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Colorado Courtship: Winter of Dreams / The Rancher's Sweetheart
Cheryl St.John
Debra Ullrick
Romance blooms in the midst of a Rocky Mountain winterWinter of Dreams by Cheryl St.John If Violet Kristofferson had known her new employer was the town undertaker, she might never have come to Carson Springs as his cook. Yet she needs a fresh start away from scandal. And Ben Charles’s unflinching faith could be her path to something truly precious—a new family.The Rancher’s Sweetheart by Debra Ullrick The cowboys on her uncle’s ranch show Sunny Weston no respect—except for foreman Jed Cooper. A riding and roping contest is Sunny’s chance to prove herself. But now that she’s falling for Jed, will she find courage to take the biggest risk of all, and trust her heart?



Romance Blooms in the Midst of a Rocky Mountain Winter
Winter of Dreams by Cheryl St. John
If Violet Kristofferson had known that her new employer was the town undertaker, she might never have come to Carson Springs as his cook. Yet she needs a fresh start away from scandal. And Ben Charles’s unflinching faith could be her path to something truly precious—a new family.
The Rancher’s Sweetheart by Debra Ullrick
The cowboys on her uncle’s ranch show Sunny Weston no respect—except for foreman Jed Cooper. A riding and roping contest is Sunny’s chance to prove herself. But now that she’s falling for Jed, will she find courage to take the biggest risk of all, and trust her heart?
Praise for Cheryl St.John
“The characters are delightful and
inspire anticipation for the next story.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Journey
“This well-written, sweet love story
has lots of romance and adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews on “Mountain Rose”
in To Be a Mother
“St.John’s books are emotionally charged
and her characters are well rounded.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Preacher’s Wife
Praise for Debra Ullrick
“Ullrick skillfully uses her heroine’s dilemma to prove the power of moving on from the past
in this delightful story.”
—RT Book Reviews on Groom Wanted
“The hero’s journey from what he thinks he wants to God’s revelation of what he really wants and needs makes for a lovely story.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Unlikely Wife
“Ullrick pens a wonderful, sweet romance
with memorable characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Unexpected Bride
CHERYL ST.JOHN’s
love for reading started as a child. She wrote her own stories, designed covers and stapled them to form books. She credits many hours of creating scenarios for her paper dolls and Barbies as the start of her fascination with fictional characters. At one time Westerns were her preferred reading—until she happened upon LaVyrle Spencer’s Hummingbird in her local store. After that she couldn’t read enough romance, and the desire to create stories of hope and forgiveness was born.
Cheryl loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at www.cherylstjohn.net (http://www.cherylstjohn.net) or email her at SaintJohn@aol.com (http://SaintJohn@aol.com).
DEBRA ULLRICK
is an award-winning author who is happily married to her husband of thirty-six years. For more than twenty-five years she and her husband and their only daughter lived and worked on cattle ranches in the Colorado mountains. The last ranch Debra lived on was also where a famous movie star and her screenwriter husband chose to purchase property. She now lives in the flatlands, where she’s dealing with cultural whiplash. Debra loves animals, classic cars, mud-bog racing and monster trucks. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drawing Western art, feeding wild birds and watching Jane Austen movies, COPS or Castle.
Debra loves hearing from her readers. You can contact her through her website, www.debraullrick.com (http://www.debraullrick.com).
