“What would you like to do?”
Dolly was about to say learn about wine, but then thought better of it. Dolly didn’t want Lucy to tell the others she’d been suckered in by the island’s name. “I’m not sure.”
They made it back to the farmhouse with its weathered shingles just as Josh stepped onto the porch. “You’re just in time, ladies. We need to get baking.” He caught Dolly’s gaze. “Do you think you’re ready for this?”
“Looking forward to it,” Dolly said and realized that she actually was.
Chapter 6
Dolly had never worked as a waitress, but she had once worked in a fast-food restaurant and understood the concept of getting food to the customer while it was still hot. That hadn’t been a priority with the salad course, but once the entree went out, it was a mad rush for the four waitresses to serve all twenty-five couples. And then came the dessert course. Because she’d helped make them, Dolly found herself watching in tense anticipation, looking for critical remarks or unhappy expressions, but everyone seemed just as enchanted with the blueberry concoctions as she’d been while helping to make them.
And, of course, she paid close attention to the wine flights. As Lucy had hinted, not many of the patrons seemed all that enthused with the Frederick Farm red, but there were a few who complimented the wine, but then whole-heartedly encouraged their glasses to be filled with a more mainstream selection.
And she’d studied Josh’s expression while listening to the criticism, which could have been described as either stoic or unfeeling, something she was pretty sure was not part of his usual countenance. It made her even more desirous of tasting said wine.
The sun was setting as the last of the guests climbed back in their cars and left the farm. It was time to break down the set, rinse the dishes, and pack things away so that the rental firm could pick them up the next day. Josh paid and thanked everyone for their work before the others wandered off to collect their vehicles and go home.
By that time, some thirteen hours after she’d left Blythe Cove Manor, Dolly found herself verging on the brink of exhaustion. The sun had long since sunk into the ocean when at last Josh was ready to again take her back to Blythe Cove Manor, where a soothing shower and then a blessedly comfortable bed awaited her.
But as Josh called to her she remembered his promise.
“You can’t take me back yet. You said if I worked for you I’d get to taste your wine.”
Josh shrugged. “Are you sure you want to? I mean, you saw the reaction from my guests who tried it.”
“So? I can’t stand strawberries, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand that others could love them.”
He blinked at her.
“You know what I mean,” she said defensively.
“I guess so.”
“So, when do I get to taste it?”
“How about right now?”
Josh set two wineglasses on the dining room table and produced a corkscrew. A wagon wheel light fixture hung low above the table as he took his seat and poured. She’d expected a red and was surprised when a golden stream filled her glass. They clinked glasses and drank.
Dolly wasn’t put off by the taste. It was sweeter than she would have thought. The guests must have all been wine snobs.
Josh was watching her. “Well?”
“I like it.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“I mean it,” Dolly said and took another healthy sip. “I mean, it’s not rot gut.”
For a long moment Josh just stared at her, and then he laughed. “I guess that was supposed to be a compliment.”
“It was,” Dolly said sincerely. “I’m impressed.”
“You’re the only one,” he muttered and took another sip. “But that’s the reason for my trip.”
“Trip?” Dolly asked.
“I’m going to spend the next three weeks in California. Napa Valley, in fact.”
“Doing what?”
“Hopefully learning how to make great wine.”
“Would you change jobs—leave the island?” Dolly asked.
Josh shook his head. “I teach to earn a living, but my real job is this farm. I’m the fifth generation to run it, and I don’t intend to be the last in my family to own it. But I also want to make more than just a barely drinkable wine.”
“So you’re essentially going back to school?”
“In essence.”
“But who will take care of the chickens, the cow, the goats, and the crops?”
“My parents. They retired to North Carolina, but they have no problem coming back to help out. And since they taught me everything I know about farming, I know Fredrick Farm will be in more than capable hands while I’m gone.”
Dolly sighed and wrapped her fingers around the stem of her glass. “I wish I had my future planned out like you do.”
“Lucy told me you were between jobs.”
Dolly nodded.
“What is it you really want to do, Dolly?”
“It sounds stupid but after being here at the farm for the past two days and working with the others, I think I’d like to cook for people. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Now you sound like a child. Just answer the question from your heart,” he encouraged.
“It’s because of my name,” she groused.
Josh looked confused. “Dolly?”
“Dolly Madison!”
Josh just stared at her. “So what?”
Dolly heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been teased my entire life about being a hostess, entertaining people, parties, parties, parties!” she almost shouted.
He just kept staring at her.
“So. What?” Josh repeated.
Dolly rose from her chair. “I’m tired of it.”
“Then why don’t you just change your name?”
Dolly stood there, blinking at him.
“Either that or live up to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dolley Madison was an important historical figure. She may have had a reputation for giving parties, but she did much more than that. She helped define the role of First Lady of our country. As the wife of our fourth president, she showed by example what it meant to lead during turbulent times.”
“Like?”
He frowned. “Did you ever hear of the War of 1812?”
