Читать книгу Colorado Courtship: Winter of Dreams / The Rancher's Sweetheart - Cheryl St.John - Страница 13

Chapter Three

A night’s sleep stretched out on the comfortable bed in sublime relaxation did wonders. Violet was rested and had breakfast on the table at six. She sat to share the meal with the men, and had finished eating when a loud chime rang from the front hallway.

Ben Charles pushed back his chair and stood. “That’s the bell next door. I’ll get it.”

He returned a few minutes later. “Guy Chapman passed on during the night.”

A death.

Violet strove to keep her composure, but panic rose in her chest. A myriad of sensory images—memories—curled around her heart like a squeezing fist. She forced her body to relax and she took several slow deep breaths.

Ben Charles resumed his seat. “That was his son. I’ll need you to assist me in bringing him back this morning,” he said to Henry. He glanced at Violet. “We won’t be but an hour. Henry will return and drive you to town.”

He spoke of their chore in a matter-of-fact manner, not at all as though they were headed out to do something unpleasant. This was his work. She had to get used to it. After the men had gone, Violet did her best not to think about their task, but she happened to glance out the back window as a pair of the magnificent horses pulled a long black hearse from the carriage house. After that she avoided the windows, in case she might glimpse their return.

Tessa arrived to nibble at the bacon and a piece of toast while they waited. “Who passed on?” she asked.

It was only a conversation. She was in a warm kitchen, safe and sound. “Someone by the name of Guy Chapman.”

She nodded. “I went to school with his granddaughter.”

“Were you friends?”

Tessa poured tea into a cup. “I can’t say we were. She was one of the girls who made a show out of avoiding me as though I had a disease.”

Violet studied her with surprise. “Why did they avoid you?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Taken aback by her reply, Violet considered the girl’s words for a moment. “Because of your brother’s occupation?”

“And the fact that we live here. Some people think it’s morbid.”

“I suppose they do.” Violet thought of Tessa as a child, and tried to imagine what she’d experienced.

“They taunted us and called my father and Ben Charles hatchet men and body snatchers, things like that.”

“That’s cruel. So you don’t attend school any longer?”

Tessa shook her head. “Ben Charles removed me. He sent me to a boarding school, but I was homesick and begged him to let me come back. He rode the train all the way to Pennsylvania to get me.”

“He loves you very much.”

Tessa looked up from her cup, thoughtfully. “Yes, he does.” She shrugged. “I don’t really care what others think of us. Ben Charles is happy doing what he does, and I’m happy living here with my books.”

The connecting door opened, and Violet jumped a foot from the seat of her chair.

“The wagon’s ready,” Henry called.

“We’ll be out front in a moment,” Tessa replied.

Violet took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and stacked their cups beside the enamel dishpan. “I forgot to ask. How do I pay for the purchases?”

“We have accounts at the stores,” Tessa replied.

“I’ll just get my coat and boots.”

The sky was blustery, and the wagon offered no protection from the bitter-cold wind. Even though they huddled behind the seat, Violet tied a wool scarf over her face and Tessa held her rabbit fur muffler to her nose and mouth the entire way.

Their first stop was the mercantile, where Violet handed her list to the man who greeted them. “Ben Charles told me he’d hired a new cook,” the bald man said. “I expected you’d be older.”

Amused, she smiled. “I’m Miss Bennett. Pleased to meet you. Henry will load our items.”

She and Tessa browsed the aisles, adding a few things to their purchases. A group of white-haired men sat around a potbellied stove. “That you, Tessa Hammond?” one of them called.

Tessa introduced Violet to the gathering.

“Heard old Guy went to glory durin’ the night,” Frank Turner said with a shake of his head. “Is he out at your place?”

“Ben Charles is attending Mr. Chapman now,” Tessa told the elderly man in a comforting voice.

The old man nodded. “Yeah. Old Guy never liked the cold weather much. His bones was achin’ something fierce this winter. Think he’d a had the sense to die durin’ the summer.”

Tessa didn’t respond to that, but she nodded and said her goodbyes.

“Tell Ben Charles to take real good care of Guy now.”

“I’ll do that.”