Colorado Courtship
Cheryl St. John
Debra Ullrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#uc85f3dc7-6332-53ca-802e-265e999f644d)
Back Cover Text (#ude7aef15-6d6a-51a0-ae1a-e47d11d704d6)
Praise (#ufe26d029-5809-5034-b072-49c34e8b8ffd)
About the Author (#u22f1eb4f-45ed-5d19-be84-56ffb520c642)
Title Page (#u181cdc00-b70f-5440-9d24-13770b66468e)
Winter of Dreams (#uba9014f0-e66b-5640-a95c-2bbdd472a154)
Dedication (#u709612de-5c82-5ed6-bcd5-3816a9ce658a)
Bible Verse (#uacd49529-c146-5bb5-9f7c-1ab0675da237)
Contents (#u55d4b21e-c8b9-544d-9589-b89b1098cbd5)
Chapter One (#uc3927fcc-3a94-5a2b-b422-a26d8d03769c)
Chapter Two (#u5d76cd17-7805-53da-b494-96a2509e8f8c)
Chapter Three (#ucd00a52d-891c-538c-b4b5-e3304652f71c)
Chapter Four (#ue03b3ff9-1a29-55a6-bc69-3d4050ae1405)
Chapter Five (#u5fd4f288-5e18-5fc9-93f2-66ba91dd1eec)
Chapter Six (#uc67d2de6-1402-56be-8806-1e89b349b4b9)
Chapter Seven (#u378d18e7-b4d9-5ed8-a58a-46f7f2d46636)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
The Rancher's Sweetheart
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Bible Verse (#litres_trial_promo)
Contents (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Winter of Dreams
Cheryl St. John
This story is dedicated to my beautiful grandmother, Sarah Mellissa St.John, who by example taught me to call on the name of Jesus in times of trouble, to love unconditionally, to laugh a lot, to cry a little
and to always see the good in others.
O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ.
—1 Corinthians 15:55–57
Contents
Chapter One (#uc3927fcc-3a94-5a2b-b422-a26d8d03769c)
Chapter Two (#u5d76cd17-7805-53da-b494-96a2509e8f8c)
Chapter Three (#ucd00a52d-891c-538c-b4b5-e3304652f71c)
Chapter Four (#ue03b3ff9-1a29-55a6-bc69-3d4050ae1405)
Chapter Five (#u5fd4f288-5e18-5fc9-93f2-66ba91dd1eec)
Chapter Six (#uc67d2de6-1402-56be-8806-1e89b349b4b9)
Chapter Seven (#u378d18e7-b4d9-5ed8-a58a-46f7f2d46636)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Colorado, January 1899
Mr. Hammond’s telegram had assured her, due to the mild winter, that the train would have no problem reaching Carson Springs mid-January. Violet Kristofferson unfolded his message and read it again, her gaze stumbling first over the name she’d chosen. She would have to remember. Bennett. Violet Bennett.
She’d barely been able to eat the entire way, even though train stations between Ohio and Colorado often had decent restaurants or a nice café next door.
Her stomach tightened now at the prospect of living and working among strangers in a place she’d never been, but she’d had little choice—her situation in Ohio had forced her to take action.
The heavy gray sky outside the steamed-over windows didn’t bolster her mood or her confidence, but some time ago the conductor had announced their destination only an hour hence. A single stove glowed in an attempt to heat the railcar, but all day her feet had been numb from the cold. Absently she checked the delicate gold watch that hung on a chain around her neck and discreetly adjusted one leg, then the other, eager to stretch. She would sleep like a baby once she was finally able to lie down with a comfortable mattress beneath her.
The rhythm of the wheels changed, and the car slowed fractionally. Passengers straightened in their seats in anticipation of the stop.
Violet wiped the window with her mittened hand and studied the landscape. Horses and cattle huddled in clusters, dotting the white expanse of snow. Scattered houses came into view, situated closer and closer together the more the locomotive slowed. The train turned a last bend, climbed an incline and chugged into the town.
Carson Springs was larger than she’d anticipated, a combination of stone, wood and brick buildings, most of which she could only see from the back. The train rolled alongside the station, blocking her view of the town. A large canopy covered the platform, wisely protecting it from the elements. From her window seat Violet strained to see the men and women waiting for arriving passengers, unable to guess which might be her new employer.
She waited her turn, descending the stairs behind a portly woman wearing a fox coat and a large plumed hat. Making her way to an open space on the wood platform, Violet stopped to get her bearings. Her breath came out in puffy white plumes. Her feet ached.
Nearby the porters unloaded and stacked trunks and valises.
Violet scanned the crowd. A tall man in a black coat and hat separated from the others and made his way toward her. “Miss Bennett?”
“Um.” Startled at hearing the unfamiliar surname, she composed herself. “Yes.” She didn’t want to be found, and her real name was too distinctive. “I’m Miss Bennett.”
He removed his hat, revealing an unruly shock of russet-brown hair. “I’m Ben Charles Hammond.”
