say that?”
“I merely said I worked for you. You apparently told him I was your wife or something far worse.”
“I never told that idiot anything. He was speculating. He is engaged to my employer’s daughter and doesn't want me living in the same house. His crazy, jealous mind is making things up to ease his fears. You are going to march right back there and explain to him that you and I have no connection.”
He turned to walk back, still holding her elbow. She remained fixed in place.
“Stop,” she hissed. “Think about this for a moment. He doesn’t want you in the place you intend to live. Do you really want to have the town deputy trailing after you, watching your every move? Wouldn't you rather accept his offer to live in a home of your own?”
“What I work out with the good deputy has nothing to do with you. I see no reason why I would discuss this with…”
“But you have Leland. If you live in a house by yourselves, who will cook for you, and clean? Who will watch Leland while you are at work?”
“I carried your trunk up here to be nice, ma’am. I am not looking for a wife.”
“I never said wife. I said housekeeper and nanny.”
Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you have somewhere to go? Didn’t you say you have a fiancé waiting for you?”
“He…he doesn’t know I’m coming. I was planning to surprise him, but I’ve run out of money.”
“Can't you write to him? Have him send for you?”
“Well, even if I did, I need somewhere to stay while I wait. I don’t see the harm in acting as your housekeeper now, and in a few months, once he can afford to send for me, I can leave.”
This was too much. He moaned. “I don’t have the money to hire a housekeeper.”
“I’ll do it for room and board. But I need to earn a little too… in case my beau can’t save enough. I want room, board, and the evenings and weekends free — so I can take in extra wash and mending — for money. This is a logging town. I’m sure there are plenty of men that need washing and mending services.”
Hunter shook his head. He had crossed a continent to forget about Mildred. He wanted to start a new life and that life had no place for any females. But here he’d found a living, breathing replica of the only woman he could ever love, and she wanted to live with him. If it weren't temporary, and if she weren’t planning to marry some other fellow, he would never have considered it. But Leland did need a nanny, and she seemed to connect with the boy unlike anyone else had since Mildred’s death.
“Fine. Let’s go tell the deputy we accept his generous offer.”
Chapter 5
“A
nd this is the kitchen,”
The room was hot, and the air was sticky. Lilian would not normally remain standing somewhere like this under such conditions, but shock and fear held her in place. Mrs. Portly had agreed to take her in for the week. Just until Mr. Webb had vacated his home, and she could join the Winfields in their temporary abode.
At first, she was excited by this generous offer. She imagined it would be a leisurely stay like the ones she’d enjoyed at those fancy hotels her family frequented. But here, being thought of as a housekeeper, she could occasionally glide into the servants’ areas and observe the inner workings of the staff. In this way, she could gain insight into the domestic arts, thus allowing her to execute her role in her new post in the most convincing manner while simultaneously relaxing from her long journey.
Unfortunately, this hotel was not what she expected. Worse, Mrs. Portly assumed she was already an experienced housekeeper and expected her to earn her keep. Lilian was afraid to correct her, but she was far more worried to attempt any of the chores she might be asked to do. Her fear was founded. Lilian had never before stepped foot inside a kitchen.
“I assume you are familiar with this stove design?”
Lilian nodded confidently. There is more than one stove design?
“Obviously, we selected a model that uses wood. It's far more plentiful in these parts than coal. Because we run a restaurant, our stove has multiple shelves.” Mrs. Portly crossed the room and opened a door on the stove to prove her point.
Lilian glanced inside. Sure enough, there were multiple shelves. But she could see no wood or fire. How exactly does this thing work?
“The well is just out back there.” Mrs. Portly pointed to a door leading outside. “And that concludes the tour. Now, what would you like to start with?”
“Why don’t I draw some water from the well for the wash?”
Mrs. Portly nodded, and Lilian walked toward the well, grateful to have a moment alone to collect her thoughts.
She couldn't do any of the things Mrs. Portly expected. All she had ever done was gather water, and that had been a single attempt, done as a dare. She couldn't even claim to have completed the task successfully. She returned to her friends drenched, having spilled the entire bucket all over herself.
She was sure to be caught in her web of lies. Would Mrs. Portly expose her for the fraud she was? She was nearly out of money, and although loath to admit it, she had no skills. If she could not make this work, she might be out of options. She might need to go home, and that would mean her father would force her to marry.
It wasn't that she was opposed to marriage in general. In fact, being married would mean she could continue to live the comfortable life she had always known. It was the expected path, the safe route. Like all of her friends, she had dreamed of one day meeting her prince and having a beautiful wedding before beginning her fairytale life. She even had a list of the traits and characteristics her ideal man would possess. And when she met Levin Sanford, he met every one of her qualifications. But beyond his good looks and charm, he also had ambition. Little did she know that too much ambition was perhaps worse than too little. Levin would someday make a fine politician, but he was ill-equipped to bring happiness to a wife.