Tessa and Violet stood near the door, pulling on their gloves and scarves. “They seem to like you just fine,” Violet whispered.

Tessa met her eyes. “They’re older. They’ve had more experience getting to know our family. And no doubt they see the inevitability of needing an undertaker sooner than later.”

Violet blinked, but after her initial surprise Tessa’s deduction made sense. “Where to now?”

“The seamstress is down a few doors.” Tessa led the way out.

Marcella Wright seemed surprised to see Tessa. “You bought a new wardrobe before you went off to school, so either you’ve grown or you’ve brought your friend for measurements.”

She made introductions. “Violet needs a few dresses.”

Violet’s cheeks warmed and her gaze skittered to Tessa’s.

“My brother instructed me to make sure you ordered several.”

“Let me have your coats.” Marcella asked Violet to step behind a screen and remove her dress, so she could measure her. Violet had purchased a few ready-made dresses, but she’d sewn the rest of her clothing, so this process was foreign.

“It’s all right,” Tessa encouraged.

Violet stood straight as the woman took measurements and recorded them in a slim journal. A fire crackled in a woodstove, keeping the little shop warm.

“Now for fabrics and colors,” Marcella said, with an excited smile. “I have ideas for combinations that will go with your lovely dark hair and eyes. What is your ancestry, dear?”

Violet touched the bolt of fabric the woman pulled out. “My father was Swedish.”

“That explains the faint accent, but not your hair or skin.”

“Well, my mother’s mother came from Ireland.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Tessa, I’m thinking of the dress we made you with the puffed sleeves and the gathered bodice. The skirt is chocolate sateen and the bodice a soft ivory. That style would look lovely on Miss Bennett, but with a spring-green skirt and a print blouse and sleeves. The tails of a faux demijacket nestled at her hips would be striking, don’t you think?”

Violet agreed with a nod. “It sounds lovely.”

“And you definitely need something in a rose-red,” she said to Violet. “I have the perfect princess pattern. The skirt would be a solid, the sleeves and yoke in embroidered sateen, with fitted forearms—and fur at the collar, I’d say. The front buttons up on one side, rather than down the center. I’d add a snip of fur on a matching hat, as well.”

Marcella’s eyes shone with excitement as she described styles and fabrics. She showed Violet a pattern from an afternoon dress she’d been wanting to create, but she hadn’t known the appropriate lady to carry it off.

Everything she mentioned sounded expensive, but Tessa didn’t blink an eye. When Marcella went to her stockroom for trim and buttons, Violet whispered, “I don’t know about the expense of all these dresses on your brother’s account. I’m only the cook, and I’ve just arrived. I haven’t earned my way yet. I don’t know that I’ll ever earn enough to pay for all this.”

“Ben Charles said not to let you leave without ordering dresses for church and shopping and social events.”

It seemed like a lot of fancy clothing for a cook.

“You’re part of our household now,” Tessa told her, as though she knew Violet’s thoughts. “You represent the Hammonds.”

Violet had never imagined the prestige of her new position. While part of her was uncomfortable with this treatment, another side of her was childishly thrilled with the attention and acceptance. She wanted to be worthy of the Hammonds’ faith in her.

That afternoon Violet put away all the supplies and took another look at the pantry and each of the items it held. Delighted to discover three cookbooks, she pored over the recipes, making notes. She prepared the turkey she’d purchased from the butcher by brushing it with oil and rubbing it with thyme before roasting it in the oven. While the bird baked, she prepared stuffing with leeks and wild mushrooms, cooked corn pudding and made cranberry-walnut relish. Her rolls turned out perfectly, and she stored them until supper.

The sideboard and cabinets in the dining room held tablecloths, heavy silver, ornate trays and enough dishes to serve a banquet. She set the table and trudged out in the cold to find evergreen boughs, graceful twigs and berries for the centerpiece. After adding candles, she stood back and admired her handiwork.

She checked her timepiece, removed the turkey from the oven and ran upstairs to change.

“There will be one more for supper,” Ben Charles said as he passed through the kitchen a few minutes later. “Hugh Senior is helping me today, and I’ve invited him to join us.” He stopped before he reached the stairs. “Something smells awfully good.”

“Probably the turkey,” she replied.

