10

Cassie wanted to run, but with both hands full she couldn’t lift her skirts out of the way. The best she could do was a modified trot. She cast a frantic look over her shoulder when she reached High Street.

A dark-skinned man wearing a battered slouch hat was closing the distance between them. Heart racing, she pivoted to face him.

“Come any nearer and I’ll scream for help.” She brandished the broom like a club.

He stopped a safe distance away and pulled off his hat. “Sorry to scare you, missy. Mr. West told me to go to that store and fetch your parcels for you.”

Her heart slowed its wild pounding. Without his hat, she recognized Wash Bennett, the man who came in at the end of each day to scrub the restaurant kitchen.

She held out the broom and bucket. “I’m sorry, Wash, I didn’t expect you. I welcome the help. Thank you. But how did Mr. West know where I was going?”

“Don’t know, missy. He never said.” Wash looped one arm through the handle on the heavy wooden bucket and grabbed the broom with his free hand. “Where you takin’ this?”

“Just a couple of blocks down the street. Cattycorner from the restaurant.” She started in that direction, then paused when he didn’t join her. Surely he didn’t plan to take her purchases and run away. “Wash? Are you coming?”

“Just waitin’ for you to get ahead. Wouldn’t do for me to be next to you.”

“Those days are gone. You don’t have to walk behind me.”

“’Fraid not all folks think like you. If’n you don’t mind, I’ll keep my distance.”

She gave a reluctant nod and set off toward the cabin. After a moment, she heard Wash’s footsteps behind her.

Cassie stopped in front of the two wooden steps set against the rock foundation. She noticed that someone, probably Mr. Slocum, had opened the shutters so afternoon light could fill the interior. She’d have to sweep the wood scraps out before she could scrub the floor. Or should she wash the windows first? She wished she’d watched when their housekeeper cleaned her parents’ home.

When Wash caught up with her, he placed the bucket on the ground and leaned the broom against a wall. “I’d best not tarry.” His gaze darted toward the alley. “If anyone sees me with you . . .”

“I wouldn’t want to bring trouble down on you. Thank you for helping me.” She dug in her handbag and held out one of her remaining coins.

Shaking his head, he took a step away. “No need, missy. Mr. West done paid me already.” He turned and strode along the path to the street.

Her gaze followed him until he was out of sight. The thought that Mr. West had paid Wash to help her left her dumbfounded. Why would he do such a thing? Shaking her head, she stepped inside the cabin.

The bedstead in the other room was the first thing she noticed. A clean straw tick rested between the rails. Then she saw a square table and two chairs pushed against the wall. Moving closer, she bent her head to get a better look at the chairs. An exact match to those in the restaurant. First sending Wash, and now this. She’d seen enough of her employer to know he had a soft heart when it came to other’s needs, but she hadn’t asked for help.

Her thoughts jumped to the task before her when something scuttled across the floor and disappeared under the bed. She ran back outside and grabbed the broom. After dragging the bed away from the wall, she chased the rodent around the cabin until it scurried out the open door.

Heart pounding, she leaned against the frame and marveled at herself. Ladylike Cassie Haddon, chasing mice. None of her childhood friends would believe the tale. They’d never believe what she planned to do next, either.

After unbuttoning the cuffs on her blue work dress, she rolled up the sleeves, then carried the bucket over to the lean-to and filled it from the pump. The weight of the water dragged at her arm as she staggered back to the cabin. A few drops sloshed over the edge when she plunked the wooden container next to the waiting broom.

Dust flew as she swept. The afternoon sun inched lower in the western sky, prodding her onward. Just keep going. If you stop, you’ll never finish in time. She shuddered at crackling cobwebs and scattering spiders when she brushed the broom over the window glass. She wished she knew how their housekeeper had accomplished all these tasks in a home far larger than this tiny cabin.

Cassie wiped perspiration from her forehead and dropped to her knees next to the bucket. After plunging the brush into a lye soap and water solution, she began scrubbing the floors in a back corner of the bedroom. Dip the brush. Drag the bucket. Each dip brought her closer to the front door.

