The dining hall was exquisite, if not incredibly opulent. Daisy’s head whipped around like an excited puppy as she tried to take in all the sounds and movements going on. The tables were placed spaciously apart and set with crystal vases full of long stemmed roses. In the center was a large circular bar with several engraved mirrors on a gold-plated overhang. Soft classical music played from an ornate xylophone, and everyone appeared to be dressed elegantly.
Rose walked in with Daisy, her insides twisting while she held her head high. She was breaking several unspoken laws of society: She was dining with a child—certainly not a white child—and she was a single woman wearing a daring dress. She might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter on her chest.
The bee-like hum of dozens of conversations softened to a gentle murmur as all eyes focused on Rose. She had always been good at reading people, and in an instant she saw shock, disapproval, and superiority.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked in and seated herself at a far table. She knew she looked good with her pearl-drop earrings to show off her swanlike neck. She may be squirming on the inside, but she would not allow anyone to know that. Besides, such an appearance would hit the Denver society pages and Cade would hear of it.
Good! She didn’t care if he thought her base and improper. He needed to know she was not crying in a corner muttering his name through tears. She had always admired strong women: Joan of Arc, Catherine the Great, Queen Victoria. She liked the idea of a woman breaking rules and expectations. Now was her time to take part in that legacy, and she would begin by choosing not to pine for a man. Rose shifted Daisy, who rewarded her with one of those smiles that took up half of her face. “You know Daisy, it is a bit easier to be strong when you look at me like that.” She nuzzled noses with her baby and heard several gasps from a nearby table of elderly women drenched in pearls. Rose looked over at them and gave them a charming smile.
After a good five minutes, Rose saw the owner of the Red Bear Hotel make his way to her table. He was a large, powerful looking man with a nose that was lifted in such self-superiority that Rose thought it made him look like he was sniffing sour milk.
“Mrs. Walker, I presume?” He grinned and then shook his head apologetically, “Oh, I am sorry, it is Miss Castle now, is it not?”
Rose arched an eyebrow. Technically the divorce was not final until she heard from the attorney, but she didn’t want to seem eager to keep her married name. “Yes, it is Miss Castle. You are Charles Lars, I presume?” She knew his name from her good friend Jonathan, a doctor who frequented Denver every few months for supplies. He had declared the Red Bear Hotel to have the best food in the state.
He gave her a regal nod. “I heard we were honored with your presence, but I assumed you would be more comfortable dining in your chambers.”
She tilted her head. “Well, do you know what is said about assuming?” When he frowned, Rose offered a sugary smile, “It is usually wrong.”
Charles Lars’s face tightened, but professionalism held that stiff smile intact. “Generally, we discourage children from dining here.” He glanced disdainfully at Daisy, and Rose thought her fingernails would cut into her palms as she clenched her fists. “And we certainly discourage those …” he searched for a word, “those born in indecency, to be present among the other guests.”
Rose held his gaze for a second. Part of her wanted to hustle herself and Daisy back into the private safety of their room. On the other hand, Daisy was hers, the fight for her acceptance was one that Rose would now forever take up. She might as well get used to it.
“Are you familiar with Castle Dairy, Mr. Lars?”
He nodded. “Yes it is located in Tall Pine … such a quaint valley, so lovely.”
“I believe you receive all your milk supply from them, as do most fine restaurants in Denver.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your parents have a thriving business, and cows that are said to be blessed. I would be a fool not to purchase from them.”
Rose tightened her hold on Daisy. “Oh, Mr. Lars, I do not believe you to be a fool. That is why I am sure you can see the benefit of having the sole heiress of Castle Dairy feel comfortable? It would be such a pity for you to have to find another supplier because of...” she cocked her head, “indecency.” She enunciated the word slowly.
The stiff smile cracked and his spine straightened. “Of course, Miss Castle,” his voice was strained. He knew he’d lost the battle and Rose had the distinct impression that losing to a woman was not something he enjoyed. “I shall have a waiter be with you right away.”
At his departure, Rose looked challengingly at her surrounding audience that watched and whispered behind lace fans and crystal glasses. Soon the chatter rose to its natural octave; only an occasional sideways look was tossed her way.