“Sort of,” Dolly admitted with a half shrug. “That was history. Who cares about it now?”
Josh leveled a hard gaze at her. “‘Those who do not learn from history are bound to repeat it,’” he quoted. “But in this case, you might want to walk in the shadow of Mrs. Madison.”
What did that mean?
Josh looked at his watch. “It’s getting late and I have to leave on the early ferry. I’d better drive you back to the Manor.”
“Thank you.”
Josh got up and pulled the keys from his jeans pocket, but Dolly insisted on rinsing the glasses and placing them in the dishwasher before they left the house.
They didn’t speak during the drive to Blythe Cove Manor. Dolly had way too much to think about.
And think she did.
Chapter 7
It wasn’t often that Blythe waited up until all her guests had safely returned from their travels on the island, but for some reason, she felt she needed to do so that evening. With her tabby cat, Martha, by her side, she’d stationed herself on the big leather couch in the Manor’s living room/lobby, with a glass of sherry and her current book club’s selection.
It was after ten when she heard the sound of tires on the gravel drive, muffled voices, and then the slam of a car door. Seconds later, the front door opened, and Blythe turned to see Dolly enter. She paused, waved, and then Blythe heard the sound of the vehicle’s engine as it pulled away. Dolly kept watch until the vehicle’s hum faded before she closed the door and seemed startled to find Blythe’s gaze upon her.
“I’m sorry. I d
idn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I was just having a glass of sherry. Would you like to join me?”
Dolly’s smile was tentative. “Yes, thanks.”
Blythe nodded toward the big coffee table before her where a crystal carafe and another glass sat on a polished silver tray. “Help yourself.”
Dolly took the adjacent chair, poured the sherry and paused, looking unsure of herself. “Are we supposed to toast?”
“We don’t have to, but it might be nice,” Blythe said. She picked up her own glass. “To finding just what we need.”
Dolly looked a little confused, but then she tipped her glass in salute and took a minute sip. “Wow. That’s pretty powerful stuff.”
Blythe smiled and sipped her sherry. “How did the dinner go?”
“Really well. It was…a surprising day.”
“In what way?”
“I learned so much—about farming, about the island, cooking, and making people happy with something as simple as blueberry crisp.”
“I get the feeling you haven’t been much acquainted with the concept of happiness.”
Dolly’s gaze dipped and she nodded. “Since I inherited all that cash, I found out the hard way that money can’t buy happiness or solve all your problems.”
“What’s your biggest problem?”
Dolly hesitated. “I don’t have a purpose in life. I don’t think I ever did, but it didn’t really hit me until an hour or so ago when Josh asked me what I really wanted in life.”
“And then it occurred to you?”
Dolly nodded. “Yeah, but it sounds really stupid.”
“Nonsense,” Blythe assured her, nodding for Dolly to continue.
“I want to make myself happy by making other people happy … with food.”
Blythe took a slow sip of her sherry. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all. Part of what I do here at Blythe Cove Manor is to start my guests’ day off with food. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It shouldn’t only be nutritious, but it should soothe the soul.”
Dolly looked around the big living room, taking in all the comforts of a welcoming home. “There’s definitely something about Blythe Cove Manor that soothes my soul. But I’ve felt conflicted, too. And I don’t know what I need to do to make that feeling go away.”
“Well, defining your goals might help. Do you aspire to be a chef?”
Dolly wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. I mean, I never really prepared meals. I was thinking more about doing what you do. Your breakfasts are amazing. Would you teach me to bake like you do?”
Blythe looked at the young woman, feeling an amalgam of pity and compassion. “I don’t think I’m the right person for that. I just bake cookies and muffins.” And very well, too, but Blythe suspected Dolly wanted much more than to be told how to measure and mix ingredients. She thought about the request for a few long moments.
Dolly looked crestfallen.
“However,” Blythe began, “I happen to know that the Epicurean Bakery in Vineyard Haven is looking for help—and they’ll provide training. It could be a wonderful learning experience.”
Dolly looked thoughtful. “Maybe.”
“It’s hard work, but I think the rewards would be more than worthwhile.”
“That would mean I’d have to stay on the island for a while.”
“Did you have any other plans?”
Dolly shook her head and looked thoughtful as she took another sip of sherry. “Could you put in a good word for me?”
“I’ll give the owner, Marcie Jenkins, a call tomorrow morning. She’s eager to fill the position. I’m willing to bet she’ll give you an interview immediately. Maybe you could even start tomorrow.”
Dolly’s eyes lit up. “You think?”
Blythe smiled and nodded.
“But if I get the job, where will I stay? It’s high summer. You said you’re booked solid for the rest of the season.”
“I am. But I do have a room that I seldom rent out. It’s tiny. A bed, a dresser, and a minuscule bathroom with just a stall shower.”
“I could handle that,” Dolly assured her.
“Let’s see how tomorrow goes and then we’ll talk about the rest of it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Blythe finished the last of her drink, set the glass on the tray and stood. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow comes mighty early here at the Manor.”
