Читать книгу Family of Her Dreams - Keli Gwyn - Страница 12

Chapter Three

A shrill whistle signaled the departure of an outbound freight train, relieved of its load and ready for the return trip to Sacramento City. Spencer checked his pocket watch. Right on time, just the way he liked it.

He crossed the platform and went in search of his freight traffic manager, notebook in hand. The sooner he got the statistics on the latest shipments from Peter, the sooner he could update his records and find out how the station was doing.

Processing the cargo quickly and keeping their customers happy would improve their chances of gaining more business and ensure that he could keep his position as long as possible. He’d known ever since taking the newly created Shingle Springs stationmaster position the summer before that the Transcontinental Route to the north would bring about the end of his company’s monopoly, which was why he had a plan that didn’t depend on the railroad.

He located Peter talking with one of his workers. He finished the conversation and ambled over. “Come for the numbers, have you?”

“Are they any good?”

Peter consulted a sheaf of papers. “You’ll be happy with them. But not as happy as when the Sutro Tunnel Act passes. Should be soon from what I hear.”

Handling the many supply shipments needed to construct the six-mile tunnel connecting Nevada’s Comstock’s silver mines would give them plenty of work—for the time being. “Let’s hope we get a fair amount of the business before it’s siphoned off by the CP.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy. They haven’t even reached the summit yet. It’ll take some doing to blast through all that rock. We got us a few good years before our dreams of being rich railroaders die.”

Peter didn’t want to accept the bitter truth. Since Congress had granted the Central Pacific the right to lay track east of California, it wouldn’t be long before they reached Reno. Word was the CP aimed to make it to Cisco high in the Sierras by year’s end and bore tunnels in the mountain passes through the winter. When that happened and the CP met up with the Union Pacific, the Placerville & Sacramento Valley Railroad, now enjoying its heyday, would become a sleepy passenger line.

Unlike his father, who’d counted on selling cattle to the army indefinitely, despite the fact that the war wouldn’t last forever, Spencer had a contingency plan. That’s why he’d turned down the offer of a company house in town and invested in a place of his own instead. Some thought him crazy, but once his bull arrived and he could begin building a herd of cattle—

“Spence?”

“Yes?” What had he missed?

“I asked if you wanted to take a break and see what kind of pie Miss Minnie fixed today. Based on the mouth-watering smells coming from the café, I’m guessing it’s peach.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I have too much to do.”

“When are you going to relax and have some fun, Cap’n? You can spare ten minutes, can’t ya?”

Spencer fought the urge to grimace. He never knew whether the nickname had been bestowed on him out of respect or if his workers were poking fun at him. Sure, he checked up on the various departments, but he trusted his men. He just wanted to assure himself things were running smoothly. His father had spent his time holed up in his office oblivious to his ranch manager’s shenanigans, and look where it had gotten him. He’d come close to losing everything.

“Take a whiff. If that hint of cinnamon in the air doesn’t win you over, I don’t know what will. Then again, perhaps you’re saving your appetite for Mrs. Carter’s latest culinary catastrophe.” Peter gave Spencer a playful punch in the arm.

“She’s done her best.” The well-intentioned widow had ruined a perfectly good pot roast last night and made chicken as dry and tasteless as paper the night before that.

“Polly tells me Tess knows her way around a kitchen, so your troubles could be over.”

“Perhaps.” If the food on his table that evening wasn’t scorched beyond recognition and he could swallow it without gulping water after each bite, he’d be happy.

“How about joining me, then? That way you know you won’t starve.”

Peter had a point. The simple dinner of bread and cheese Spencer had eaten at his desk left much to be desired. Supper was hours away, after all. This would give him an opportunity to show his men he wasn’t as regimented as they seemed to think. “I’ll drop this off—” he held up his notebook “—let Drake know where to find me and meet you there.”

Fifteen minutes later Spencer chewed his last bite of pie, savoring the sweetness of the peach filling. “This was a good idea.”

“At least you won’t waste away if Tess’s cooking doesn’t pan out.” Peter grinned at his pun. “And speaking of Tess, what do you think of her?”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

“She’s tall. At least as tall as you, isn’t she?”

