4

The next day, while Cassie helped Rosemary wash the dishes after the noon meal, a portion of a Scripture verse that had come to her in the night circled through her mind. If any would not work, neither should he eat. She was more than willing to work. If she could escape her mother’s scrutiny for an hour or so, she’d put her plans into action.

After drying the final plate, she draped the towel over a peg and turned to Rosemary. “I need your help. You mentioned that this afternoon you intend to call on one of Elijah’s patients who has a new baby.”

Rosemary smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Wright. I’m eager to see her little one. I’d be pleased to have you accompany me.”

“Thank you, but I have something else I need to do. Would you mind taking my mother instead?”

Her friend’s cheerful expression faded. “Do you think she’d be willing? She’s done little since you’ve been here other than sit in your room reading books and writing letters.” A flush colored her cheeks. “I’m sorry. That sounded harsher than I intended.”

“It’s the truth.” Cassie bowed her head. “While my father was alive, he made certain we were both waited on hand and foot. Mother hasn’t accepted that those days are gone forever.” She met Rosemary’s compassionate gaze. “That’s why I hoped you could keep her busy this afternoon. I’m going to go out and find a job.”

“Doing what?” Rosemary blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her expression softened. “I mean, you’ve never really worked either. I don’t think—”

“I’m not useless. You found a job and took care of yourself. Why can’t I?” She turned toward the entrance to the dining room. “If you don’t want Mother’s company this afternoon, I’ll find another way.”

“Why don’t you just tell her what you plan to do?”

Cassie pivoted to meet her friend’s puzzled gaze. “She’d never let me go. To her way of thinking, ladies don’t soil their hands with work. But if I present her with the fait accompli, she’ll have to agree.”

At least, she hoped that’s how things would turn out. Last night the solution to their dilemma seemed so clear. Now the doubt in Rosemary’s eyes brought out her own uncertainty.

Then a glance at the dress her friend wore—gathered under the bust to conceal her condition—reminded Cassie that she and her mother must find a home of their own, and soon. For that to happen, she needed a job.

“Where do you plan to seek employment?” Rosemary’s soft voice cut into her thoughts.

Hope shot through her. “Does that mean you’ll take Mother with you this afternoon?”

“Yes, I’ll be happy to.”

She threw her arms around Rosemary. “Thank you. You’re a blessing. I’ll go help her get ready.”

“Now, tell me where you’re going.”

“I’ll tell you when I return.” She left the kitchen and sped up the stairs.

As soon as Mother departed with Rosemary, Cassie drew her green plaid taffeta walking dress from the wardrobe in their bedroom. Once the frock had been her best choice for paying calls. But after more than a year, signs of wear showed around the hem and sleeves.

By folding the cuffs to the inside, she hid their frayed edges. If she had time, she’d also stitch the hem up an inch, but at best she had an hour or so before Rosemary returned from her call on Mrs. Wright.

Cassie slipped out of the simple blue cotton garment she wore and stood in her petticoat, nerves fluttering. She didn’t know which worried her the most—the reception she might receive when she asked for work, or her mother’s reaction if she were fortunate enough to be employed. After a moment, she took a deep breath and dropped the green taffeta over her head. The time had come to step out in faith.

Standing in front of a framed wall mirror, she settled her straw bonnet over her auburn braids, then tied the emerald green ribbons beneath her chin. A closer scrutiny in the glass revealed pale skin. She pinched color into her cheeks, then hurried down the stairs.

Bodie met her at the door, tail wagging.

She rubbed his ears. “Not now. I’ll walk you when I get back.” She slipped outside and closed the door in his hopeful face.

Moving briskly, she crossed King’s Highway and strode north. At the corner of High Street, she straightened her shoulders, drew a breath, then marched through the door leading to West & Riley’s restaurant.

Since the noon hour had passed, no patrons sat at the tables, although stacked dishes here and there testified to their presence earlier. The room smelled faintly of ham and scorched cornbread. She heard voices and the clinking of cutlery coming from the kitchen, so she turned in that direction. The door swung open before she reached the entrance.

Mr. West blinked at her as if he’d seen a vision.

“Miss Haddon? Are you in need of groceries? My helper should be somewhere about.”

“I came to see you.” She squelched the tremor in her voice. “About a job.”

He raised an eyebrow. After a glance at her attire, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t need any more help.”

“I beg to differ. From the looks of the tables, you are lacking a waitress to fetch and carry plates in and out of the kitchen. I noticed the other evening that you were doing the serving.” Perspiration moistened the palms of her gloved hands as she continued with her rehearsed speech. “As the owner of the business, that’s hardly the best use of your time. There may be customers in the grocery right now, and no one there to assist them.”

One corner of his moustache twitched as he appeared to fight a smile. “Well said. But you’re a lady—a real lady. This is no place for you.”

She peeled off her gloves, draping them over the back of a chair, then moved to one of the tables. After stacking soiled dishes together, she swept up knives and forks and dropped them onto the top plate.

“I assume you want these in the kitchen?”

He nodded. No doubt about it, he was smiling. Grinning, in fact. If it weren’t for the skeptical expression on his face, she’d have thought he was pleased.

She grabbed the stack, wishing she hadn’t put so many heavy dishes into a single pile. The crockery plates weighed far more than Rosemary’s china. Tightening her grip, she pushed through the door with her shoulder and deposited her burden next to the washbasin.

An older woman pulled her hands from soapy water and stared. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? Did Mr. West say you could come in here?” She pushed a strand of gray hair away from her forehead with the back of one reddened hand.

“More or less.” Mr. West spoke from the doorway. “Miss Haddon, would you please come with me?”