Appetite had not been Rose’s friend of late, but tonight was an exception. Never had she tasted anything so divine. Dinner started with a creamy soup of potatoes, butter, carrots and chives with tender chunks of rainbow trout. Even Daisy was able to gurgle a few mouthfuls, which she enjoyed. The main course was pork stuffed with cheese and mushrooms and covered in a smooth gravy. After eating every bite, Rose thought if she had dessert she might burst. Besides, she was ready to retire and Daisy was still clearly wanting a bottle of milk.
Rose looked around for her waiter and finally saw him dealing with a very difficult man who was complaining about the wine. After a good ten minutes Rose decided to find the kitchen herself and request for milk to be brought to her room.
The kitchen was easy enough to find, one only had to follow the waiters down the hall. With Daisy in her arms, Rose lowered herself down a small number of stairs and entered the warm kitchen. A bustle of movement greeted her as the sound of sizzling meat, frying vegetables, and excited chatter collided with the clang of pots and pans. Over a large stovetop stood a small girl, perhaps a woman, though it was hard to tell because she wore her brown hair over half her face. Her delicate hands were working fiercely with a buttery dough that was then passed to two young men who were dropping it into large pots of bubbling oil.
“How are my blackberries?” she called over her shoulder.
Two kitchen workers glanced at each other, their hands stained with blackberry juice. The taller of them spoke up hesitantly, “They are smashing up a bit, Miss.”
The brown eyes whisked away from the dough and hurried to inspect the blackberries. “You fold the blackberries in with the sugar,” she explained gently. “Don’t stir it like a soup. Just fold it like a silk sheet.”
The kitchen was so busy that no one noticed Rose for a good minute more, until she cleared her throat, at which moment a young waiter with a pouty mouth nearly dropped a tray of food.
“I am so sorry to startle you,” Rose apologized. “I merely wanted to ask if I could have some fresh milk and dessert brought up to my room.”
The waiter nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but not before the door behind Rose burst open. Rose moved aside, the wide door blocking her image from the entering visitor. The voice was hard to mistake for any other person than Charles Lars. Something about his condescending tone scratched on one’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“We have a young politician out there that wants to congratulate the cook for a fine meal,” he barked.
“That’s you, Meg,” one of the dishwashers piped excitedly.
Charles Lars snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Send that little tramp out? We’d be out of business within the week. Frank, you go.”
To Rose’s irritation, one of the young men, obviously no more than a mediocre help, took off his apron and walked over to a hook where a professional chef’s adornment hung. He donned it and walked towards Charles Lars.
“Remember to merely thank them and ask them to come again,” Charles Lars instructed as he led the faux chef out the door. He paused, having noticed Rose, “Is there something you need?” he asked.
Rose smiled. “Milk for my baby,” she said sweetly.
The odious man blinked and gave a fleeting glance at Daisy. “The kitchen is for clean folks,” he nodded at Daisy. “Please get your milk and leave before that baby soils something.”
Before Rose could say a worthy retort, he left. Angry, irritated, and shocked, Rose looked up at the young female chef. The face was calm, unflinching, but Rose did not miss the fire that flashed in her eyes. Rose liked her instantly.
“What is her name?” Rose asked the waiter as she nodded towards the young woman.
“Meg,” the waiter replied softly. “Charles Lars’s step-daughter.” His words were nothing save self-explanatory, but the tone was one of pity.
“Ask her to bring up dessert when she has a moment from her duties.”
“I don’t know, Miss,” the waiter shook her head. “Meg isn’t allowed out of the kitchen.”
Rose smiled and rested Daisy on her hip while she reached into her purse. A highbred woman was not meant to carry around money, it was not delicate to do so. On the other hand, Rose had discovered on her horrible journey from New Orleans that although people were not so eager to help a single woman with a colored child, they became more amiable if she offered up a few coins.
The bribery worked like a charm on the waiter, and Rose, once she had milk for Daisy, hurried to her room eager to get out of her dress, which now felt tight after such a hearty meal. She was confused by her actions. What exactly was she going to say? That it was ghastly unfair that this young woman’s talent be hidden while some random man masqueraded as the chef. It was unfair, but wasn’t part of being a woman dealing with unfair behavior? And, Rose was not exactly a grand example of female success now, was she?
“Daisy,” she sighed upon entering her room, “I should just leave things alone. There is already enough havoc in my life.” She kissed the round cheeks knowing perfectly well that one’s plans were not always God’s.“Well, I suppose if I left things alone I wouldn’t have you now, would I?” Rose blew on Daisy’s stomach then fetched a diaper. After both of them were dressed and ready for bed, there came a timid knock on the door. Leaving Daisy content in the bassinette, Rose stepped over to the door and opened it with a smile.
