43

A delivery wagon stopped outside the kitchen door the following Monday afternoon. Wash propped open the screen before carrying a vat filled with slimy-looking, pinkish-white chunks into the room.

Cassie felt her dinner rise in her throat. Swallowing hard, she stared at him. “What on earth is that?”

“You never seen pork fat?”

She shook her head. “On bacon maybe, not like this.” She backed away and bumped into Jenny.

“We told Mr. West we could save money by rendering our own lard, remember? You said you wanted to learn how. This is the main ingredient—in fact, about the only ingredient.”

“You mean I’m putting this in my piecrust?”

Wash chuckled. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He rubbed Becca’s shoulder on his way out the door.

“I’ll learn how if you want, missy.”

“No, thank you, Becca. I said I’d make the lard, since I use most of it.” She prayed her dinner would stay down while she learned.

Jenny opened the firebox on the smaller range and pushed a few pieces of wood inside. “We don’t want too hot a fire.” She took a fork and transferred several slabs of fat onto a cutting board. “Chop this into little squares, not much bigger than your thumb.” Using a cleaver, she demonstrated with quick whacks, then handed the heavy knife to Cassie.

“Soon as you’re done chopping, dump the pieces into this kettle.” Grabbing the wire handle, she swung a cast iron pot onto the table. “When you got it half full, put in a teacupful of water and set it on the range. You’re going to simmer this, not fry it.”

Cassie curled her lip, but followed Jenny’s instructions. White lumps piled up in the kettle.

Becca hung over her shoulder, watching. “I could do this part if you don’t want to.”

“No, I need to learn.”

After adding the water, Cassie set the pot on the range, thankful to be finished handling the slimy pieces of fat. “Now what?”

“Leave it simmer. Stir every so often. When the cracklings float, your lard’s done.”

Cassie hurried to the washbasin and scrubbed her greasy fingers. She hoped when she and Jacob married they could afford to buy lard already rendered for their home use. She’d ask him tonight before they met with Reverend French.

“You want me to promise what?” Jacob almost laughed until he noticed the serious expression on Cassie’s face.

“Promise you’ll purchase lard for our home. Jenny showed me how to render fat today. What a disgusting job.”

He leaned close on the buggy seat and inhaled. “Is that why you smell like old beef?”

“Jacob!” She gave his arm a playful swat. “It does stink when it’s cooking. That’s another reason I want you to buy rendered lard for us when we’re married.”

“You don’t know stink until you’ve visited my old neighborhood in Boston.” He enjoyed the freedom to speak of his past. He hadn’t realized how evasive he’d had to be until the threat of exposure evaporated with Byrne, when the man’s campaign to harm him came to naught.

Cassie looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

He kissed her cheek when he stopped the buggy in front of the Frenches’ house. “The past is past. You can talk to me about anything you want.”

Joy lifted his steps as they walked to the door. Tonight they’d discuss their plans for the wedding. His wedding. To Cassie. Thank you, Lord. She’s more than I deserve.

She slipped her hand into his as they followed the reverend to his study. Once they were seated, he rested a smile on both of them.

“Less than three weeks now. Are you both sure of your intentions?”

“We are.” They spoke at the same time, then grinned at each other.

“The church is reserved for Friday evening, the twenty-fifth.” Reverend French placed a sheet of paper in front of him and dipped a pen in an inkwell. “How many guests do you expect?”

“Rosemary and Elijah, Faith and Curt, Mr. Slocum . . .” Cassie counted off names on her fingers as she spoke, then stopped and looked at Jacob.

“Do you know the exact number?”

“Probably twenty-five. More if folks want to come.” He had all he could do to keep a silly grin off his face. “We’ll close the restaurant after the noon meal, so everyone can be there.”

The reverend made a note on the paper, then directed his attention to Cassie. “And will your mother attend?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

Jacob didn’t express his thoughts. He hoped his prospective mother-in-law would stay in Price City. Permanently.

