16
A Scotsman, Cassidy Faith. A Scotsman!” Margaret hadn’t wanted to upset the mother-to-be, but she had to talk to someone. “Mr. Bradley said he’d be here today. I can hardly bear it. I ought to just give my notice.”
“You can’t do that, Mrs. Johnson. We need you. I need you. Besides, you said he’s only here on loan for a short time. Just until I’m back up on my feet.” Cassidy scooted up in bed, prompting Margaret to hurry over and help her.
“Do you need another pillow behind you?”
“No, I need out of this bed, but no one seems willing to consider that. You have your Scotsman, and I have this.” Cassidy waved her hands over the confines of her bed. “And all because Dr. Reilly says I must. I feel like a prized pig in a cage.”
Margaret laughed. “More like a princess in the tower.”
Cassidy smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“Oh, get on with ya.”
“Well, it is. You’ve been upset ever since you stepped into my room and that was fifteen minutes ago.”
She was right. Margaret forced herself to take a deep breath. She grabbed the chair and sat down. “I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you.”
“You haven’t. Goodness, this is the most entertainment I’ve had in days.”
“So my problems are entertaining, are they?”
“You know what I mean.” Cassidy held up a piece of flannel. “Far more entertaining than making diapers.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I don’t need a man interfering in my kitchen.”
“No, nor a Scotsman,” Cassidy added with a grin. “But you do need help. It won’t be possible for you to manage all those meals without someone to assist—someone who knows what they’re doing. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be very polite and soft-spoken—willing to take direction without question.”
“Ha! He’s a man and a Scot. I’ve never known either one to be any of those things.”
“What about your husband?”
“Ted? He wasn’t a Scot, but he was stubborn and ornery. You couldn’t tell the man anything—especially the word ‘no.’ I wouldn’t even have married him, but he wore me down. Nagged me to the altar, I used to say.”
Cassidy couldn’t contain her mirth. It started as a giggle, then burst into a full belly laugh. She held her stomach and laughed so hard tears ran down her cheeks.
Margaret couldn’t help smiling. “Well, it’s true. You couldn’t tell him anything. And if you expected to get something done, you had to make him believe it was his idea.”
Her precious Cassidy sobered and gave her a look suggesting she’d just hit upon the solution to the problem.
“No, no, no. I can see what you’re thinking. Don’t be expecting me to coddle Daniel Ferguson along. I haven’t got time or patience for it. This is just going to be a disaster. I know it will. They simply can’t expect me to work with a Scotsman.”
“For pity’s sake, why not, Mrs. Johnson? What have you got against the Scots?”
“Because . . .” Margaret stood and smoothed down her apron. “I’m a Scot. Scots-Irish to boot.” She shook her head. “And you just can’t have two of them in the same kitchen without a fight starting up sooner or later.”
Given the way Cassidy laughed hysterically, Margaret knew she couldn’t convince her assistant that Ferguson was a bad idea. “Oh, I give up. It’s time to get back to the kitchen anyway.”
“But you know I love you.” Tears slipped down Cassidy’s cheeks as she continued to giggle.
“Of course, you silly girl. And I love you too.” With that, she excused herself and headed out the door. Making her way downstairs, she decided she would just have to deal with the matter in the best way she could. No one was going to listen to her anyway. At least not until there were “wigs on the green,” as her Irish grandfather used to say.
Her foot hadn’t touched the bottom step when Mr. Bradley came around the corner. “Oh, good, there you are. Please come into my office. Mr. Ferguson arrived on the train and is waiting to begin in the kitchen.”
Biting off a retort, Margaret followed the manager with great trepidation. If she’d been a praying woman like Cassidy, she might have asked God for patience or even a spirit of kindness. She threw a quick glance upward.
I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask, but I’d be glad if You’d help me.
There wasn’t time for anything more.
“Chef Johnson, I’d like you to meet Chef Ferguson.”
Margaret found herself face-to-face with a big burly man. He had hair redder than hers had ever been and a beard that matched. His piercing blue eyes looked her up and down as if he were assessing the quality of tomatoes. Finally, he broke into a broad smile and gave a nod.
“Aye, ya’ll do just fine, lass.”
She stiffened. “The name is Mrs. Johnson. And I will be doing the judging of whether or not you will do.”
“A widow, Mrs. Johnson, I’m told.” He had the audacity to wink. “And a fine figure of a woman. Ya won’t be widowed for long, I’m thinkin’.”
Margaret felt her neck grow hot and then her face. She knew she must be the color of a beet. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be doing much of your own thinking. You’re here to cook, not tell fortunes.”
The man roared with laughter and it filled every corner of the room. No doubt people upstairs could hear it. It was worse than a donkey’s bray.
She looked at Mr. Bradley, certain he could read her thoughts, because he quickly turned away and looked at the papers on his desk.