Meg stood holding a tray, looking completely lost. “Your dessert and milk, Miss. I was told you wanted them brought up to your room,” her words tumbled over her lips.
Rose laughed and opened the door wide. “Please come in. My! That dessert looks scrumptious!”
Meg smiled with restrained pride. “Blackberry cobbler with ice cream. I hope you like it.”
“I am sure I will, considering you made it.”
The tray trembled as Meg quickly put it down on the bedside table with a start. “Oh, you must be mistaken. I am not the cook.”
Rose sat on the bed. “You really want me to believe the boy who was following your every order is somehow the great chef of Red Bear Hotel? Sorry, my dear, but I was in the kitchen long enough to witness the truth behind the food.”
Meg frowned. “You were in the kitchen?”
“To request some milk for my daughter. You were so focused on your blackberries you didn’t notice. How long has Mr. Lars had a man pretend to be you?”
“Since I was sixteen. So it has been four years now. I always helped in the kitchen, but my dishes began to attract attention.”
Rose tilted her head. “I see.” She motioned to a chair. “Please, sit.”
Meg shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to prep food for tomorrow morning and then clean up and then plan next month’s menu. Then after that I need to-”
“Sleep hopefully?” Rose interrupted, eyeing Meg intently. When the young girl shook her head, the light strands fell from her face to reveal dark bruises and deep eye circles.
“Sleep?” Meg laughed a dry laugh. Clearly it was a pleasure she seldom enjoyed.
“Meg, if you will excuse me for being forward, where did you get those bruises on your brow?”
Her face went pale, then scarlet, and then pale again. “I, uh … I fell down the stairs and landed on my face.”
Rose bit her lip. She wished she could say that she had never seen a woman’s bruised face, nor heard the excuse of falling down stairs, but sadly it was all too common. Women were afraid to admit their husband’s, lover’s, father’s abusive ways. The stairs had become a sad, all too common alibi.“It was Mr. Lars, wasn’t it?” Rose asked quietly.
The widening of Meg’s eyes spoke before her words. “It was the stairs,” her voice was resolute, but her chin trembled. She looked so tired, so very tired, her reserve shaking as the desire to tell someone angrily and desperately grew within her.
“Meg,” Rose stood up and closed the space between them. Then, with a gentle gesture, she brushed aside the hair so carefully styled over Meg’s face. “Forgive me, but how long has this been going on?” There was a catch in Rose’s voice and her eyes misted over.
“Ever since he married my mother.” Meg blurted out before she could recall the words back to her mouth. Shocked at herself, she blinked, but could not stop the tears that stung the cuts on her cheek. “My father was kind but not loyal. He found better things and different dreams. After he left us, then Mr. Lars came along. He says … he says he won’t ever leave, and my mother clings to him as if he was her only reason for living.” Meg covered her face with her hands, sobbing even harder as she felt Rose wrap her arms around her.
Rose didn’t say anything knowing that Meg was talking more to herself than to her.
“I minded at first,” Meg continued. “I prayed that it would stop, begged God to show mercy and get rid of him,” she wiped her nose, her expression clouding with anger, “but God did not listen.”
Rose glanced over at Daisy. “It certainly does seem that way sometimes,” she turned back to Meg. “I do not believe any person deserves abuse, Meg. We women often take all kinds of abuse because we hold on to the hope that a man can change, but sadly,” she smiled wryly, thinking of Cade, “they rarely do, and sometimes it takes you being completely broken before you realize that. Have you thought about leaving this place and finding work somewhere else?”
Meg rubbed her eyes. “Where else?”
Rose opened her mouth but nothing came out. Where could she go? It was clear this girl had culinary talent, but with a man playing her part no one would believe she was the chef of The Red Bear Hotel. Charles Lars would not give her a good recommendation, if only just to keep her. The world had no offers for a girl like Meg.
An idea suddenly formed into Rose’s mind. She quickly squelched it, but it emerged with a tenacity that she struggled to push down.
No. Absolutely not.
Yet, she found herself returning to the bassinette to pick up Daisy and motioning for Meg to join her on the bed. When the young woman did, Rose took a deep breath and gave a long exhale. “Meg, have you ever been to Tall Pine?”