When Elijah arrived with her mother at dusk, the damp floors gleamed in fading light that pooled beneath clean windows. A resin-fresh aroma rose from the scoured pine boards. Cassie had moved the table and chairs near the stove in the main room. A shelf nearby held the skillet and pots Mrs. Fielder had promised, along with the dishes Curt delivered from the mercantile.

Cassie had never been so tired, not even after her first day at the restaurant. Her back ached. Her fingertips were raw from scrubbing. Yet she couldn’t stop smiling at what she’d accomplished. Just let her uncle—or anyone else—try to call her useless now. She’d made a home for herself and her mother.

Elijah was first up the steps. He set their trunk inside the door and whistled as he stared around the room. “I’d never have believed you could do all this in such a short time. I stopped by yesterday while Jesse was repairing that table. Figured then you’d need a week to clean out the years of neglect. And you did it in an afternoon.”

She basked in his look of admiration, at the same time making a mental note to thank Mr. Slocum for providing the table.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, dressed in her best traveling suit. She’d done her hair in an elaborate twist at the back of her head.

Cassie held her breath, hoping for praise.

Mother sniffed. “At least the place feels sturdy enough. I was afraid it would fall down around our ears.”

Elijah sent Cassie a sympathetic glance.

She blew out a breath and then slipped her arm around her mother’s waist.

“Welcome to your new home.”

The lamp Cassie purchased sent a warm glow over the cabin’s interior. Once she unpacked the trunk and spread their red and green thistle pattern quilt over the bed, she settled onto one of the two chairs, unable to keep a smile from her face. The small dwelling looked almost . . . homey.

She turned to her mother, who sat across the table. “We’ll be comfortable. I know you’ll get used to being here.”

The lamplight caught the glitter of tears in her mother’s eyes. Her lower lip quivered.

Mother seldom cried.

Cassie’s heart plummeted. She jumped to her feet. “You must be tired. Rosemary sent over some of her teas. Would you like a cup?”

“No . . . no, thank you.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but it’s all I can do for now.” Cassie wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders and hugged her close. “Please, try to make the best of things.”

“It’s not you. I can see how hard you’ve worked.” She drew a trembling breath. “I feel like I’ve failed. This isn’t what I wanted. I dreamed of you with a fine husband, children, a home like your father and I had. I did everything I could to prepare you for such a life. And now look.” She waved her hand at their surroundings, tears running unchecked down her cheeks. “You . . . you’re kitchen help. Spending your meager wages to put a roof over our heads.”

“Mother—Mama—you know this isn’t your fault. I’m glad I have my job. We’re blessed to have a place of our own, however small.”

“My dreams are ashes.” She rose and turned toward the bedroom. “You may feel blessed. I don’t.”

Cassie crumpled onto a chair, her mother’s pain tearing at her heart. Nothing she could do would return their lives to what they were before the war. Lord, I’m powerless to help my mother. The apostle Paul says in your Word that he has learned, in whatsoever state, to be content. Please, let this be true for her as well.

Cassie rose early on Monday and dressed for work as quietly as possible to avoid waking her mother. Tiptoeing around the main room, she set a plate and knife next to a covered pan of cornbread. A jar of honey and a bowl of butter waited on the shelf. She would have breakfast at the restaurant, but Mother would need to prepare her own meal. Thanks to both Faith and Rosemary, they were supplied for the next few days.

She took one last glance at her mother’s sleeping form, then slipped out the door. Her shoes crunched on the gravel path that led around Mr. Slocum’s house and out to Third Street. The morning she’d been dreading had arrived. Mr. West expected her to make pies, and beyond preparing crust she had no idea how. Thankfully, Mrs. Fielder would be there to offer direction. Even more pressing, she needed to determine whether the chairs in her cabin had come from the restaurant. Mr. Slocum said they weren’t his. Neither Faith nor Rosemary claimed ownership. That left Mr. West as the likely donor.

