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“THIS IS GOOD!” CARRICK elbowed his brother and took another bite of soda bread. He talked around a mouth full of heavily buttered bread. “You gotta’ try this, Donal. Almost tastes like Mom's.”
Donal sniffed the slice in his hand, a grin spreading across his face. “Ah, heaven!” In three bites, the slice was consumed.
Lena said, “Well, I'll be.”
Jessie threw her arm around Lena and hugged her. “You see? You can cook!”
Lena lifted an eyebrow. “I see that it's a very good thing that Bart showed me how to use the bread starter. Our results might not have been so favorable.” She stepped to the counter where a book lay open with flour dusting the pages. After carefully folding a corner of the page, she tapped the recipe printed there. “And in place of a mother to teach me, Mrs. Parloa's New Cookbook will do quite nicely.”
Jessie thumbed through the pages and read, “Curry of Roasted Rabbit. That sounds interesting. But what's this? Vol a vint. What language is that?”
Lena peered over her shoulder. “French! Vol-au-vent.” She sighed. “My former employer hired a French pastry chef for a dinner party one Christmas.” Lena closed her eyes as scented memories rushed past her tongue and into her mind visions of golden, flaky pastries. “They were so light and filled with the richest lobster sauce imaginable. Oh, they were heavenly. I forgot how wonderful they were.”
“French chef? You worked for a very rich man, then.” Jessie tilted her head, a quizzical expression inviting an answer.
“He did well for himself in shipping.” She offered no more, turning her attention back to the book. “Look at this one! Chicken Croquettes. We should try that one tomorrow.”
Jessie leaned in close. “Yum!”
“I also brought this one.” Lena pulled another book from the shelf beneath the counter, laying it before Jessie.
“'Breakfast, Dessert, and Supper by Mrs. H.L. Knight, Two Hundred and Seventy-Five Practical Recipes, The Result of Long Experience and Thoroughly Tested,” Jessie read. “My mama never used a cookbook in her life. She surely thoroughly tested everything on us, over and over and over again. But it never made anything she cooked taste any different from just plain awful!” She poked an elbow in Lena's arm and laughed.
Turning to the last half of the book, Lena placed a finger on one page. Jessie read the title aloud, “Apple Dumplings.”
Evan avoided the kitchen when he heard voices, heading for the stairs instead. As hungry as he was, he wouldn't face the woman looking as he did, like a tramp. After a day in the mine, he was filthy, and he didn't want those dark eyes appraising him in that same way they had this morning. Taking the stairs two at a time, he quietly closed the door to his room. A basin of somewhat clean water rested on a side table. By the time he'd finished dousing his face and beard, the water looked a bit more like weak coffee.
A small mirror propped onto the window ledge provided a poor reflection of a man who still looked more grizzled than his years. He frowned while sorting through his kit. With razor in hand, he strode back to the basin. Again, he squinted into the mirror as he pulled the straight blade across his cheek. Grimacing, he continued his efforts until a younger face peered back at him. He scowled and leaned closer. A few drops of blood appeared at the cleft point of his chin. He stepped back, looked down at his sweat-soaked shirt and scavenged about for the second one he kept at the foot of his bed. He sniffed it and made a face.
Clean of whiskers, Evan's pondered his reflection. What he saw was a square jaw that looked as though it could stand up to many a blow. A thin scar at the corner of his lip remained as a reminder of the life he might have lived had he followed in the footsteps of his two pugilist uncles. He’d been encouraged in that direction even before he'd grown into his feet. Their expectations took his thoughts about the matter into little account. His uncles, dismayed that he was squandering his God-given talents, accused their sister of spoiling the boy with unnecessary book learning. But she understood that Evan's strength, though considerable, lay not in the power of his fists but in the power of his heart and his good mind.
“You’re lookin' all Saturday night, Evan,” Bart said, his voice teasing, but friendly.
“Yeah, I was feelin' a bit itchy.” Running a hand along his now exposed cheek, Evan stepped into the kitchen and slipped into a seat next to Bart.
Lena turned from the stove with more biscuits, stopping in mid-stride. For a moment, perhaps even two, she thought this must be a boarder she'd not yet met. With a start, she recognized the eyes of the man. How much younger he looked without the beard! He wasn't just younger than she'd first assumed, he bore the chiseled good looks of the plaster statues exhibited of late in the Chicago Museum of Art. Her breath caught as it had this morning watching the surprising sunrise over the mountains.
What had become of the dirty, bear-of-a-man who'd sat here this morning? Surely, a simple shave would not account for the transformation.
“Lena, are you all right?” Jessie whispered to her. She followed Lena’s gaze. Jessie's eyes widened at the sight of Evan’s appearance.