Not quite, if his estimate was correct. “It’s the hat.”

Peter chuckled. “Quite something, isn’t it? She could provide shade for half the town under that thing. Although her taste in bonnets might be questionable, she’s easy on the eyes. Or didn’t you notice?”

He’d noticed all right. Because of her, he’d had a hard time concentrating ever since he returned from running her to the ranch. Memories of her captivating smile kept resurfacing. “My mind was on the interview.”

“Do you think you’ll hire her?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I offered to give her a one-week trial period, but she countered, claiming she could convince me of her suitability in a day. I accepted her challenge.” Spencer stood, and Peter followed suit.

“Polly said she’s got pluck.”

She did indeed. Would her plucky ways keep his headstrong son in line? Or would she resort to mollycoddling to get Luke’s cooperation, as several of the church women had? One stick of candy to win him over initially couldn’t hurt, but a lack of consistent discipline could ruin him.

Since his son was almost guaranteed to act out at supper, he’d have Miss Grimsby handle the situation. If she didn’t exert a firm hand, he’d have no choice but to give her a day’s wages and put her on a train back to Sacramento City. He hoped it didn’t come to that.

* * *

Tess surveyed the parlor. Mrs. Abbott had certainly loved red. At least she’d chosen burgundy furnishings rather than the cherry red on the house itself. The plush chairs and settee in the rich color coordinated with the blue flowers sprinkled amid sprays of wine-colored roses on the wallpaper’s white background. Some slate-blue accents would bring out the secondary color and add a soothing element. Curtains, pillows and a rug, too.

She could imagine Mr. Abbott in the wingback armchair by the fireplace, a child on each knee. A sewing basket sat on the table beside the settee. His wife’s favorite place to sit had likely been the end of it nearest him. The picture of domestic bliss.

A wistful sigh escaped, and Tess chided herself. Giving way to the longing for a family of her own would do no good. She mustn’t fuel futile dreams. How many times had Mr. Grimsby told her she’d best prepare for a lifetime of service?

His words uttered on her tenth birthday came back as sharp and piercing as ever. No man will look twice at you, Tess. You’re going to tower over most of them. And those who are tall won’t be interested in a woman who can look them in the eye. A man wants to feel superior in all respects. Take my word for it, and apply yourself to your studies, so you can earn a decent living.

And then came the nickname. Of course Charlie had been the one who’d overheard that dreadful conversation. Charlie, who taunted anyone and everyone, from the youngest children all the way to the orphanage director himself.

Too-Tall Tess.

That’s what Charlie had dubbed her, and nothing she could say or do would silence him. So, she’d done the only thing she could—pretended it didn’t matter.

From that day on she’d vowed never to let anyone see how much she detested being different. She’d stood tall, proud and unflinching as the other children singsonged the ditty Charlie had coined.

Oh, what a pity! Oh, what a mess!

When God said height, she shoulda asked for less.

She’s Too-Tall, Too-Tall, Too-Tall Tess.

It didn’t help that Tess wasn’t her real name. Mr. Grimsby had given it to her when her father left her at the orphanage, despite the fact that she’d told the domineering director her name was Faith. Although Tess was a fine name, his insistence on using it and offering no reason why had rankled.

After shaking herself from her reverie, Tess smoothed the crisp white cloth covering the pedestal table in the center of the room, repositioned the antimacassar on the back of Spencer’s armchair and pronounced the parlor ready for inspection.

Restoring the dining room to rights would take no time at all. The layer of dust coating everything gave evidence no one had eaten there since Mrs. Abbott’s passing. Perhaps Mr. Abbott felt her absence in that room more deeply than other places. Replacing old memories with new would help.

Tess gathered the soiled shirts draped over the chairs and picked up the toys. She removed the petrified bouquet serving as the centerpiece. She’d send Mrs. Carter and the children in search of fresh flowers, thus gaining the time needed to scour the kitchen and plan her supper menu.

Discovering the whereabouts of the widow and the little ones was easy. Mrs. Carter must have asked Luke to do something he didn’t want to do. His complaints coming from the backyard could be heard throughout the house. That boisterous boy would require a firm hand—and a full measure of compassion. He must miss his mama terribly.