Hugh Senior was a man several years older than Ben Charles, but his hair was still dark. Ben Charles explained simply that the man helped him on occasion. As each person entered the dining room, his or her face showed surprise and delight at the feast.

Tessa stared until Ben Charles pulled out her chair and prompted her to sit, so the men could take their places.

“I haven’t seen the table look like this since my mother used to set it,” Ben Charles told her. “These were her things.”

“I hope it was all right to use them,” Violet said uncertainly.

“It was more than all right,” he replied quickly. “What use are nice things if they’re not enjoyed? The china has been gathering dust.”

“Oh, I washed everything,” Violet was quick to assure him.

“I had no doubt.”

Ben Charles sliced the turkey, and Violet spooned cranberry relish over each serving as the plates were distributed. They passed the other bowls and the basket of rolls before Ben Charles took Tessa’s hand and prayed. “We lift up Gus Chapman’s family to You, Lord,” he said. “I ask that you bestow peace and comfort on them this day and in the days to come. Give them strength to trust You and abide in Your love during this difficult time.”

Violet had never heard anyone speak to God the way Ben Charles did, as though God was a real person, as though He was listening and truly cared. As though his prayer made a difference.

Her employer’s genuine concern for the family of the deceased man unexplainably touched her. Peace and comfort had been elusive commodities in her experience. What if someone had prayed those words for her when her parents died? Would it have made a difference? Could Ben Charles make the same request for her all these years after her mother’s death or was there an expiration on petitioning God?

She didn’t think about her mother often, yet she answered questions about her methodically, without letting memories invade the locked-off portion of her heart and mind where she kept pain and reality at bay. Ben Charles’s words and example were a steel chisel prying at the seams of her guarded sanity.

She didn’t like the feeling. But she liked being here.

Her supper was an enormous success, and she accepted praise for her efforts. “I don’t know that you should have set the bar so high this soon,” Ben Charles admonished with a grin. “Now we know what you’re capable of doing.”

“It’s a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates the effort,” she answered. “It’s no hardship to cook in your kitchen.”

“You didn’t have to eat any of the meals we fixed before you got here,” Tessa said. “A fancy stove doesn’t cook a good meal itself.”

“You can ask me to work anytime you need help,” Hugh Senior said to Ben Charles. “I ain’t had a meal like this since Rosie and I ate at the hotel in Denver on our honeymoon.” He set down his fork and ticked off numbers on his fingers. “Twenty-four years, it’s been.”

Violet raised her brows in surprise. “Now, that is a compliment, Mr. Senior. But don’t let your wife hear you say that.”

The men looked at each other with amusement. Finally Ben Charles said, “Hugh’s last name is Crabtree. Everyone calls him Hugh Senior because his son’s name is Hugh Junior.”

“Pardon my mistake. Do you have other children?”

“Goodness, yes. Three others, plus two sons-in-law and three grandchildren. Hugh Junior is the youngest and my only boy.”

“Hugh Junior has a way with horses,” Henry said. “If ever there’s a problem with one of Mr. Hammond’s animals, Hugh Junior knows what to do.”

They finished the meal and Violet served a warm cobbler she’d made from dried apples. Tessa declined her serving, but Henry raised his dessert plate for her portion.

Tessa helped with cleanup and dishes while the men went next door. Violet was uncomfortable with the extravagant expenses of the clothing they’d ordered that day and hoped for a moment to speak about it with Ben Charles. She remained in the kitchen, her attention on the adjoining door, long after dark had enveloped the house. Using only an oil lamp on the table for light, her imagination took over with what lay beyond that door.

Finally it opened and her employer stepped into the kitchen. “Violet. You’re still here.”

“I was waiting to speak with you.”

“You could have come found me.”

Her gaze skittered to the door and back. “I preferred to wait. Did Mr. Crabtree go home?”

“Yes, quite a while ago.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He glanced at the cold stove. “I’m fine, thanks. What did you want to talk about?”

“Tessa and I went shopping today, as you know.”

He nodded.

“She let me know you wanted me to have several dresses.”

“I hope you weren’t offended. You may already have enough clothing.”

“I don’t have appropriate clothing, and I’m not offended. I understand I have a place in your household now and I should look my best in public.”

