ISABEL STOOD BACK, watching as the last customer ambled out of the store, a Baxter’s Chocolates bag swinging at his side. That logo—the stylized letter B—felt heavy with meaning now that her father was gone. This was all they had left of the Baxter empire, and ironically it was a tiny start-up of which her father hadn’t approved. Baxter Land Holdings Inc. was being disbanded. It wouldn’t be anything more than some old letterhead now. A lifetime of work, all for nothing. But Baxter’s Chocolates bore their name, too, and it was fueled by the same passion to succeed…although perhaps this Baxter would balance her life a little more successfully. Would that logo—the Baxter’s Chocolates sign—mean something for the generations to come?
“It’s good, right?” Jenny asked jubilantly, coming out of the kitchen.
“It’s very good, Jenny.” Isabel grinned, and she realized that this was the first real smile since her dad’s passing, and she had a feeling he’d understand it.
Isabel grabbed a box of bags and started to refill the cubby under the till. The bell over the door tinkled, and she looked up to see the photographer from a few days ago come in. He was a man in his forties with a belly and a camera over one shoulder.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “I wanted to take a few pictures for the paper. Would you mind?”
“You’re writing about my store for the paper again?” Isabel asked.
“You’re the talk of the town, Miss Baxter,” he replied. “I’m sorry about your father, too. He was a good man.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the condolences with a nod. “I appreciate that.”
“With your permission, I’d like to get a group shot,” he said.
“Sure.” The exposure was good for business—free advertising. She was tired but grateful that the town was taking an interest in her store, after all. Without the support of Haggerston, this business would most certainly fail.
“If we could get you all together,” he said, glancing around the store. “Over here, with the windows behind me would be perfect.”
“Sure,” Isabel said, and she gestured for Britney and Jenny to join her. They had worked just as hard as she had today. They stood in front of the counter, Isabel in the center. Behind them was the Baxter’s Chocolates sign.
The photographer took a couple of shots, then checked the results on his view screen.
“What a beautiful group,” he said with a smile. “If those faces don’t sell chocolates, I don’t know what will.”
He was trying to be friendly, and a couple of years ago she might have enjoyed the flattery and attention, even thought it her due. But those years were behind her. She didn’t want to be complimented on her looks—this was something she’d worked for, not something she’d been born with.
“One more,” the photographer said. “Smile this time—beautiful! Yes!”
Isabel smiled for the camera, and she could feel the scars tugging at the side of her face. She didn’t feel ugly anymore. The scars were becoming a more natural part of her, and she didn’t feel the urge to turn to the side, to hide the damage. She’d survived a lot in the past year, and she’d survive even more, but she wanted to do more than get through. She wanted to thrive.
After a few more photos and some pleasantries, the photographer headed off with a small box of samples. Isabel hadn’t expected herself and Britney to make such a good team today. Their dynamic was different without her father between them. Without the “Georgies” and the machinations, they actually did get along, and Britney had proved to be an exceptional saleswoman. She could sell chocolates to anyone, it turned out, and she’d barely had to try. If Isabel had Britney’s help in the store—but dare she go that far?
“What’s the matter?” Britney asked.
“Hmm?” Isabel glanced over to find Britney eyeing her.
“That photographer annoyed you,” Britney said, and Isabel was surprised at her acuity.
“I thought I hid that better.” Isabel smiled wanly. “Yeah, he did. It’s the compliments that get to me. ‘Aren’t we pretty.’ ‘Aren’t we lovely.’ ‘These smiling faces…’” She sighed. “You know what, Britney? I don’t want to be called beautiful. I want to be called ‘ma’am.’”
Britney gave her a peculiar look. Maybe she couldn’t appreciate that yet. Britney still had her looks. But Isabel didn’t need the reassurances that she was still attractive. She wanted to build this store into a chain, then into an online chocolate empire. She wanted a head office in Billings, a team of accountants, and when someone approached her for a photo, she didn’t want to be called “you ladies,” she wanted to be called “Ms. Baxter, ma’am.” It wasn’t about money or social status—it was about having earned the right to their respect. When people came to her, she didn’t want them to be patting her on the head with patronizing compliments. She wanted them coming with a résumé in hand, asking her to hire them.
“I’m serious,” Isabel said. “My dad didn’t think I had what it took to make a business thrive, but I think I do. And with the right people, I can grow this business into something we can be proud of.”
“This felt good,” Britney said quietly. “I miss George so much…but this was nice. I have a feeling he’d approve.”
Isabel nodded. She had the same feeling. He’d gotten his wish, after all, and the two Baxter women were bonding. Britney ran a hand over her belly, and Isabel was suddenly reminded that they wouldn’t be the two Baxter women for much longer. A new Baxter girl was coming soon, and maybe, just maybe, they could grow this business into something that would show her what women could do when they put their minds to it.
“You’re grieving and you’re pregnant,” Isabel said. “You shouldn’t push yourself right now. But when you’re ready, if you want to be part of a Baxter business, we could sort something out.”
Her father had been the businessman, providing for the ones he loved. He’d wanted to leave behind a thriving business that could fuel the family for generations, but he hadn’t managed it. However, he had raised a daughter who’d watched his every move, and he’d sent that daughter to Yale. He might not have left them a fortune or a salvageable business, but he’d left something more important—a legacy.
Britney would need some support for the next while, and so would their little girl. Someone had to step into George Baxter’s shoes. Someone had to bring the Baxter name back to its earlier glory.
This is for you, Dad.