“How do you do?” She offered her hand, and he held her wool-covered fingers for the briefest of moments in a polite greeting.
“I hope your journey wasn’t too unpleasant.”
He had a strong jawline, arching brows and friendly gray-green eyes. She liked him immediately. “Not at all. The accommodations were more than adequate, thank you.”
“If you’ll point out your luggage, I’ll take it to the carriage.”
“There’s only one carpetbag. The other two are crates. Fairly large ones. I don’t expect you to manage those on your own. I can hail someone—”
“Let’s have a look before you count me out.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t.” He adjusted his hat on his head. “Point them out.”
She indicated her belongings and picked up the bag. He hauled one of the crates to his shoulder, and she followed him through the thinning crowd to a black carriage with a boot on the rear. He stored the load and went back for the second. Meanwhile Violet admired the sleek black horse harnessed to the carriage. Taking a few steps forward and cautious of the layer of dirty snow along the curb, she tugged off her mitten to stroke the animal’s shiny mane and neck. The heat and texture of his hide was familiar and comforting. She could almost smell the stables.
Mr. Hammond stowed the rest of her belongings, folded down a step and waited beside the carriage until she joined him. Quickly pulling on her mitten, she accepted his outstretched hand. Climbing up from the other side, he took the seat beside her. “You like horses?”
“Yes. My father used to take me riding.”
“There are saddles and tack in our stable. Henry takes care of the horses. He’ll help you if you want to ride. Maybe you can get Tessa to join you once the weather’s nice.”
“I would enjoy that, thank you.” Tessa was his sixteen-year-old sister. Violet had been hired to do the cooking for him, his sister and his other employees. He’d suggested she take an interest in Tessa as well, being a companion of sorts as time permitted. “Will I meet her today?”
“Yes. She’s waiting at home.”
Once they’d moved past the main street of businesses, where wagons and buggies traveled and townspeople went about their day, he drove the carriage several blocks along a street of two- and three-story homes until they reached a cross street, where he turned to the right.
“I expect you to take time for yourself,” he said. “Attend church with us—or another church if ours isn’t your preference. Sunday will be your day off. Tessa and I will either fix our own meals or eat in town. You’re welcome to join us if you’re not tired of us by then.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
Mr. Hammond was polite and seemed kind and generous. It appeared her concern had been for naught.
The buildings on the north side of this street backed a wooded area. A row of enormous attached brick structures came into view. Behind them stood a matching carriage house and a small wood-frame stable. The sign in front of the first building they passed indicated it was a furniture maker’s. “Do you make furniture?”
“No. My father did, but I sold the business to Walter Hatcher in ’eighty-five. Two doors down is where we live.”
Her interest was definitely piqued now. Whatever he did, his company obviously thrived. “One of these is your home?”
“And my business,” he replied.
A low hedge surrounded the next two connected buildings, where white shutters framed the windows and white arched doors indicated entries. There were two sets of doors on the front, a double set on the right.
They drew close, and a fancily lettered iron sign caught her attention:

Hammond Funeral Parlor
Ben Charles Hammond, Undertaker & Stone Mason

Undertaker? Violet’s heart hammered and, though she’d had little to eat for days, her stomach threatened upheaval.
He’d brought her to his funeral parlor?
A dusting of snow fell now, and the smell of smoke curling into the sky from two chimneys was strong, but she barely noticed.
She fastened her gaze on the portion of the structure at the right. Double doors, wide enough for...coffins. “You’re an undertaker?”
“Used to be Hammond and Son until fourteen years ago when my father passed on. Now it’s just me. I have help, of course. Too much work for one person to handle.”
She guessed him to be no older than his mid-thirties, so he must have been quite young when he’d taken over the business. He helped her to the ground, where she stood unmoving while he unloaded the baggage. From around the end of the building, a young man joined them, removing his wool cap and giving Violet a lopsided grin.
“This is Henry,” Mr. Hammond told her. “Henry, Miss Bennett.”
“How do, Miss Bennett.”
“Help me take her things upstairs, will you?” Mr. Hammond asked.
Violet hadn’t answered. She stared at the other portion of the building—right beside where she was expected to work and live and sleep. Were there—what did Mr. Hammond call them?—lifeless clients in there now?