Dolly downed the last of her drink and set her glass on the tray, too. Blythe picked it up and looked down at her cat. “Time for bed, Martha.”
The cat got up, stretched its legs, and jumped down from the couch. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“I’d like that,” Dolly said, sounding encouraged.
Blythe gave her a smile and headed toward the kitchen. She had a feeling something good was in the offing.
Chapter 8
Dolly got the job.
If she thought that working at the Taste of the Farm Celebration was hard, then Dolly had no concept of hard work. At first, her new boss, Marcie Jenkins, had given Dolly the bottom-of-the-barrel jobs. Washing pots, stacking trays, and chopping fruits for pies, muffins, cobblers, and crisps, but within a week, Marcie began teaching her the ins and outs of making artisanal bread. Dolly found she enjoyed working with the dough. She didn’t mind pitting and chopping cherries, blending ingredients, and felt fulfilled at the scent of baking, so much so that it almost seemed a spiritual experience.
Unaccountably, while she worked, Josh Frederick wasn’t far from Dolly’s thoughts. She wondered if he was learning as much about making wine in serene Napa Valley as she was about baking on the peaceful—if hectic during work hours—isle of Martha’s Vineyard.
After moving from her more sumptuous accommodations, Dolly had settled into the tiny room at Blythe Cove Manor but found she hadn’t needed much more than a bed and shower since she had to show up for work just after sunrise—borrowing a bike from Blythe to get there—and she worked twelve-hour days, surprised to still feel energized as she peddled back to the Manor. And Blythe had scores of books on the art of cooking and baking that Dolly devoured in the evenings before she fell into an exhausted sleep.
All too soon, summer was drawing to a close and once the tourists left the island, there’d be no more work for Dolly at the bakery. She’d been hired as summer help—and Marcie had made it clear from the start that she couldn’t keep Dolly on past Labor Day. That was okay. Dolly had plenty of money—she didn’t need a job. But the thought of leaving the island became almost too painful to bear. She’d fallen in love with the sunrises she saw from the window in her tiny room. She’s grown to love the scent of the sea in the air—the sound of the foghorn that punctuated the nights and early mornings. The thought of returning to her old life and that lonely, empty condo totally repelled her.
And Marcie had mentioned on more than one occasion that she was thinking of retiring and selling the café. Could that be an opportunity for someone who had more than enough money to invest in a business? It was something Dolly wanted to contemplate.
And so it was on Labor Day morning that Dolly decided that it didn’t matter if the tourists left the island and there was no work for her—she wasn’t going to leave. Her heart had attached itself to Martha’s Vineyard. She didn’t need to worry about money—but she did need a place to live. Not something grand. Just a little house—and it didn’t matter if it wasn’t near the beach. She would contact a realtor and if she couldn’t buy, maybe she could rent until she found something that would suit her. Not one of the massive cottages. She was, after all, just one person and without a lot of baggage—emotional or otherwise. But she supposed she should go home and figure out what she wanted and needed, and get rid of the rest—cut loose from a life she no longer felt a part of. And, not surprising, she didn’t feel bad about it. She wanted to make a fresh start and the idea excited her.
Dolly tip-toed down the stairs so as not to disturb the Manor’s othe
r guests and wasn’t at all surprised to find Blythe in the kitchen, baking yet another batch of her homemade muffins—cranberry this time.
“So, it’s your last day on the job,” Blythe commented as she pulled a pan of muffins from one of the Aga’s ovens.
“Yes. I’m sad—but only because I won’t get to learn any more from Marcie. She’s been a wonderful instructor—and very generous in sharing her knowledge. I’m so grateful you got me the job.”
“I didn’t. I merely steered you toward it. You got it on your own. And from what Marcie tells me, she’s sorry she couldn’t keep you on.”
“I understand. We talked about the financial problems of being a tourist destination and the harsh realities of staying afloat offseason. I think I judged Josh too harshly when we first met. I now understand why he feels he has to teach during the school year so he can afford to keep doing what he loves.”
“Yes, he does need the teaching job—but he also loves it—and he’s very good at it.”
So Dolly had heard from a number of sources.
“Josh returned to the island just yesterday,” Blythe said casually.
“Oh?” Dolly asked, trying not to sound all that interested, even if she was hungry to hear about his California adventure.
“He’ll probably spend most of tomorrow setting up his classroom for the students, who go back to school on Wednesday.”
“That’s nice.” Nice? Dolly hated to admit it, but she’d been counting the days until she could talk to him—quiz him about what he’d learned about wine during the preceding weeks. And she wondered if he’d undergone as profound a change as she had. Not only in her changed perceptions but physically, too. Pedaling to her temporary job had worked magic on her body. Despite tasting the baker’s wares, Dolly had lost more than ten pounds while pedaling to work and felt better than she had in years.
Blythe nodded. “He gave me a call and asked about you.”
Dolly raised an eyebrow. “Did he?”
Grape Expectations Page 3