“Chef Johnson will show you to the kitchen, Chef Ferguson. I’m sure there’s work that needs your immediate attention.”
“Then I’ll be sayin’ good day to ya, sir. And a right bonny day it is.” His brogue was thick.
Margaret held her tongue. She marched across the lobby and headed for the stairs that would take her to the kitchen. Her kitchen. Hers alone.
She reached the place where up until now she’d always felt her best. Looking around the large kitchen, Margaret knew it would never be big enough for the two of them.
“So, m’darlin’, what would ya have me do first?”
JUNE 28
The beauty of the Mount McKinley National Park around her couldn’t squelch the dread in Katherine’s stomach. They’d taken this little journey north to Fairbanks and now back south to the park because of her.
Because of her selfishness. Her insecurity.
She’d taken her grandmother off on another trip, knowing full well that the older woman was tired and worn out.
As she laid a hand on Grandmother’s forehead, she was thankful she didn’t feel a fever, but the beloved woman was pale and hadn’t been awake much for almost two days.
It’s all my fault, Lord. Please help her to wake up.
Standing to stretch, Katherine wondered what other options she had. The inn here at the park was rustic to say the least, not anything like the lavish Curry Hotel. They should’ve never left. But she couldn’t change the past.
If she could, she’d erase the years of her marriage. Maybe even go back and defy her father and stay in France with Jean-Michel. But where would that leave her today? Would it have changed so much?
One beautiful thing came out of the torment of the last few years.
She was redeemed.
And that changed her life forever.
No matter what, she couldn’t allow herself to listen to the lies of the enemy any longer. Grandmother had warned her, but Katherine didn’t understand until now. Until she’d seen what her fear and hesitancy caused.
A huge fact remained.
Randall was gone.
That meant his words were gone. His actions were gone. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. That meant she needed to grab on to her faith and step forward in it. Embrace it.
“Katherine?” A slight moan from the bed.
She raced back over to Grandmother’s side. “I’m here.”
“What happened?”
“You collapsed at dinner the other night and have been asleep ever since.” She bit her lip. “I’ve been so worried.”
Grandmother attempted to sit up.
Katherine hurried to help her.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to worry you. I think it was just my exhaustion catching up with me.”
“Don’t apologize for anything. It’s all my doing. I’m so sorry.” Tears filled Katherine’s eyes. “If I hadn’t . . .”
“Oh, hush, child. Yes, maybe we shouldn’t have left the Curry, but remember that I had you traveling all over the country before we even came to Alaska. I’m sure I just overdid it.”
“It’s still my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed to leave like I did. If I hadn’t been so afraid to face Jean-Michel with the truth, you might be at the hotel now.”
Grandmother patted the bed beside her. “Come sit, my dear. Maybe it’s time you tell me what’s really going on. What is this truth you can’t bear to tell?”
JULY 3
The ache in his leg made Jean-Michel want to quit the regimen of exercises, but he refused. At least he knew that Katherine would return at some point, and when she did, he wanted to be stronger. To show her that he was able to help her with whatever she needed to heal. Not only that, but strangely enough, he found the exercises seemed to help his spirits as well. It might have only been that he had to concentrate on something other than the past, but at least it was a step in the right direction.
It also helped that John had allowed him to go on a few more hikes with the groups visiting the area. For the most part, Jean-Michel had been able to keep up. The fresh air and scenery also acted as a balm, so much in fact that when he’d come back from yesterday’s walk, he’d actually napped without nightmares.
He’d increased the number of exercises he did daily, and would soon need to start the next section the doctor in France had recommended. But he’d need a training partner. Maybe there was a way for young Thomas to help. He could offer to pay the young man—he’d seen how diligent the worker was around the hotel.
Even though the pain was lessening, Jean-Michel wished his strength would return faster. He shook his head. If only he’d listened to the doctor when he first returned from Syria. Maybe he could have bypassed all this misery.
He heard the door to Collette’s room open, and she soon appeared at the door between their rooms with a smile on her face. “Where have you been, mon cher?”
“With little Davey.” Collette smiled and sighed. “He’s such a précieux petit garçon.”
“Precious little boy or not, are you sure you’re not being an interruption to his family?” He grunted. Two more sets on this leg and he’d be done.
“Non. They have invited me to spend time with them every day if I wish. His mother said she is most appreciative. Besides, they won’t be here but another week.”
“What do you do with him—when you go to visit?”
She hesitated and twisted her mouth in an expression he couldn’t decipher. “Well . . . we talk . . . mostly about God.”
Jean-Michel stood up straight and wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel. “You are conversing with a six-year-old about God?” The idea sounded ludicrous.
“Oui.” She nodded and laughed. “I am.” She came over and kissed his cheek and then walked toward her room. “I’ll be ready for dinner in a little bit; besides, you need time to get cleaned up yourself. You smell like a porc en sueur.”