Henry grabbed a crate and carried it into the house.
“A lot of people have an aversion to my occupation,” Mr. Hammond said. “Is it going to be a problem for you?”
“It’s just—well—you didn’t mention it in your telegrams.”
He hefted the other crate onto his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d come if I did.”
She stared at his retreating back.
* * *
Ben Charles made a concerted effort not to grunt or sweat, since he’d been adamant about his ability to lift and tote Miss Bennett’s belongings. The young woman had apparently packed bricks and planned to add an addition to his home while she was here.
He’d fully expected her revulsion regarding his profession and his home, and it had only been a matter of time until he’d seen the reaction on her face. “Henry will return for your bag,” he called over his shoulder.
He experienced a slim measure of guilt for not telling her up front, but she wouldn’t have come. And they needed her. He’d been relieved to find someone to take over the kitchen and he’d been eager for her to arrive. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, but the pretty doe-eyed Violet Bennett wasn’t it. There was something too vulnerable about her. Something that made him shudder when he thought of her traveling alone.
As soon as he’d seen her, he’d felt guilty that he hadn’t gone to get her, as he had for Tessa when she’d come home from boarding school last year. “Thank You for keeping her safe, Lord,” he whispered.
He stopped on the landing midway up the stairs and looked back.
She stood in the enormous tiled entry, staring up at the ceiling where cherubs cavorted with plaster ribbons, then studied the shining oak stairs and banister. She glanced at the east wall of the foyer, and he read the questions on her lovely face. She wondered what was on the other side.
He imagined he saw her shudder.
Henry passed Ben Charles on his way back down and greeted Miss Bennett. “I’ll be right back with your bag.”
She looked up, caught Ben Charles watching her and quickly composed her features. As long as she was a decent cook, a person of good moral character—and Tessa liked her—he intended to do everything in his power to keep Miss Bennett here.
Violet gathered the hem of her traveling skirt and climbed the stairs, her aching feet protesting. At the top was an open room with an arched and draped window facing the rear of the house, and framing a white-blanketed lawn and the copse of trees beyond. The room held floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and assorted plush furniture.
“Tessa!” Mr. Hammond called, startling Violet.
“No need to shout, Ben Charles. I’m right here.” A slim young woman stood from one of the chairs facing the window and rested a book on the seat she’d vacated. Her rose-colored dress was nicer than anything Violet owned, though it was simple in design. The girl walked forward.
“This is Miss Bennett.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Tessa said, without a smile. “Your room is ready. My brother gave you the one next to mine.”
Violet followed her, and when Tessa stepped back, she entered first. Two windows opened to the west, taking advantage of the side of the structure away from the funeral parlor, thank goodness. At least she would be on the opposite side.
A small fireplace burned, warming the room and adding a comforting hiss. The walls were papered with a pale peach wide scrolling pattern. One wall held a bureau. Handkerchief drawers held lamps and the top a trifold mirror. On the opposite wall stood a tall armoire with carved roses adorning the doors and drawers.
The head of the bed, with its white wrought-iron spindles, stood between the windows, and a calico spread in colors matching the throw rugs was topped with comfortable-looking pillows. A plump chair stood near the fireplace.
The room was so bright and welcoming, Violet had difficulty imagining it as part of the funeral parlor.
“Can you start tomorrow?” Ben Charles asked from behind her.
She turned to face him. “What about supper this evening?”
“We’ll make do like we have been.”
“I’m here now, and we will all need a meal. I’d feel better if you let me start right away.”
“You’ll get no argument from me. Poke around the pantry and the kitchen. As soon as you want to shop, either Henry or I will take you. There’s a tub and running water in the water closet across the hall. Also a small coal stove to heat a kettle of hot water. I’ll start the stove now.”
“I can’t imagine I’ll want for anything.” The accommodations were far more luxurious than anything she was used to.
Henry entered with her bag. He set it down and used a hammer he’d brought along to remove the lids from the crates. Once he’d finished, she thanked him and he exited silently.
“Tessa will help you unpack.” Ben Charles turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Tessa studied the door with an uncertain expression.
