by C. T. Worth
Wernicke gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “It was no problem, but maybe you’d be kind enough to do an old friend a small favor?”
“Anything.’’
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter. “Could you see that Selene gets this?” He thrust the letter toward her. “I know she’s got plenty of better options, but…if she ever wants to reach me.”
Bethany reached out and touched his arm. “Of course, I will,” she said while taking the page with her free hand.
Once the piece of paper disappeared from view, placed somewhere within the folds of Bethany’s skirts, the melancholy lifted from Wernicke’s features.
“Well, let’s get you two inside. There’s something to show you.”
When they entered the house, both ladies gasped and raised their hands to cover their mouths. Bethany’s eyes filled with tears and she seemed overcome with emotion.
Lilian was consumed by terror. This place required more than a woman’s touch. It should be burned to the ground and rebuilt. The house had a single main living area with a door on each wall. Two walls contained windows, through which sunlight streamed in — exposing every bit of grime and imperfection. One door along the far wall stood open, but instead of attempting to see what lay inside, she frantically scanned the room in which she stood.
“Where is the oven?” she finally blurted.
Hunter, who had been leaning against a wall, pushed off and took a few steps into the light. “I take it you’re more accustomed to one of the newer portable ranges,” he said in his slow southern drawl. “This house must have been built over fifty years ago.” He pointed toward the fireplace, which had several little iron doors around it. “This here is a Rumford kitchen. You can't beat a Rumford stove for warmth.”
How am I supposed to operate that? It’s nothing like the one at the hotel.
Bethany, who had regained her composure, said, “You certainly know your kitchens, Hunter.”
“I grew up in an old house that had one like this. I liked to help shuck corn on the porch just outside in the summers and sneak in for cookies and warmth in the winters.”
Although she had elicited his response, she hardly seemed to be paying him any attention. Even when she'd addressed him, her eyes hadn't left that open door. It had captivated her since she’d stepped foot into the house.
Hunter snickered and shook his head before saying, “But, that’s enough reminiscing. You came here to see your new room.”
“Yes,” Troy said excitedly. He rushed over and took Bethany's arm.
The door beside the ancient kitchen opened and Leland walked in. “Miss Emily!” He squealed.
His father gave him a stern look, and the child immediately closed his mouth.
Troy appeared unfazed by the unexpected interruption. “I thought we might need a nursery once we are married so, with Hunter’s help, I built you this,” he swept his arm out in front of him and gently pushed her forward so she might get a better look. She walked into her future nursery slowly, her body shifting as if she feared she might miss a small detail.
“That’s not true!” Leland protested. “Pa said we should build it, so Miss Emily would have a room of her own.”
“Hush now, Leland,” Hunter said in a low voice.
While the comment went ignored by Bethany, who was fully engaged in fawning over every aspect of this new addition, and Troy who seemed unable to notice anyone other than his beloved, Lilian had heard the boy's words and was genuinely touched.
She bent down and beckoned Leland to her side. He was as pleased as could be by the invitation. Once he was near, she leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Did it take your father a long time to build that room?”
He glanced at his father, whose eyes were turned away from them. The child cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered back. “It sure did. He spent every night after work making it. The deputy might have brought all the materials, but it was mostly Pa and Mr. Webb who did the work.”
“Well, that was very thoughtful,” she said so quietly Leland could barely hear her.
The boy’s eyes suddenly went wide. “While we wait for them to get finished looking, would you like a cookie?”
Lilian stood up straight and took the hatpin out of her bonnet. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice.” Leland grabbed her hand and brought her to a rough wood table. It was one of the few pieces of furniture present. She took her seat, and Wernicke joined her. Leland ran to a cupboard and carried back a tin. He pulled off the lid and took his own before pushing the cookies toward the seated adults.
Lilian lifted one from the top but paused when she heard Wernicke sigh. He was staring at the cookies and wore a frown.
She turned to Leland, whose cheeks were stuffed. There was no sign of his cookie except for a few crumbs around his lips. He appeared to have enjoyed it immensely.
“Is there something I should know about these cookies?” she asked the man sitting next to her. His expression had grown even darker, and it was obvious that something about this batch of baked goods did not sit well with him.
“Oh, no. I’m sure they’re delicious. I was just thinking how much I’m gonna miss Selene.”
“Did she bake these?” Lilian asked before taking a small bite. They were surprisingly moist and fluffy.
“She sure did.”
She smiled and nudged him with her elbow. “Well, I’d say that when a girl gives a boy cookies, it's a clear sign she’d rather he not move away.”
Wernicke nodded and leaned back. “That’s probably true. Only, she didn’t give them to me. She brought them for your handsome employer over there.” He used his thumb to point to Hunter.
Lilian set down her snack, as she remembered the snippet of a conversation she had overheard earlier that week. Inexplicably, she felt rather irritated. She eyed the cookie. She was no longer hungry. Besides, it was really not very good. She had certainly had better ones.
