| |
Mac stood outside Rose’s bedroom door, his hand raised to knock. The sounds inside made him wait. He had no idea what to do. But at the sound of her sharp, low scream and the tearing of fabric, he opened the door without knocking, stepped inside, and closed it.
Rose stood by the bed, tears running down her face, her dress ripped from neck to waist. “I can’t get out of this.”
He stepped beside her slowly and carefully undid the buttons that were still attached. He eased the dress off her body. He thought she'd fight. Instead, she stood like a doll, not helping, not hindering. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her chest heaved with her jagged breaths. He needed to help her calm down before he could find out what was wrong. Remembering how Lizzie hadn’t been able to relax all trussed up like a turkey, he knew he would have to help Rose get out of her undergarments, or at least most of them. He would leave on the short dress-like thing and her long bloomers.
As he did that, he spied a wrapper on a hook by her washstand. Using his hand, he directed her to sit on the bed, and he unlaced her shoes and took them off. While she sat there, he grabbed her wrapper. He got her to stand. She let him slide it over her shoulders and help her get her arms through the sleeves.
Once he had the sash around her waist tied, he thought about removing the locket from around her neck. But he was afraid of how she might react with his hands so close to her neck, so it stayed hanging there.
He stood in front of her, wondering what to do next. Should he try to talk to her? To get her to talk to him?
She collapsed on the bed. “Sing your song.”
“MacPherson’s Lament?”
She nodded.
“All right, but first let’s get you more comfortable.”
She didn’t object when he shifted her higher on the bed and laid her head on one of the pillows. With nothing in the room sturdy enough to hold him, he sat beside her on the bed and started humming. When she relaxed a bit, he sang, keeping his voice low.
As he ended the song, her eyes fluttered closed. He stood. She needed to sleep. Later if she wanted to talk, they would.
Before he took a step, her eyes opened. “Don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone.” Her hands crept around her middle. “I’ve been alone for so long. Please stay. Talk to me. Sing to me again.”
She turned on her side and faced him with dry, empty eyes. He had never seen any woman so broken, so fragile.
She wasn’t asking him to stay as a wife wants a husband, but he’d stay and help her with whatever was crushing her spirit.
He pulled off his boots and lay next to her on the bed.
She gripped the front of his shirt.
He slid his arm around her shoulders and sang the song again, and again, and again.
As the room heated up with the afternoon sun, she loosened her grip on his shirt. “I don’t know what happened. We were singing. I knew the words, but the words weren’t true. God wasn’t there when Alfred beat me, when he forced himself on me, when I begged for Him to let me die, to release me from the hell I was living. But He wasn’t there. He never helped me. He didn’t let me die. He just kept me there in that torment. Why? Why did God do that?”
Mac cradled her closer as her tears fell again. He hadn’t realized she had so much pain inside her small body. He had no idea how she survived those years, especially with no one to lean on. Well, she did have Someone, but in her pain, she wasn’t able to see Him.
Maybe this was what God wanted him to understand. God had been there with Rose. He had been there with Lizzie. He had been there and He hated the things that were done to His children. But what good came out of it? What was the use of all the suffering?
Every time he shifted, she cried out and held onto him. So he held her as the sun continued its journey across the sky. Finally, little by little, she relaxed. At last, she fell into a deep sleep.
When he was sure she would not wake, he stood and looked down at the face of the woman he loved. One day, he would be the husband she deserved. He bent down and sealed his promise with a kiss on her cheek, then left her room.
***
Sarah sat at the table, a pot of tea cooling in front of her. It had been difficult to see Thorn before he left on his route just after dawn. He’d been so kind, and she’d felt foolish for the way she acted the day before, but she had slept better than she had in a long time. No nightmares. Just restful sleep.
“Good morning.” Helen stepped into the kitchen. “How are you today?”
Sarah picked up the teapot to make a fresh pot. “Rested and ready to work on the bakery.”
Helen placed her hand on Sarah’s arm. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Sarah had an idea and couldn’t wait to share it. “What if—?”
The door from the hall opened. Drew walked in. “Morning, ladies. Did you both sleep well last night?”
Sarah turned toward the stove while Drew kissed Helen. “Let me know when you two are through. There’s something I’d like to talk to you both about.”
“In a minute, sis.”
“Drew, stop that. Let’s hear what your sister has to say.”
An exaggerated sigh filled the air. “All right. We’re done, for now.”
Helen giggled, and chairs scraped the wooden floor.
Sarah turned around and found Drew and Helen sitting next to each other, his arm around her shoulders. “Good. Since you’re both here, I’ll only have to say this once.”
She rested her hands on the table. “Since the bottom part of the building is all cleaned and painted, and we have the kitchen things that Thorn brought on his last freighting trip, why don’t we open the bakery now? That way we could start building a customer base while we finish the other things for the café and the upstairs.”