Tess stepped through the back door onto the wraparound porch. She called to the older woman, who had the baby propped on one hip. They stood beneath a sprawling oak with a rope swing suspended from one of its sturdy branches. “I’d like a fresh bouquet on the table tonight, Mrs. Carter. Might I ask you to pick some flowers? I saw a nice selection in the beds out front.”

The widow appeared relieved by the request. Luke even ceased his whining. “The children and me would be happy to do that, wouldn’t we, Luke?” She gave him an over-bright smile.

“I don’t wanna, and I’m not gonna. I want her to push me on the swing. Right now!” He jabbed a stubby finger at Mrs. Carter.

Tess feigned indifference. “That’s all right. I don’t want your help, after all.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “You don’t?”

“No. This is a special job, and you’re still quite young. I don’t think you could pick flowers without breaking their stems or crushing their petals.”

He rammed his fists against his sides and scrunched his face in a sour-pickle expression. “I could, too.”

“What do you think, Mrs. Carter? Should we let him try or have him sit with Lila and watch while you pick the flowers?”

Luke snorted. “I’m not a baby. I’m a big boy. Papa says so, and he knows everything.”

The snowy-headed woman looked from him to Tess and back again, understanding dawning. “I reckon we could let him try...if he promises to be careful.”

“I won’t hurt them. I’ll show you.” He raced around the corner of the house. Lila bounced on Mrs. Carter’s ample hip as she hurried after him.

With the children occupied, Tess had the house to herself once again. She donned her apron and plunged her hands into a tub of hot water. Determined to get the mountain of dirty dishes washed quickly, she attacked an encrusted dinner plate with such fervor that soap bubbles formed on the water’s surface. Normally she didn’t relish the scent of lye soap, but today she welcomed anything strong enough to cut the lingering stench of the sulfur.

What could she prepare for supper that would overpower the horrid smell and fill the air with tantalizing aromas? When she was out back, she’d noticed a garden with a healthy crop of weeds mounting a takeover. Perhaps she could find some ripe vegetables among those that had rotted on the vines. That would be a start.

“Lord, You know how much I need this position, so please show me what You’d like me to prepare.” If He’d led her here, as she believed He had, surely He could provide her with inspiration.

She was eager to impress Mr. Abbott, so he’d hire her. Although he was a bit on the dour side, he struck her as a fair man. Working for the handsome stationmaster could prove to be a distraction, but she was more than willing to deal with that.

Twenty minutes later Tess dried the last bowl, put it in the cupboard and hung the damp dishtowel on its peg. She delivered lemonade to Mrs. Carter and Luke, who’d picked enough flowers to fill two vases.

He leaned back against the porch railing, his ankles and arms crossed, looking adorable despite his dirt-streaked face. “We picked whole bunches of flowers, and I didn’t hurt none of them.”

Tess smiled. “You did a fine job, Luke. I’ll have to tell your papa what a big help you’ve been.”

The little boy beamed, seemed to think better of it and assumed a stoic manner so like his father’s it was all she could do not to laugh. She shifted her attention to Mrs. Carter, who sat in a rocking chair with Lila in her lap. “If you’re content to enjoy the shade and the cool drink, I’ll get to work on the meal.”

“We’re fine, dearie. Chasin’ after these young’uns the past week plumb wore me out, so I’m happy to sit here and keep ’em out from under your petticoats.”

Normally Tess would welcome the children’s help. She had wonderful memories of working alongside Josette, the cook at the orphanage, when she was a girl. However, since this meal had to be exemplary in order for her to secure the position, she would leave Luke and Lila in Mrs. Carter’s care.

Wending her way between the rows of the garden with basket in hand, Tess found what she needed to prepare a light but tasty soup to start the meal.

Luke raced around the house and hollered. “A wagon’s coming, and it’s not Papa.”

She set her bounty by the back door and followed Luke to the front of the house. A wagon rumbled down the rutted road toward them. The young man beside the driver waved. “I wonder who they could be.”