A sweaty pig? That was it. End of discussion. As she closed the door, Jean-Michel had the urge to throw something.
Since their father died, Collette had come to him for advice, guidance . . . everything. Granted, most of what she needed were words of affirmation about the color of her gown or the style of her hair. On occasion, she even asked him about some piece of news she’d heard from a friend—but that was rare.
Still, why hadn’t she come to him if she wanted to talk about God? Wasn’t that their father’s request to them both? And now she was sharing it with a little boy. A child. Who hadn’t seen the ugliness of war or death. Who hadn’t been there for his sister and held her as she mourned their father’s passing.
What was Jean-Michel lacking that he had been trumped by this little boy?
Was it the same reason Katherine turned to God as well?
Thoughts tumbled all over his mind. His father’s words came rushing back, but he pushed them aside. He wasn’t ready to look for God yet.
But he needed to figure out why he wasn’t good enough to save the two women he loved the most.
“You redheaded ignoramus!” Margaret had all she was going to take. “It’s to celebrate America becoming a nation. The Fourth of July has always been a huge celebration in this country, and we won’t forsake it just because we’re a territory and not a state.” She looked at her nemesis, Daniel Ferguson. The man was just as impossible as she’d predicted. He had his way of doing everything from making sauces to pastries—and, of course, thought his ways were the best. Well, he wasn’t the head chef, now was he? She’d show him who was boss.
“I wasn’t suggestin’ ya shouldn’t celebrate the day. I just find it appallin’ that ya’d make a cake that looks like the flag. Have ya no respect, lass?”
Margaret drew a deep breath and planted her hands on her hips. “This is my kitchen and what I say—goes!”
Two of the kitchen maids scurried from the room. Given the fights that had taken place over the last week, Margaret couldn’t blame them. She would’ve liked to have run too, but she wasn’t about to give satisfaction to this irritating, ignorant, foolish, stubborn . . . oh, there weren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe this man.
Just then Mr. Bradley appeared. He looked hesitant but gave a nod in Mrs. Johnson’s direction. “I hope all is going well. The food . . . well . . . it’s been wonderful.”
“No thanks to him.” She pointed to where Daniel stood. He wore a white chef’s coat and hat and a broad smile that she wanted to slap off his face.
“I’m glad the folks are enjoyin’ the fare.” Ferguson nodded to the manager.
“Is everything in order for the celebration tonight?” Mr. Bradley looked to her for an answer.
“It is, if this . . . this . . . Scotsman will follow orders. He doesn’t feel our American flag cake is appropriate.”
Mr. Bradley smiled and glanced over at the big Scottish . . . oaf. “Well, now, I wouldn’t worry overmuch about it.”
Margaret wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the oaf. “No one’s going to worry about it, because it’s already settled. Now get back to work making icing, Daniel.” The name dripped with every bit of the contempt she felt. “I must speak to Mr. Bradley.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and headed for the empty downstairs dining room, knowing the hotel manager would follow.
“Do you have an order list for me, Mrs. Johnson?”
“I do, but that’s not the reason I needed to talk to you.”
His expression took on a look of disappointment. “No, I presumed it wasn’t, but had hoped.”
“Well, I wake up every morning hoping to find that Scottish barbarian gone. But instead, I find him there trying to take over my kitchen.”
“Mrs. Johnson, we’ve discussed all of this before. When Cassidy is able to return to work, we’ll have no need of him and he will return to Seattle. He’s only here because we cannot function otherwise. You’ll wear yourself into the grave, and then how will you be able to help Cassidy with the baby?”
This caused her to consider the matter a moment. He was right. Having Daniel would free her up to at least make occasional visits upstairs to visit her precious girl.
“I can see you are perhaps understanding the sense of it, Mrs. Johnson.”
She crossed her arms. “I can see the sense of it, but I don’t like it any better. That man is impossible.”
“Is he unwilling to do his job?”
“No. But he’s always questioning my way of doing things.”
Mr. Bradley nodded. “It’s been my experience that everyone has something to learn and something to teach. Perhaps you can benefit each other.”
Margaret held her tongue. Mr. Bradley was only trying to help—even if he was a touch out of his mind. The train whistle blew from somewhere down the tracks, alerting them that new guests would be arriving.
“I’m needed upstairs.” Mr. Bradley smiled.
She knew he was delighted to have an excuse to leave.
“I don’t suppose you have your list ready for me?”
Margaret reached into her apron pocket. “Don’t I always?” She handed him the papers, then stormed back to the kitchen. People relied on her to put together a beautiful outdoor buffet for the evening celebration, and she wasn’t going to let them down. Who knew—perhaps a bear would come and take Mr. Ferguson out of her sight.
She smiled at the thought for a moment. Not because she wanted to see the man hurt, but because no doubt Daniel Ferguson would simply wrestle the bear into submission, then serve him up for dinner.
“Well, he might be able to manage a bear—but he’s not managing me.”