Drew and Helen turned to each other and burst out laughing.
Sarah looked from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”
Drew wiped his eyes. “We talked about the same thing last night. Thought it was a good idea, too. That way we can start making money.”
Sarah bit her tongue. She wanted to tell Drew that he didn’t have to worry about making money, but she knew that would only start an argument, and she didn’t need that today. “Good. When do you think we can open? Tomorrow? The next day?”
Helen pulled a paper from her pocket and grinned. “I need to get supplies from the general store and try out the kitchen there first. Let’s try for the day after tomorrow.”
***
Stanley leaned back in his chair while Sarah’s maid Judith fidgeted in the chair in front of his desk. The foolish biddy had provided precious little information about the happenings at Sarah’s house. “What have you to report?”
Judith twisted the cords of her reticule around her fingers. “They plan to open their bakery in two days.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head.
“When is MacPherson scheduled back?”
“In about a week, give or take a day or two.” The woman’s voice was starting to quiver. Her knuckles grew whiter as she gripped the cords tighter.
Stanley watched the fear grow in the old hen’s face. This was the way he liked those under his thumb, scared enough to obey him, whatever his orders were.
He leaned back in his chair while he thought about what the woman said. A week. Enough time to have Waller and Grayson to do a job for him, then he wouldn’t have to worry about MacPherson any more. He pulled a small bag from his desk drawer and tossed it to her.
She caught it and shoved the bag with its chinking contents into her reticule.
“Get out, and don’t let anyone see you leaving.”
The maid jumped up and scurried to the door that opened into the alley.
When the door closed, Stanley took out a cigar. Time for a little celebration. Soon Sarah would be a widow again. Only this time, he would make sure the next wedding ring on her finger was his. Then, all her fortune would be his, too.
***
At last, things were ready, well, ready enough. Well before sunrise, Sarah and Drew joined Helen in the kitchen. She asked if they could meet and have a prayer together, asking God to bless their efforts. With excitement racing through her, Sarah watched Drew leave with Helen in order to make sure the cinnamon rolls and doughnuts would be ready by the time they opened. Sarah had Emma up and dressed by the time Judith and Sally arrived. Drew returned to escort Sarah. They headed down the hill to the main part of town and their new business.
Once in front of their new business, Drew helped Sarah down. They stood outside while a carpenter finished hanging the new sign. Helen came outside, trembling with excitement. “I can hardly believe the day has come.” Wrapped in a long white apron, a dusting of flour across her cheek, she stared up at the sign. “The Golden Nugget Bakery and Café.”
Sarah nudged Helen. “It’s a beautiful sign, but we better get inside. There’s miners headed this way, and they look hungry.”
Helen giggled. “They’re some of my old customers. Carl helped spread the word that we’re opening today.”
“Let me take care of this while you ladies take care of our customers.” Drew climbed back on the buggy and headed for the livery.
Helen turned to the miners and waved. “Come on boys, we’re ready for you.”
Sarah grabbed Helen’s hand and hurried her inside as the men stepped up their pace. She entered the building and gasped. She had seen the room the day before with its clean, pale yellow walls and yellow gingham-checked curtains. But now, the display cases and shelves were filled with Helen’s pies and cakes and the whole area smelled of cinnamon and apples and other spices. It was everything they had dreamed it would be. Homey and delicious and real. Three pots of coffee bubbled on the small stove on the side wall next to a table stacked with mugs, making it easy for those who wanted coffee to get it themselves.
No sooner had Sarah and Helen gotten behind the counter than the bell over the door tinkled, and the room filled with loud, hungry miners, all waving coins or small pouches of gold dust and shouting their orders.
Drew came up from the back, puffing a bit from his race back from the livery. “Men, we have enough for everyone. Please form lines in front of one of the two ladies or myself, and we’ll fill your orders as quickly as we can. Just know we have enough for everyone. Miss Helen has been baking for days, and many of you know how good her cooking is. For our opening today, the coffee is on the house.”
With much laughing, shoving, and shouting, the mad rush finally ended. Many of the men left with one or more pies, several dozen cookies, a few with cakes, and most with loaves of bread. And they all left with grins on their faces.
The ones who remained sat at tables and chairs, dunking their doughnuts in their coffee or aahing over their fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
Sarah surveyed the room. She was glad they had opted for natural wood for the tables and chairs instead of painting them white. The tables, chairs, and floor would need a good cleaning every day, an even harder scrubbing on the days they were closed.
She turned back to the cases and shelves. They were almost empty, but Helen had already started restocking them. The poor woman must be exhausted from all the baking that she had done in the last two days, but she glowed with excitement, so she must think all the effort had been worth it. Sarah had to agree.
***
By late-morning, Sarah was thankful the crowd had eased for now. She placed the money for two donuts into the till.
