12

Jacob sat at the table in his office reviewing ledger totals. In the background, subdued murmurs of conversation filtered through the dining room wall. He seldom came to the restaurant on Sundays, but today was the last day of May. His report and accompanying bank draft would be posted first thing tomorrow. Mr. Byrne could take his modern ideas and line a birdcage with them.

“Mr. West?” The cook’s voice brought him back to the moment. “I brought you a bite to eat.” Mrs. Fielder set a sandwich and a piece of pie on the table.

He swiveled in his chair. “You made pie? Ginger cake is what I wrote on the menu board.” Then he recognized how ungrateful he sounded. “Sorry. I mean, thank you.”

She responded with a grin. “Try the pie and tell me what you think.”

Mrs. Fielder had a heavy hand with pastry. To please her, he cut off a bite and popped it in his mouth, not expecting much.

Juicy chunks of apple surrounded by sweet cinnamon-flavored sauce swept over his tongue. Flaky crust crumbled as he chewed. He stared at the cook. “This is the best pie you’ve ever made.” He forked a larger bite.

“Miss Haddon baked this yesterday. She’s been practicing. I didn’t tell her I planned to give you some.”

He dropped the fork to the plate. “She’s been practicing?”

“The poor girl was heartsick at the way her pies turned out. She’s afraid you’ll dismiss her.” Mrs. Fielder folded her arms over her chest. “So she’s been making little pies, day after day, until she got the feel of it. I thought it was time you knew.”

Afraid she’d be dismissed? No wonder Miss Haddon found a reason to leave the room whenever he visited the kitchen. “That happened a couple of weeks ago. You don’t mean she’s been worrying about her job ever since?”

“Well, why wouldn’t she? She’s right proud of renting that little cabin. Without what you pay her, where would they go?”

He leaned back in his chair and studied Mrs. Fielder’s flushed face. “What do you think I should do?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

After she left, he stared at his half-eaten slice of pie. Admiration for Miss Haddon’s persistence glowed within him. He’d never met anyone quite like her.

He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering whether he dared to get to know her better.

Late Monday afternoon, Cassie stood at a worktable rolling out a small circle of piecrust to fit over the filling in a seven-inch pie plate. She glanced at Jenny.

“I’ll slip this in the oven with the biscuits at suppertime. If it turns out well—”

“Of course it’ll turn out well. For the past week every pie has been perfect. When are you going to tell Mr. West?” Her tone held a challenge.

“I don’t think he cares. He said for you to do the baking.”

Their employer appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. “You don’t think I care about what?”

Cassie startled, then tossed a clean towel over the unbaked pie. “Um, whether we have biscuits or cornbread tonight?” She noticed that the round pan showed beneath the towel, and bunched a corner to disguise the shape.

A grin creased his face. He stepped over to the worktable. “So, what’s under there? Biscuits or cornbread?”

She shot an alarmed glance at Jenny, who met her gaze with a smile and an encouraging nod. “Tell him,” she mouthed.

Cassie hung her head. “No, sir, it’s an apple pie.” She flipped the towel aside. “If you’re worried about the expense, please take it out of my pay.”

“I won’t do anything of the kind. I was much too hasty the other day, and I’m sorry. Mrs. Fielder brought me a sample last night. It was perfect. Would you consider making pies for our customers—please?”

“Oh, yes, I will!” She wanted to shout for joy, but instead cast him a shy smile. “Th . . . thank you for giving me another chance.”

She looked into his dark brown eyes and saw more than an employer. The warmth in his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks.

The sky glowed brilliant orange as Cassie left the restaurant that evening. When she reached the corner of High Street, she glanced west in time to see a halo of light reflected on the horizon following the descent of the sun behind the hills. How appropriate—the heavens were celebrating with her.

Assuming customers liked her pies as much as Mr. West did, she hoped her job at the restaurant would be secure. For the first time in her life, she’d be accepted as a competent, productive person. She hugged her arms around her middle. Best of all, she’d earned Mr. West’s admiration. If she kept a journal, she’d put a star beside today.

Her steps light, she crossed the street and followed the gravel path that led to her cabin behind Mr. Slocum’s house. Flowers hung like tassels on his lilac bush. Reaching up, she broke off a cluster and brought it to her nose, savoring the fruity-sweet fragrance. As soon as she entered the cabin, she’d put the sprig in water to celebrate this day.

Mother greeted her at the door. She wore her wrapper with a towel draped over her shoulders, her long hair hanging loose over her back. The earthy smell of henna filled the air.

Another good sign. Mother was taking an interest in her appearance again.

“I thought you’d never get here. I have the best news!” Mother clutched her hand and tugged her into the room. “A letter came from the railroad today. Rand is in Calusa. We can go there as soon as we get tickets.”

The lilac bloom fell from her fingers. Jacob had apologized, given her another chance, and then promised so much more with his eyes. Her heart fluttered when she pictured the look he’d given her. Now her mother wanted to leave?

“Just think. You won’t have to work for that grocer anymore. I don’t like the way he looks at you.” Mother clasped her hands. “Rand will take care of us. Our future will be secure.”

Glancing inside the bedroom, Cassie noticed the open trunk, and a plain blue blanket covering their bed. Not the thistle quilt. “You’ve started packing already?” She stepped into the room. The quilt was folded inside the trunk, along with their extra linens.

“Of course I have. The train for Calusa departs around nine in the morning. I checked.” Mother followed her to the doorway. “You can pack everything but your traveling clothes tonight, then go to the restaurant tomorrow and tell that Mr. West we’re leaving.”

Cassie teetered on decision’s ledge. Her thoughts spun. She’d vowed to honor her mother, but she was content here. More than content, happy.

Drawing a deep breath, she squeezed her hand over the cold metal clasp on the trunk’s domed lid. Her mother hadn’t been this animated since they left St. Louis.

Cassie released her grip on the clasp. Steps dragging, she crossed to the pegs where her two better dresses hung. Setting the plaid taffeta aside for the journey, she laid her rose chintz over the bed and folded the yards of fabric into a rectangle compact enough to fit inside the trunk’s maw. The process brought an uncomfortable reminder of the night they’d packed to leave St. Louis.

Then, she’d had no skills. Now, leaving meant a return to living under an uncle’s roof and abandoning all she’d accomplished. Blinking back tears, she mentally erased the star she’d planned to put next to today in her imaginary journal.