Recovering from her shock, Lena looked at Jessie with a carefully recovered mask of nonchalance. “Oh quite.” She quietly slipped the plate onto the table, spinning back to the stove where she found the urgent need to stir the stew.
Jessie was at her elbow. “He's certainly the handsome devil, isn't he? Those eyes! I've never seen green eyes of that shade before. Emeralds, right? That’s what they call those jewels.”
“Oh, are they green?” Lena kept her head down, stirring methodically from one side to the other.
“Liar.” Jessie whispered. “Don't pretend you didn't notice.”
“I suppose he is rather above average in his person.”
“Phfft! What nonsense are you talking?”
“What are you two whispering about?” Bart leaned in close to Jessie.
“I suppose if we’d wanted you to know, we’d have spoken to you.” Jessie said before tossing her head and turning away. Jessie scooped out a portion of stew into the bowl and placed it in front of Evan. The force with which she set it on the table produced raised eyebrows on both Ely's and Evan's faces. “Sorry,” she said as she stormed out the door of the kitchen.
Lena turned at the sound of the bowl hitting the table. The men looked to her for explanation but all she could do was shrug. She headed for the door.
“Jessie!” Lena found the girl in tears standing on the banks of the creek. “What's wrong, dear?”
“I'm sorry. It's that . . .” Sobs shook her small shoulders, her words coming in short spurts. “Well, you plan for months for something wonderful. You have to answer all the questions from friends and family about the man you've never met. You have to put up with their advice about rushing into things.” She paused for breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You just convince yourself after a while that it's all going to be all right, despite their thoughts differently. You know?”
Not at all sure that she did know, Lena put her arm around the girl and patted her shoulder.
“And then it's suddenly not.” She stopped as another spasm of sobs shook her shoulders.
“You mean he's not what you imagined him to be?”
“Yes! I mean, no! It's not Bartholomew. Not entirely anyway. I mean I think he meant the things he wrote to me. But now what are we to do? We can't live here.” She pulled up a corner of her apron to dab at her eyes and runny nose.
“Well, as far as I'm concerned you can. The room upstairs on the end isn't being used right now.”
“But then I think maybe it is Bartholomew, you know? Maybe he's just not right for me.” She pulled away from Lena, lips quivering, face flushed, as if she'd seen a revelation. “Maybe it's me!” A wail escaped her lips as she covered her face with the apron.
Lena rested both her hands on Jessie's shoulders. “This is a lot to take in, Jessie. You have every right to be confused and even disappointed. Even though you've written each other for months, there’s been no time to become truly acquainted with one another.”
Jessie plopped down on the bank, drawing her legs up under her skirt, her chin on her knees. “Bart told me that he explained to you about the cabin. But it isn't just the cabin. I think we need some time.” She looked up at Lena reaching for her hand. “You know? Like you said. Writing is one thing. A pen is a whole lot less talkative than a tongue. And you can scratch out the words you know you shouldn’t say.”
Lena sat beside her. “Sounds sensible. Have you told Bart what you're feeling?”
“Not yet.” She plucked at a blade of grass. “I'm afraid he'll take it that I don't care about him. But I do care. I care very much. He's kind, and he makes me laugh.” She pulled up a handful of grass and tossed it away, heedless of dirt showering her white apron. “I just need some time. Do you think that's very silly of me? People back home always called me silly. I mean I came here ready to marry him. Oh, I don't know what's wrong with me.”
Lena reached across the space between them and cupped Jessie's chin in her hand. “It's anything but silly. It's extremely logical. And if he loves you in return, he'll understand. And if he doesn't, then he really isn't the man for you, right?”
At that, Jessie threw herself into Lena's arms. “Oh, thank you.” She sat up again, wiping her eyes furiously with the back of her hand. “May I stay here with you a little longer? I mean at the boarding house. I can help you in the kitchen or washing the linens, whatever you need.”
“Of course, you can. I'd welcome your help.”
A smile replaced the grim line that had defined her mouth moments before. “I've never had a sister. If I had, I'd have wanted her to be just like you!”
“I'm flattered you should think so,” Lena said. Neither had she experienced the confidences of a sister, the late-night confessions. She supposed that Miranda’s mother was the closest to becoming a sister as anyone.
“I do! And as your sister, I would tell you that you are blind if you don't see how attractive Evan Hartmann is. If it weren't for Bart, I'd sure set my cap for him! And I know you saw him the way I did too.” She pointed at Lena's chest, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I saw that glimmer in your eyes.”
Lena granted her the mild smile. “His eyes are very attractive. But this isn't the subject, now is it? You need to dry your eyes, wash your face, and sit down with Bart. Tell him what you told me.” She grinned. “Well, perhaps you can leave out the part about setting your cap for Mr. Hartmann.”