Drew came up beside her, his face glowing. “We’re doing even better than I’d expected.”
Before she could agree, the door opened. A tall, thin woman, the hotel owner, walked in. Sarah wondered if she had heard that her niece was part owner of the bakery. “May I help you?”
The woman tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. She looked around for a moment, then back at Sarah and Drew behind the display case with a puzzled look on her face.
Sarah understood the woman’s confusion. When Sarah had stayed at the hotel, she had worn the latest fashions from the East. Her hair had been arranged in the style popular in Boston, and she had been trussed up like a turkey in a corset and crinoline in order to look the proper lady. Now she had her hair at the back of her neck in a tidy bun. She wore a comfortable skirt and shirtwaist without the hated corset. And all of that was covered by a huge white apron.
With a slight shake of her head, the woman stepped up to the counter. “I saw several, uh, men going past the hotel with baked goods. I hadn’t realized anyone was putting in a bakery, although we needed one desperately. Since my ungrateful niece deserted me, I’ve had a terrible time finding a decent baker, to say nothing of anyone who could make cinnamon rolls as tasty as hers. As a matter of fact, I just got back from visiting my sister in Denver yesterday, hoping I could bring a baker back with me, but I couldn’t find a decent one that wanted to come here. So when I saw your sign this morning, I decided to check out your goods and see if they met my standards.”
Sarah pressed the fingers of one hand against those of the other hand, trying not to let on that the niece she was defaming was the baker here.
“I’d like to try a sampling of your goods, enough for my family. That way we can decide which ones we want for our restaurant on a regular basis. If I find them acceptable, I’ll place a regular order each week. But mind you, they must be of truly good quality.” She straightened a bit. “After all, I do run one of the best hotels and restaurants in Central City.”
Sarah took a cinnamon roll from the pan in the display case, placed it on a small plate, and handed it to the woman. “Why don’t you enjoy this and a cup of coffee, while I talk to the baker? She’s also part owner. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
The woman grabbed the sweet roll and hurried over to the side of the room, where she poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat at one of the tables.
Sarah slipped into the kitchen. She tried to stop grinning. “We have a special request from a businesswoman.”
Helen lifted her rolling pin from the pie crust she was working on. “And what kind of request would that be?”
“A certain woman who owns a hotel and restaurant wants to sample our goods, a woman I believe you are quite familiar with.”
Helen touched the back of her neck where her hair had barely grown long enough to twist up into a small bun. “Aunt Caroline?”
“Oh, she wants a sampling of all we do, sufficient for her whole family, so they can decide if what we offer is good enough for her hotel and restaurant.” Sarah peeked around the open door between the kitchen and the dining room. The woman sat in a recently vacated chair, sipping free coffee and devouring the roll. “You’re part owner, and she’s your aunt. How do you want to handle this?”
“I want to stomp out there and kick her out of the bakery, demanding she never step in here again.” She let out a deep sigh. “But as a business woman, I can’t do that. So I guess I’ll have to handle her as honestly as I can. My aunt is a great manipulator, always trying to get things to her advantage, either by her haughtiness or her threats. ” Helen sent a smile to Sarah. “There’s been a verse I’ve always tried to use when dealing with my aunt. ‘A soft answer turns away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.’”
“You’re afraid of her anger?”
Helen shook her head as she turned toward the dining room. “Not hers, mine. I don’t like to be angry. It pits my soul and tarnishes the life I want to live.”
Sarah started to follow, but Helen held up her hand. “Please, let me handle this by myself.” Not waiting for an answer, she passed through the doorway and to the table where her aunt was still eating her cinnamon roll.
Sarah stayed in the kitchen, but Helen hadn’t said anything about not watching. She leaned on the doorjamb to see what would happen.
The woman’s eyes grew wide when Helen stopped at her table. She glanced down at the roll, then back at Helen. Words were exchanged, more from the older lady along with finger-pointing and pouty lips. Several of the miners stopped eating and watched the two women, then went back to their treats.
At last, Helen’s aunt stopped talking and stomped out of the building.
Sarah hurried over while Helen cleaned up the mess her aunt had left.
“Aunt Caroline doesn’t like the idea of paying for me to furnish baked goods for her restaurant. Poor lady would rather nurse a grudge than make a good business transaction. Be that as it may. Besides, I think we’ll be too busy making things for our café. We won’t have time or energy to supply other places.”
“I think you’re right.” Something twisted in Sarah’s chest. She wondered if she would ever be as forgiving as Helen. The idea of forgiving Grandfather had always made anger swell up in her heart, but now it might be different. After all, he was far away and would never have any power over her again. She could almost pretend he didn’t even exist. If she didn’t think about him, didn’t let her anger dwell on him, wouldn’t that be the same as forgiveness? Maybe that was the answer.