“Were you able to select things you’ll like?”

“Yes, of course. My concern is the cost. I’ve only begun to earn my keep and wages. I shall be indebted to you for the cost until I’ve been here long enough to repay it.”

“I won’t hear any more talk of indebtedness,” he said. “Our terms of your employment included food, lodging and clothing.”

“I thought perhaps a few work dresses would be included, not such lovely—and expensive—things.”

“Do you need work dresses, as well?”

“No, I can wear my own.”

“All right. Your wages are your wages, Miss Bennett, to use any way you see fit. Food, a room and clothing are my concern. A position like this requires a sacrifice many women aren’t willing or able to make. You’ve already relocated in an unfamiliar place. Your schedule will revolve around ours for as long as you’re in my employ. You’ve made a big commitment to my family, and I don’t take that lightly.”

He made it sound as though she was doing him a favor, instead of the other way around. Of course he didn’t know she’d never lived anywhere so nice or had as many choices for meals or used such efficient appliances. There wasn’t a cook around who wouldn’t move lock, stock and barrel to work in this home.

Still, it was an extravagant expense. “Well, then I thank you.”

“Have you made yourself familiar with the rest of the house?” he asked.

She tried not to react, but a growing fear in the back of her mind wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d fought the panic earlier, but she didn’t dare get any closer to the place where he worked. If he wanted her to clean the rooms in the mortuary, she might have to leave.

Had she seen the entire house? “Not yet.”

“You’ve barely had time to get settled. Maybe tomorrow you’ll look around. We don’t get the place dirty, so a little dusting is all that’s needed most of the time. Tessa takes care of her own room, but I would appreciate it if you dusted mine and changed sheets on the beds. You may send out bedding and clothing to be laundered. And, Violet?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please make yourself at home. Use any room you care to and help yourself to the books. There is sufficient lighting in the parlor if you do needlework.”

“Thank you, but...Mr. Hammond?”

He nodded to show he was listening.

Wind buffeted the panes of glass in the long window.

She took a deep breath. “Do my duties extend to cleaning next door at—at—where you work?”

“Goodness, no. Someone from town comes once a week to clean the mortuary—more often if we’re especially busy. I should have thought to tell you that. I wasn’t thinking.”

Relief washed over her at his reply. Once he’d said good-night and gone upstairs, she poured herself a pitcher of warm water and turned down the wick until the oil lamp snuffed out. She felt as though she’d escaped the guillotine. She didn’t think there was enough money in the Carson Springs bank to get her to clean the funeral home.

When she reached the upstairs hallway, she paused before the door to her room. Voices came from the other end, where the library was, as brother and sister conversed pleasantly. She listened for a moment, not eavesdropping, but learning about their family. Ben Charles chuckled, and the deep sound resonated to where she stood, creating an empty ache in her chest.

She admired what they shared. She mourned for the loss of family. They had lost parents, too, but they had each other. Something she would never know. She let herself into her room and turned on the light using the wall switch. Lamps on either side of the door lit the room.

She admired the relationship between Ben Charles and Tessa. Other siblings she’d observed had been young and squabbled most of the time. Perhaps the difference in their ages made a difference. Surely him taking on the responsibility of raising her had changed everything. Ben Charles was devoted to his young sister. Violet thought of how they held hands as he prayed for their meals. Tessa spoke of him with pride and honor, as she would a beloved father. She looked at him with love and respect in every glance. Theirs was an enviable relationship.

Violet may not have had anything comparable in her life, but she had other things to appreciate. Her employer and his sister were kind and gracious. It seemed this job was hers for as long as she wanted it. Her room was cozy and felt like home already. And she didn’t have to dust the dark side.

She felt bad for thinking of it like that, but when she thought of what Ben Charles did next door, her attitude darkened and her imagination ran amok. His occupation obviously provided a luxurious home and many comforts for his sister and employees—and he seemed to genuinely enjoy what he did.

That didn’t mean she would ever be comfortable with his profession or the mortuary next door, but it didn’t look as though he was going to force a closer proximity on her. She was happy right here, and she had no intention of getting any closer.

As long as the situation remained as it was, she was going to do just fine.