Cassie helped Jenny with the washing-up after Saturday’s noon meal since Becca had the afternoon off. Once they were finished, Jenny untied her apron and draped it over a chair.

“I won’t be gone too long. Mr. West said I could give my daughter a hand for a couple of hours. She wants to wash quilts.”

“There’s a nice breeze blowing. They’ll probably be dry by nightfall.”

Jenny chuckled. “I’ll be back long before then.” She pointed to a tub of pork fat on the worktable. “You’ll be busy, looks like.”

“I’ll never get to where I like rendering.” She wrinkled her nose. “The fat is slimy and smells bad when it melts.”

“Once you get it on the stove, you can do something you like better.” Jenny gave her a quick hug and bustled out the door.

Cassie stabbed a piece of fat with a long-handled fork and dropped the slab on a cutting board. While she chopped, she allowed her mind to drift to her wedding next Friday. Her gown hung in her bedroom. With Faith’s help, she’d assembled a small trousseau, including a white cambric nightdress with roses embroidered around the neck and hemline. Her cheeks heated as her imagination strayed to their wedding night. Only six more days. With an effort of will, she herded her thoughts back into the kitchen as she heaped pieces of fat into the iron kettle.

After dropping more wood in the firebox, she moved the kettle to the top of the range. Holding her greasy hands in the air, she crossed to the sink and plunged them into the dishwater.

“I’m looking for a Miss Haddon.” A boy with a bag slung over his shoulder peered through the screen. “D’you know if she’s here?”

“I’m Miss Haddon.” She dried her hands on her apron and opened the door.

“I have a telegram for you, miss.”

Cassie bit her lip as she reached for the message. She’d never received a telegram, but knew without looking that the news wouldn’t be good. No one ever sent good news by telegram.

“Thank you.” Her voice quivered.

The boy touched his cap and ran down the alley.

She opened the envelope, noting the sender’s location. Price City.

With shaking fingers, she unfolded the yellow paper inside.

RAND KILLED STOP AT HOTEL STOP PLEASE COME STOP MOTHER

Tears burned Cassie’s eyelids. Her poor mother, alone again. After all the months she’d spent searching for Uncle Rand, now he was dead.

“Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She’d leave tomorrow and bring her mother back to Noble Springs. If she didn’t want to share Jacob’s house, she could live in Mr. Slocum’s cabin.

Cassie sprinted from the kitchen to the grocery to share the sad news with Jacob.

When she entered, he smiled his wonderful smile. Then a frown creased his forehead. “You’re upset. What’s happened?”

Before she could reply, he glanced at Timothy, who stood with a customer near a display of tinned soup. Jacob took her hand and led her to his office. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

She thrust the telegram at him.

Color rose in his cheeks as he read the message. “Her brother’s dead and she’s at the hotel? How did she send a telegram? You said there’s no telegraph there.”

“The telegraph follows the railroad. The line through Price City must be complete.” Cassie choked back a sob. “If I leave tomorrow, I can bring Mother back with me on Monday or Tuesday.”

“You can’t!” He jumped to his feet. “Our wedding’s Friday. If you’re delayed like you were last time . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I have to go. Don’t you understand? She’s all alone. I’m all the family she has now.”

“Wait a week, please. She won’t be any more alone than she is already.”

“How heartless of you. I’m going. What would you do if—” She stopped. Jacob truly didn’t understand. She could talk all day and nothing would change.

“Is this going to be our life? Your mother calls, you run?”

“She’s my mother and I owe her—”

“Choose, Cassie. Your mother or me. I won’t accept second place.”

The sound of her heart thudding echoed in her ears. “Fine. I’m choosing—”

“Wait.” He pivoted abruptly, turning his back to her. “I smell something burning.”

“Oh my heavens. The lard!”

She hoisted her skirt and ran toward the kitchen, jolting to a stop when she reached the entrance.

The open damper glowed. Flames raced over the top of the range.