Unfortunately, this little revelation had come about as she stood on the steps of the altar. The eyes of half of Ohio had been on her when she decided to bolt from the church rather than behaving as she was expected. If he had been any other man, things might have been different. Maybe she could have stayed home, lived out her life, and shouldered the shame. But Levin Sanford was a man who needed to uphold a certain image. He needed a wife that possessed a pedigree and had connections to notable people. More importantly, he was a man who would not be publicly rejected.
After assuring all those who had witnessed her shocking behavior that the incident was “merely a case of nerves and that the wedding was simply being postponed,” he began his attacks on her family. It became abundantly clear that he could and would use his considerable influence to do whatever it took to rectify her actions and eradicate his humiliation. Her father was a kind and gentle man and was ill-equipped to withstand a formidable foe like Levin. But Lilian knew that Levin would not harm her family out of spite alone. The pressure he exerted was driven by his inability to understand that his plans would need to change.
It fell on her to force him to see the truth — they would never be husband and wife. Her only solution had been to run as far as she could, as quickly as possible. With her absence, he would need to move on. He could turn his humiliation into sympathy and capture the heart of someone more suited to the life of politics. Once he had accepted that her decision was final and had secured a more willing wife, she could return home. She only needed a few months away, and by golly, she would not be stopped. Not by Mrs. Portly or by anyone in this town. She would find a way to get through this next week undetected and would use the time to learn what she needed to blend in.
***
Hilde pulled down a large mixing b
owl from the shelf and thrust it in Lilian’s direction.
“Tonight, we’ll be having a big crowd for dinner. All the men who work out at the logging camp head into town for church service. Afterward, they come by the restaurant for a nice, home-cooked meal. I’ll let you in on the secret to my famous blackberry pie, but you have got to promise never to share it.”
Lilian stared at the bowl in her arms. She had never cooked anything in her life. “Am I making the pies then?”
Hilde looked at her with what could only be described as horror. “Even if you had the recipe, it would take years for you to get it just right. I don't trust the making of the pies sold here to anyone else. That’s why I’m letting you know the secret ingredient. The ingredients are only half the equation. The other half is the process. You make the biscuits.”
With a nod, Lilian went to the basket containing flour. Even though she did not cook, she knew perfectly well what items had disappeared from the morning buffet after her cousin had swiped the flour from the pantry in order to recreate a winter scene in the guest quarters.
With a few cups of flour in her bowl, she reached into her pocket. Before she could put her plan into action, a young woman knocked on the kitchen door.
“Selene, what brings you here?” Hilde asked. A twinkle in her eye made Lilian think her hostess might have an inkling as to the reason behind a visit at such an odd hour.
“I thought you might like some help,” Selene answered. Lilian could feel the intense stare searing into her back. “And, it's so infrequent we get a new resident here in Spruce Hill — especially a female resident — I couldn't miss my opportunity to make a new friend.”
“Well, if you insist on staying, grab a bowl. You can start on the salad.”
Lilian was incensed. Why couldn't she have been assigned salad? She looked up and scanned the room. Selene’s back was turned. She was facing the shelves standing on the tips of her toes and stretching in an effort to gather a dish. Hilde too was distracted, washing a basket of blackberries. Lilian reached into her pocket and withdrew a handful of ragweed. She lifted it to her face and inhaled a large breath full before stuffing it back into her pocket. She could not have returned the plant to its hiding place quickly enough, for nearly as soon as she had taken a breath, her eyes began to water and the urge to sneeze took hold. Four loud sneezes later and both of the other women in the kitchen were by her side.
“Oh, dear, what happened?” Mrs. Portly had her arm around her and was leading her to a chair. Once she was seated, Mrs. Portly knelt and lifted her face with one hand. She inspected her carefully but must not have been very happy with what she saw for she dropped her hand, tutted, and shook her head.
“Have you taken ill?” Selene asked over the older woman’s shoulder. She was shielding her face with the sleeve of her dress.
“No, no. I’m sure I am just fine,” Lilian protested. She wiped her running nose with the back of her hand. “I…I need to get back to making those biscuits. They won’t bake themselves.” She coughed into her cupped hands.
“You will do no such thing!” Mrs. Portly announced loudly. “Selene, go get me a hanky from the drawer in the hallway, and when you come back, you can start on the biscuits.”
Selene had reached the doorway before Mrs. Portly looked over her shoulder and added, “Be sure to dump out the flour and rinse the bowl.” In a quiet mumble, she said, as if to herself, “The last thing I need is for folks to question the cleanliness of my kitchen.”
“I am certain it’s nothing,” Lilian said. She sounded apologetic. “You’ve been so kind, please, let me help.”
With a furrowed brow, Mrs. Portly bit her lip. “Well, I suppose I could have you wash the dishes.”
Lilian stood, then immediately started coughing so hard she fell back into the seat.
“No…no. On second hand, you go up to bed and get some rest. I can think of nothing that could have caused this except some terrible illness you caught while traveling. I’ll bring you up a plate in a bit and see how you are doing.”