Jessie giggled.
By the time the dishes were cleaned and put away, one of the men had kindled a fire in the great room. Carrick and Donal sat in the corner by the window, a game of checkers on the table between them. Ely rested in a chair near the hearth with his pipe clenched in his teeth, his eyes locked on the growing fire.
Evan stood by the mantel, a poker in his hand, occasionally adjusting the logs. Lena walked in, leaving Jessie and Bart in the kitchen to discuss their uncertain future. Ely rose and motioned for her to take the seat near the fire. She smiled and accepted.
Lifting her voice a bit louder than was her habit, she addressed them all. “Gentlemen, I wanted to speak with you about my decision that affects all of you.”
Carrick slapped his brother on the arm and inclined his head in Lena's direction. Donal scrambled to a chair while Carrick perched on the arm of it.
Surprised to find her voice dry, she cleared her throat. “I spoke with Mr. Baxter today about the disposition of Mr. Nash's property, including this house.”
Carrick nudged Donal, giving him a wink. Ely stood nearby, listening as he puffed rhythmically on his pipe.
“I've asked him to allow me to continue to operate the boarding house until Mr. Nash's sister makes her wishes known to Mr. Baxter. I know there are some who would view this as a poor decision and hastily made, but it is my decision and I believe I have carefully weighed all possible factors. I do hope you all will stay and not seek rooms elsewhere. I will do my best to provide you with the same quality of services as Mr. Nash.”
“Well, if you can just keep makin' bread as good as we had tonight, there's no other place I'd rather be sitting down to table in all of Sawtooth. How about you, little brother?” Carrick punched his brother again.
“Yup. Seems fine to me to just stay put. At least as long as the mine is payin' us a fair wage.”
That last brought the room to a very quiet place where the only sound was the crackling of the fire.
A span of moments elapsed until Lena cleared her throat again and rose to her feet. “Well then, gentlemen, I'll excuse myself for the evening. I'm still in need of catching up on my sleep.”
Evan's deep voice stopped her. Almost too soft to assume he'd addressed her, she hesitated.
“Mr. Hartmann?” Lena waited.
“Have you considered the winter that's coming, Miss Sommer?”
She met his gaze steadily, chin up. “I believe that I have, Mr. Hartmann.”
He continued in a level tone. “The snows that come here aren't like those you're used to. They come with fierce storms that blow through any crack or loose chink. They'll be no returning to the low valleys once they hit. Have you considered that?” The blankness of his expression and his flat tone acted like a knife cut through her resolve.
“I have been warned of what to expect, yes.”
“Have they also spoken to you of the avalanches that thunder down from the mountains without warning?”
She stood motionless, feeling indignation kindling like a coal caged in her ribs.
He turned back to the fire. “As long as you know, Miss Sommer.”
Who was he to think he knew what might be best for a person? He had no idea of her strength of character, her tenacity, her ability to care for herself. She suddenly became aware of the silence about her and the tension that had balled her hands into fists at her side. “Thank you, Mr. Hartmann, for your concern.” She turned to the stairs wanting to say more, but not trusting herself to maintain her composure.
With the door closed behind her, she stepped to the bed and sat staring out the window at the mountains in silhouette. Holding her arms tight about her, she tried to control the shaking that seized her. Even her teeth chattered. Not knowing whether fear or rage gripped her, she tried to sort logically through the events of the day. She'd sought out counsel from both Bart and Ely, looked at Mr. Nash's ledgers, considered her reserve of cash against the expenses of running the house. Why shouldn't she be able to do this? What did this man know that she did not?
She paced to the window, gripping the frame with white knuckles. Who was Evan Hartmann to fill her with such doubt? He knew nothing about her. Did he know that after her parents had died of influenza when she was a girl of eighteen, she'd been making her way? Of course, not! Did he know that alone she'd found good employment as a governess and become an excellent teacher? No!
Then, as though a veil lifted from her eyes, her logical mind dampened her anger. The questions changed. Had she considered the winter snows? Why wouldn't she have factored that into her calculated risks? Had she? Or had she missed something? What made Evan Hartmann so sure of himself and so ready to frighten her with stories of avalanches? Of course, she'd heard of such things, but until now, thought they only occurred in such faraway places as the European Alps. Was he simply trying to scare her into leaving or was his concern genuine? She frowned and gripped the window ledge until her nails dug into the soft pine.
She’d been on her own for these past years, but not entirely. That was the truth. The child had been her focus, her immediate concern. She’d been a part of that family, their fortune determining hers. She’d not been concerned with the details of her existence apart from her duty to the child. Decisions like the one she faced now would determine her future. She might lose everything.
Did she really have a choice? Yes! Of course, she did! But had she made the right one?