Chapter 7
While staying at The Noble, Lilian had grown accustomed to waking up to the sound of a restaurant and hotel springing to life: plates clattering, pots clanging, footsteps, and the creaking of floorboards. This morning, she awoke to the smell of meat frying and birds chirping.
With her eyes still closed, it took her a minute to recall what had changed. Soon, she remembered; yesterday, she had moved. She was now in the little house, hidden in the woods, ready to begin her new job. Perhaps, to say she was ready was overly optimistic. But ready or not, the time was upon her. This thought filled her with trepidation, but also excitement. This mix of feelings was a result of an internal conflict that had begun on her first visit to this house. Every night since then, she had fallen asleep wondering if she had misjudged Mr. Winfield. Her mind was now returning to this unresolved debate.
She would willingly admit that, although the majority of the house was in shambles, her room was quite comfortable. It smelled of new construction and was painted in a cheerful, pale yellow. Wallpaper hung on the one wall that opened onto a small closet, which was lined with cedar. The quilt she had stashed in her trunk had been spread over the bed last night giving the space a homey feel. The biggest extravagance, however, was the addition of two windows — one facing west and one facing east — incorporated into the design so she could enjoy both daybreak and sunset.
Building this room for her had been such a thoughtful gesture. He had clearly considered her needs. Given how many hours it must have taken him to build, she couldn't begrudge him his lack of manners at their initial meeting. And the circumstances of that first encounter had been less than ideal. Yesterday, he further redeemed himself in her eyes. He had been very helpful in getting her settled.
Still, she had promised herself never to develop a fondness for, or even a friendship with, a man unwilling to be open with his thoughts. Mr. Winfield rarely voiced his opinions and said even less about his past. Was he hiding something, or was he simply shy? And was it wrong of her to reject him out
right simply because he had an air of mystery about him?
The sound of a pan hitting iron reminded her of the smell that hung in the air. Someone was cooking. Her mind changed tracks so quickly and seamlessly she could not even recall her thoughts from a minute before.
If she was hired to cook and clean for this small homestead, why was her room filled with the smells of bacon? Have I been replaced already?
Her eyes sprang open, she threw back her covers and quickly dressed.
When she opened the door to her room, she was certain she was still dreaming. There, in front of a low shelf of bricks, stood Hunter Winfield…cooking.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“He’s cooking bacon,” Leland shouted out, obviously delighted with the treat.
“Yes, but how?”
Hunter chuckled. “Mr. Forester sent over some meat as a welcome gift. Seems his daughter was rather taken with you.” He gracefully lifted the bacon from the pan using a long iron tool.
“I didn't mean where did you get the food, I meant how did you learn to cook?” A twinge of annoyance clung to her words. “Shucking corn near a stove and eating cookies in a kitchen shouldn't be enough to teach you to do that.” She waved her hand in front of her. He was making it look so simple.
“When a man is living in the woods for several years with only other soldiers for company, you’d be surprised how many skills he learns.”
Four more strips of perfectly cooked bacon were added to the plate. Her stomach growled. Her mouth watered. “Well if you know how to cook, why did you hire me?”
Hunter turned to Leland. A dirty but empty plate lay in front of him. “Why don’t you go out and see if you can find that orchard, Lee. If they have apple trees, we might be able to make some applesauce this afternoon.”
Leland sprang from the table and bolted out the back door. He was gone before his father could remind him that the door needed to be shut.
Lilian walked over and pushed it closed. She then took a seat at the table.
Hunter joined her carrying two plates of crispy bacon. He sat opposite her. A mug in front of him told her he had been sitting in that spot earlier in the day. He pushed one of the dishes in her direction.
She took a slice from her plate.
“I believe you have been lying, Miss Emily.”
She had been lifting a piece of bacon to her mouth but stopped her hand midair, with the bacon still dangling between her fingers. “What?” Her voice was small. Her throat went dry.
“I don’t think you have any intention of telling your fiancé you are stuck here in Spruce Hill.” He took a sip of coffee.
Lilian's heart pounded. He knows. They all know. She had to try to save this. She was desperate.
“Are you implying I would run away from my fiancé?” she asked. She did her best to sound offended and shocked by such a wretched accusation.
His eyes went wide, and he set down his mug. “No!”
She cocked her head and pressed her lips between her teeth. She desperately wanted to ask him, if it wasn't that, then what was it he was going on about. But she had learned that silence often offers greater rewards than a quick tongue. Sure enough, he continued without prompting.
“I have seen the advertisements. I know what the men out here in the West are asking for.”
She blinked. “You think I am a mail-order-bride?”
“Now, there seems to be a stigma to that term, and I don't want to offend anyone. I’m just saying that I know you told this man of yours that he’d be getting a wife who could handle herself in this kind of environment. You’re avoiding him because you’re worried he’ll find out you are a city girl who can't cook or clean.”
“And why is it you think I cannot cook or clean?” she asked.
“I’m guessing your family used to be wealthy —- before the war. Maybe your mammy made sure to look after you once things fell apart.” His eyes were sad and distant.