Lilian nodded weakly. She stood and walked toward the staircase. When she passed Selene, she was handed a handkerchief. Just before she reached her room, she heard Mrs. Portly telling Selene Garande that she would need to interrogate her guest about her handsome employer at a later date, but her visit was most advantageous because she could use the help.
Once she was alone, Lilian removed the offensive plant from her pocket and stored it in the back of a small drawer that was built into the table holding the pitcher and washbasin. The drawer was clearly intended to hold soap and possibly other articles needed for grooming, but it was now barren aside from the ragweed.
She climbed into bed and considered Mrs. Portly’s words. So, Selene was looking at me that way because she thinks I might be an impediment to her forming a relationship with Mr. Winfield? She nearly laughed. She hardly knew the man. And she had already learned her lesson about making snap judgments. If nothing else, the one thing that Levin Sanford had taught her was that she could not simply look at a man on paper when deciding if he was right for her. But even if she could, she could not envision any way someone could see at Hunter Winfield and walk away interested.
He might be handsome, but he couldn't even afford a real housekeeper —why he probably couldn't afford his own house. And if she’d talked to him, Selene would have seen, plain as day, that the man had an annoying way of prying — all the while trying to hide his own past from the world.
No, Lilian had no desire to marry. All she wanted was to extract herself from this mess she had created and somehow return to Ohio. If by some miracle she eventually settled back into her life there and was one day sufficiently redeemed enough to again consider a beau, she would be sure to limit her search to only those men who were open books. Never again would she put in all of her chips for a man only willing to show half his cards.
Chapter 6
“H
urry along now. Troy said they had a surprise for us.”
Lilian felt as though the day had already held a sufficient number of surprises. She had been enjoying a leisurely morning when some sort of commotion downstairs drew her attention. Little did she imagine that the ruckus was coming for her. After pounding on her door, Bethany Forester swept into the room and declared that “Emily” was sufficiently fit for an outing.
“Why that is just hay fever. I’ve seen it before. It’s not dangerous.”
With those simple words, Lilian’s days of leisure would come to an end. She experienced the sting of regret, for failing to follow through on her plans of using the past few days to observe the rituals and practices of those tasked with keeping the hotel. It had always been far too easy to postpone such practical education for another day. But the lifting of her semi-self-imposed exile brought with it a reminder of her new vocation and the realization that she had squandered her opportunity to learn. Tomorrow she would be moving into her new quarters. It was a relief that she had, at least, learned how to work the stove. Presumably, she and the Winfields would not starve.
“Don't dally! I borrowed Pa’s carriage,” Bethany barked while Lilian tied her laces.
Mrs. Portly stood in the doorway, and it was evident by the way her eyes widened and her posture changed that, in this town, the use of a carriage signified that an event was important.
Lily grabbed her shawl, and the ladies hurried downstairs.
Bethany’s enthusiasm was contagious. By the time they reached the front doors, Lilian found herself more than a little curious about what this surprise involved.
“Now, Troy is very excited, so whatever it is you must appear impressed.”
Lilian nodded. When the door opened, she scanned the street for Miss Forester’s carriage.
“Come on,” Bethany called. She was walking toward a conveyance that was far too sturdy and practical to be referred to as a carriage. Lilian would have described it as more of a cart with a roof. “You weren’t expecting one of those f
limsy, city things, were you?”
Lilian’s expression must have imparted her thoughts.
Bethany laughed and added, “Oh, you needn't look so surprised. We’re not that backward. We even get an occasional copy of the Tiffany Blue Book. Though, I never could see the point of something so expensive and impractical.”
After they settled into their seats, Bethany drove the horse onto a narrow, winding country road. Bushes brushed the sides of the cart as they passed. Lilian was certain they would get trapped and their only means of escape would be to either climb forward or backward. It gave her some relief when their journey ended in front of a rather small and well-worn building that had to be a house.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Bethany said, her voice full of pride.
Lilian noticed paint chips flaking away from the wooden siding.
“There is a little orchard out back, and there is a small creek not far from here. I hope you’ll take care of my little piece of paradise until Troy and I are ready to move in.”
Lilian said nothing as the words washed over her. This had to be the home she would be moving into tomorrow morning. Horror mixed with confusion gripped her heart.
“Well,” Bethany said as she strode toward the door, “they’re expecting us, best not to keep them waiting.”
A man Lilian had not before seen exited the house carrying a trunk.
Bethany stopped. “Wernicke,” she effused brightly, “how is the packing coming?”
“It's coming right along. I took a break to help your fiancé and Hunter with a little project they were working on, but it looks like I’m still ahead of schedule.”
“Of course, you are. Your efficiency is legendary. I’m terribly sorry to see you go, but I can’t tell you how pleased we are that you agreed to sell your home to us. This house is just close enough to town but not too close. And it holds so many fond memories for Troy.”