The rhythmic creaking of Mrs. Carter’s rocking chair ceased. She joined Tess at the porch railing. “Looks like that German man and his son from over yonder.” The widow waved her free hand toward the parcel of land to the east. “The young fellow speaks right fine English, but his father ain’t learned it so good.”

The wagon approached the house with a jangle of harnesses. The driver parked beside the porch. “Guten Nachmittag. Ve haf Lachs.” The stocky older man reached in a pail and pulled out a fish large enough to feed Mr. Abbott, his children, Mrs. Carter and Tess with some left over. “Ve haf much. You must some take.”

“See what I mean?” Mrs. Carter muttered.

Tess smiled. “I believe he said ‘good afternoon.’ It appears he’s sharing his catch with us.” She knew just what to make for supper. The Lord had evidently heard her prayers.

The driver’s son, a young man about eighteen, jumped to the ground. He took the fish from his father, wrapped it in a cloth and held it out to her. “We didn’t catch them. They came up on the train. When Vati saw them, he got this one for Mr. Abbott. A gift. Vati knows how difficult it is for a man to lose his wife and be left with children to raise on his own. He wanted to do something to help.”

Tess took the fish and nodded at the older man. “That’s kind of you, Herr...”

“Mueller,” the young man offered. “He’s Wolfgang—” he jabbed a thumb at his father “—and I’m Frank.”

“Well, thank you both. This is a godsend.”

“I’ve met Mrs. Carter—” Frank nodded in the widow’s direction and shifted his attention to Tess “—and you must be Miss Grimsby.”

“Yes, I am. I hope to become Mr. Abbott’s housekeeper. How did you hear about me?”

“Mr. Flynn over at the railway station told us about you. It seems you stood out. There aren’t too many women in Shingle Springs as tall as a Hopfenpfosten—a hop pole.” He grinned. “I wish you well. I know from helping Vati build the large pen beyond Mr. Abbott’s barn that he can be an exacting boss, but he’s a fair one.”

Mrs. Carter huffed. “If he’s to be her boss, she’d best not spend her day yammerin’ with the likes of you. She’s got a supper to fix.”

Tess chuckled. “As much as I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Mrs. Carter has a point.” She bid the Muellers farewell and headed for the kitchen, eager to fillet the fish.

Some time later Mrs. Carter and the children joined Tess.

“That supper of yours is smellin’ mighty good, young lady. What’re you fixin’?”

“We’ll start with julienne soup. Then we’ll have the salmon sprinkled with black butter, served with herbed potatoes and tomato slices. I found fresh peaches in the pantry, so I was able to whip up a pie for dessert.”

Lila, who sat on a blanket in the corner, squealed.

Mrs. Carter smiled, proving she had a kind heart beneath her brusque manner. “Sounds like she’s happy. Let’s hope her papa is, too. I’m more’n ready to leave this place in your hands and get back to mine.”

Tess stirred the soup. If Mr. Abbott didn’t arrive soon, the vegetables would be mush.

As if on cue, a wagon pulled in.

“Papa!” Luke took off.

Mrs. Carter lifted Lila into her arms. “We’ll go meet him, wash up and give you time to get the last of your supper rustled up. You’ll find us waitin’ in the dinin’ room.”

The next ten minutes flew by in a blur as Tess grilled the salmon and browned the butter. She removed her apron and said a silent prayer of thanks. Everything had turned out fine, after all. Savoring the sense of accomplishment, she poured the soup into the tureen, grabbed a ladle and headed to the dining room.

Mr. Abbott’s deep voice carried, sending a shiver of excitement shimmying up her spine. “It certainly smells better in here. Do you know what we’re having, son?”

Luke made a horrid sound like a cat trying to rid itself of a hairball. “I don’t want any of it ’cept for the pie. She ruined the soup and burned the fish.”

Tess came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, the soup she carried sloshing precariously. Luke’s uncomplimentary proclamation was to be expected, but the welcome hint of merriment in Mr. Abbott’s eyes had faded all too rapidly, leaving him looking as formidable as ever.

Well, he could frown all he liked. She was an excellent cook and would impress him with her culinary skills, or her name wasn’t Tess Grimsby.

She marched into the room with her head held high.