Lilian hadn’t meant to ask the question that had been answered, but it seemed very telling all the same. This was not a random hypothesis. He had either experienced something similar or had known someone who had.
“I meant, what happened to make you believe I cannot cook or clean?” she asked, hoping to clarify her question.
“Can you?” He sounded surprised.
“Well, no.” She lowered her eyes and her fingers worried her dress. “But if I find a job like this one in the next town I go to, I want to know what I should or should not do so I can keep my position for more than a single night.”
“Oh.” He took another bite and finished a strip of bacon. “I’m not firing you. I knew all along you didn’t know how to do those things.”
Relief filled her. With that momentary anxiety lifted, her mind returned to the topic de jour…what to make of Mr. Winfield. She studied his face carefully hoping it might reveal something. It didn’t.
He wiped his lips with a napkin.
Lilian stared, transfixed. She hadn’t previously noticed how very full and soft his lips appeared.
Why am I suddenly interested in his lips? It must be the anticipation of hearing how I was discovered.
“How could you know that I wasn't able to do such things?” she asked; the edge in her voice had lifted.
“Your hands.”
She dropped her head and looked at her hands with embarrassment.
“Those hands haven't seen a day’s work in your life.”
She had always been careful to wear gloves. When she’d left home, she had forgotten to pack extra pairs. Then, she’d left her only set on the steamboat. In this past week, her hands had grown freckled and dry. She had been somewhat self-conscious about them, until now. She smiled.
He thinks my hands are delicate. She allowed her mind to linger on this thought for several moments, but another was idea fighting its way from the recesses of her mind to its forefront. But his actions make no sense.
“If you knew I couldn't keep house, then why would you agree to hire me?”
“Because I know what it's like to try to adjust in this new world. I know how hard it is at first to find yourself alone in a place that might as well be a foreign land. And because Leland likes you. He needs someone while I’m at work. He misses getting a hug when he hurts his knee.”
Needing a moment to think, she picked up a piece of bacon. Eating offered her the perfect opportunity.
He is a good cook, but maybe my gratitude is impacting my judgment. She reminded herself that a man’s character must be determined by his collective actions. She knew very little about Mr. Winfield. Yes, he had swooped in and helped her in her hour of need, but that was no reason to admire his cooking or his pretty lips. He might simply be acting as society expected. Wouldn't any gentleman offer assistance if he had been able to see she was a woman in distress? Besides, far too often small acts of kindness were performed with an ulterior end in mind. It was extremely unlikely he had taken her in just to watch his son.
“But how am I to take care of Leland if I can't cook his lunch or wash his clothes?”
“I have been making him lunches to eat while I’m away, mending his clothes at night, and taking care of our home ever since his mother died. He knows what to do when he’s left alone. He doesn't need you to take care of him. What he needs is a friend.” He pushed back his chair and walked to the fire. “Looks like I’ll need to cut some wood this morning.” He tossed a log onto the blaze.
Her suspicions were on alert. “So, you took me in because you wanted to help me?”
“No. I am offering you temporary residence in exchange for keeping my boy from getting lonely. And only while you are working with Miss Fletcher to learn the skills you need. Once you know the basics, you will contact your fiancé and have him come collect you.”
“Miss Fletcher?”
He returned to the table and picked up the empty plates.
“She works for the Foresters. I talked to her about it last week. She knows h
er job and tolerates no nonsense. She said teaching you would mean less work for her. And she appreciates your role in making sure Leland and I didn't end up becoming houseguests of Mr. Forester. I don't think she cares for company. I heard her mumble something about not wanting to raise another woman’s child again.”
She had caught him in a contradiction. Her eyes narrowed and she smirked. “And how am I to keep Leland company if you have me training with this Fletcher woman?”
“School. We will all go into town together. While Leland's at school, you learn how to be a wife to this man of yours. Once school lets out, you play with my son until I finish up work. Then I’ll take us home.”
He has an answer for everything. But if he really is this kind, and looks like that, why would he be unmarried? Something did not add up.
“I’m not sure Miss Grande will appreciate you spending so much time with me,” she mumbled.
“That is something I am counting on.”
Lilian needed to getaway. She was so confused. Was he being nice to her, and keeping her close, to make Selene jealous, or did he hope to discourage the woman’s attention? And why did she care so much? She stood and walked to the door. “Thank you for breakfast. I think I will go find Leland. He may need help gathering the apples.”
Chapter 8
Hunter watched her go. He would wash the dishes before heading outback. He didn’t want to risk disturbing their temporary separation, but he needed to chop firewood. Not because the pile was running low. The stack in the house could use replenishment, but Wernicke had showed him where more could be found. They had at least a cord of wood, dried and ready — one of the benefits of living in Oregon and working at a sawmill. No, this was personal. He was searching for a way to stop thinking about Emily.
It had been a very long time since he had spent so much time with a woman. Yesterday as they unpacked her trunk and put her things away, they must have brushed past each other a half dozen times. She wore some sort of fragrance, and it had driven him crazy. This was going to be much harder than he had imagined.