She clasped her hands together and rested her fingers against her lips. He’d granted her a favor by giving her time off, sent Wash to carry her purchases, then provided furniture. The poor man would soon realize helping her decreased his profits. A headache pecked at her temples. What if he decided she’d become a liability and discharged her?

Drawing a deep breath, she crossed the empty street and entered the kitchen. Her headache burrowed deeper when she saw a row of pie pans spread out on one of the worktables. Jars of dried apples sat to one side.

She swallowed. First she’d set the tables in the dining room, then speak to Mr. West about her chairs. The pies could wait a bit.

Mrs. Fielder pushed open the door, eyes bright with curiosity. “Did your mother like the cabin?”

“She’s . . . adjusting. I don’t believe she’s ever lived so humbly.”

“Humbly? There’s folks would be glad to have a snug roof over their heads.”

Cassie held up her hand. “I know. I’m thankful to Mr. Slocum. Mother seems to be having a difficult time right now, and I don’t know how to help her.”

“Humph. She doesn’t realize how lucky she is to have a daughter like you.”

The balm of Mrs. Fielder’s kind words spread over Cassie, smoothing the edges of her worries. She moved close to the older woman and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Fielder. You’re very kind.”

“Call me Jenny.”

“Thank you—Jenny.” She walked to a shelf, taking down a stack of plates. “I’ll have the tables ready in a few minutes.”

“Good. I’ll make the biscuits and be out of your way so you can start on the pies.”

“About the pies—”

“Don’t worry. You’ll have the kitchen to yourself after breakfast. I promised one of my daughters I’d watch her babies while she renders up some lard. She worries about them underfoot with the hot fat bubbling.”

“But I need you to—”

“Now, don’t worry. I’ll be back in time to cook the noon meal. You won’t have to do a thing but make a few pies while I’m gone.”

Cassie’d never seen anyone render lard. When their cook needed fat for cooking, she’d taken a jar full from the root cellar—a jar like those waiting near the pie plates in West & Riley’s kitchen. She drew in a long breath.

Piecrust, apples. As Mr. West had said, how hard could it be?

She dropped knives and forks on top of the plates she held and then hastened into the dining room. Mentally, she counted chairs as she arranged place settings. When she reached the table nearest the grocery entrance, she saw four chairs, not six.

Her stomach tightened. The chairs in her cabin came from the restaurant.

Mr. West stood behind the counter inside the grocery, talking with a customer. Nervous perspiration popped out on Cassie’s forehead. She had to say something to him. It wasn’t seemly for him to help her set up housekeeping. If her mother found out . . .

As soon as the customer left, she stepped through the entrance. “Mr. West.”

He turned, his expression welcoming. “Good morning. I trust you and your mother are comfortable in your little cabin.”

“Yes. But those two chairs—” She bit her lip. “They’re missing from the dining room. You brought them over, didn’t you?”

“You needed them.” He studied her face. “Don’t look so worried. I can easily buy more.”

“How much do they cost?”

“Miss Haddon. They’re a gift.”

“Truly, I appreciate your intentions. Sending Wash to the mercantile was a generous act. But if anyone found out you helped furnish the cabin, talk would fly around town about my morals. I can’t have that—neither can you.” She hid her trembling hands beneath her apron. “Please, take the price from my salary.”

“I never intended to cause harm.” Pain settled over his features. “Forgive me.”

He looked so distraught that she reached out and grasped his arm. His solid, muscled arm. She jerked her hand away as if she’d touched hot coals. “I know you didn’t.” She softened her voice. “If you’ll let me pay for the chairs, I’d love to keep them. And I thank you.”

His dark eyes burned into hers. “You’re welcome. Since you insist, I’ll deduct a small amount each week, so as not to cause hardship. And Miss Haddon . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m looking forward to apple pie with my dinner.”

Her heart drummed as she returned to the kitchen. She’d never met anyone as kind as Mr. West. She prayed he’d be pleased with her efforts.