“Certainly. As soon as I clear the rest of the tables.”

“Now. Mrs. Fielder will finish in the dining room.”

Mrs. Fielder huffed out a breath. “In due time, sir. I’ve only got two hands.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward, then turned and marched through the door, motioning for Cassie to follow him.

Before leaving, she glanced around the kitchen for someplace to clean congealed gravy from her fingers. Mrs. Fielder frowned at her. “What is it you’re wanting now?”

“My hands. They’re sticky. Have you a towel I could use?”

“Mercy sakes. You carry half a dozen plates and you think your hands are sticky?” She gestured at a roasting pan and baking sheets waiting to be washed. “An hour up to your elbows in the dishpan will fix that.” Then her expression softened. “There’s towels on that shelf behind you. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Heat stung Cassie’s cheeks as she made quick work of wiping her fingers. She hurried after Mr. West, praying her efficiency at clearing the dishes had made a good impression.

He sat at one of the tables farthest from the kitchen. When he saw her, he pointed to an empty chair facing him. “Please have a seat.” He rubbed his moustache with his thumb. “I don’t understand why a lady like you would want to work here. My trade is mostly workmen from the boardinghouse. Some of them can be rough around the edges—not like the gentlemen you’re no doubt used to.”

She bit her lower lip. “I need a job, Mr. West. I want to be able to support my mother and myself.”

“Why not set up as a seamstress or milliner?”

“I can barely stitch a straight hem. I’ve never made a dress in my life.” She leaned across the table, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “The only work I’ve ever done is help with dishes after a meal.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his apron. “I take it your mother hasn’t tracked her brother down.”

“No, and we can’t continue to impose on Rosemary and her husband. If I had a way to earn some money, I could find us a little cottage to rent.”

She wondered at herself, giving so much personal information to the grocer. Except for seeing him away from the store a few times when he called on Rosemary last spring, he was a stranger. Why should he care what happened to her and her mother? She gave his face a brief survey. At least he didn’t appear hostile.

She lifted her chin. “I can start tomorrow. Tell me what time to be here.”

“Six o’clock. We’re busiest at breakfast.”

She jumped from her chair. “Thank you, Mr. West!”

“Wear something less . . . noticeable. And Miss Haddon—”

“Yes?”

“I’m willing to try this for one week. Then we’ll see.”

With purposeful steps, Cassie strode out the door and hurried toward Rosemary’s house. Once she was beyond sight of the restaurant, she paused, her heart galloping.

Six o’clock in the morning. She’d never been anywhere that early in her life. She prayed she’d awaken in time.

After Miss Haddon left, Jacob plodded into the grocery and leaned against a counter. What had he done? He raked his fingers through his hair. Mrs. Fielder wouldn’t be happy. Miss Haddon likely wouldn’t last the first day. Then he’d have to dismiss her, and she wouldn’t be happy either.

He paced to the rear of the store, straightening stock on the shelves as he walked. He could work with other men without a problem. But for some reason, ladies baffled him. He needed a cook, so he’d hired Mrs. Fielder. So why did he hire Miss Haddon?

The last serving girl he employed had left to get married, and he hadn’t replaced her. Up to now, he hadn’t seen any need. Still didn’t, for that matter. He closed his eyes and pictured Miss Haddon in her rustling taffeta dress, marching to the kitchen with her bonnet ribbons streaming behind her. No one looked less like kitchen help than she did.

He poked at a case of canned beans with the toe of his boot. Even if she lasted only one day, he’d have to make sure none of his customers got the wrong idea about her presence in the restaurant. Instead of freeing him to spend more time in the grocery, she’d be taking him from his other duties. He should have said no and sent her on her way.

Growling in his throat, he bent and stacked the cans on a shelf. He’d allow her to fail. When she recognized the work was too much for her, she’d leave on her own. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with the tears he feared would come if he’d denied her the job today.

“Cassiopeia Rosetta Haddon! I’m thankful your father isn’t alive to see how far you’ve sunk.”

Cassie flinched at her mother’s rebuke. “I don’t see where I had any choice. We can’t continue to live on Rosemary’s charity.” She kept her voice down so they wouldn’t be overheard.

Mother rose and paced the length of their shared bedroom. “But to lower yourself to a servant’s level. How could you? I’ve tried so hard to teach you to be a lady.” She dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Didn’t you pay any attention to me at all?”

“You taught me how to make lace, appreciate classic literature, play a piano, and write a fine hand. I’m grateful, but none of those things will help me earn our keep.”

“A lady marries well. Her husband earns their livelihood.” The bed creaked as Mother sank onto the edge and covered her face with her hands. “Your reputation will be ruined. I’d hoped once we found Rand that he would introduce you to a suitable bachelor. But now . . .”

Cassie settled beside her. “We don’t know how long it will take to find your brother.” She softened her voice. “In the meantime, I must do something to provide for us. I pray you’ll try to understand.”

She kissed her mother’s cheek, then crossed the room to the wardrobe and drew out the blue print dress she’d worn before leaving for West & Riley’s that afternoon. If she borrowed one of Rosemary’s aprons, the garment should fill Mr. West’s definition of “not noticeable.”

Mother sniffled. “That’s your oldest dress.”

“Exactly. I plan to wear this to the restaurant in the morning. Mr. West advised me to wear something inconspicuous.”

“My heavens. Now the man is telling you how to dress.” She fanned herself with her hand.

Cassie drew a deep breath and held it for a moment. “He’s my employer now. He has the right.” She stumbled over the words. He also had the right to send her packing if she couldn’t do the work.