“You don’t have to stay.” Violet sensed her discomfort and she wondered how Tessa felt about Violet coming to live in their home. “I can take care of my things if you want to run along.”
The girl took a few steps into the center of the room. “I don’t mind.”
She remained quiet as Violet opened the bag and stacked clothing on the bed.
“That’s a pretty watch,” she said finally, as Violet placed her undergarments in a drawer.
Violet stopped to touch the timepiece she wore. “It was my mother’s.”
“Has she passed on?”
Her brother had used the same phrase. “Yes.”
“My mother passed on when I was a baby. And I was only two when my father died.”
“You were still just a baby,” Violet said. “Your brother raised you?”
She nodded. “We had Mrs. Gable to take care of us until a few months ago. Her sister got sick, and she went to take care of her family.”
“Was this her room?”
“No, she stayed downstairs. Ben Charles said this room hasn’t been used much at all. He painted the ceiling and had the wallpaper replaced.”
Violet took out several books and a few framed pictures she’d wrapped in clothing.
“Are those of your family?”
“I don’t have any likenesses of my parents. These are pictures of horses I saved from magazines. I’d like to hang them on the wall if you don’t think your brother would mind.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Once Violet had set down the frames, Tessa looked at the pictures. “You’re fond of horses?”
Violet nodded. “They’re incredible animals.”
“There are several in the stable.” Tessa stepped to the window. “There are two in the corral now.”
Violet joined her and held back the curtain to gaze out at the horses. “Both are black.”
“They’re all black. Ben Charles says they look smart pulling the hearse.”
Violet let go of the curtain.
“Surely after your trip you’re ready for a bath. I’ll go check on the hot water and fill the tub,” Tessa said.
* * *
The best part of her bath was warming her feet. Violet could have stayed in the tub the rest of the day, but the water cooled and she finished bathing. Less than an hour later she let her hair dry by the fire before dressing and making her way to the kitchen. She carried her stack of white aprons, in hopes of finding a convenient place to store them.
Though the house was forty years old, the kitchen held the original charm, but boasted an icebox and two electric pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. Violet tested one by turning the key above the bulb. Incandescent light filled the room. In the town where she’d come from, only stores had used electric lighting.
Turning, she discovered a stove she’d seen only in the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog. With shiny chrome edges and ornate trim, the range was conveniently waist high with a reservoir in the back and a narrow shelf above. She hoped it wasn’t fueled by gas. She’d read about those and the idea didn’t sit well. Hesitantly she checked behind, to her relief seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She had enough new things to learn. On closer inspection she found ashes inside and a supply of evenly cut wood in a cubby on the brick wall. The supply could be stocked from a small door on the outside.
Through a long window she surveyed the tidy dooryard, spotting no garden or any type of animal. After familiarizing herself with cupboards and the pantry, she made a list. In one cupboard she discovered a row of shapely narrow bottles filled with dark liquid, and recognized the cola drink from magazine advertisements.
“A refreshment is in order after your journey.”
She turned at Ben Charles’s voice. He wore dark trousers, with galluses crossing his shoulders over a white shirt. His hair looked as though he’d run his fingers through it in lieu of a comb. He seemed more approachable this way, less severe. She had an inappropriate urge to reach up and push a lock of hair from his forehead. Her fingers tingled, so she clasped her hands. “Perhaps a cup of tea,” she answered.
“Tea if you prefer. Or you might join me in a glass of cola?”
She wanted to taste the drink. “Yes, thank you.”
“Grab a couple of glasses.” He took a pick and mallet from atop the icebox, opened the insulated door and knelt to chip ice.
Violet brought him a bowl, and studied his wide flexing shoulders as he filled the bowl with ice slivers, then stood and filled both glasses. He’d lifted her crates as though they were light as a feather, which she knew they weren’t. With a bottle opener he took from a nail inside a cupboard door, he removed the metal caps. The hissing sound surprised her as much as the mist that rose from inside the bottles.
Ben Charles filled both glasses halfway and foam rose on the surfaces of the liquid. After waiting a moment he filled them the rest of the way and handed her a glass.
She met his gray-green gaze for a moment, before taking the drink. Her fingertips brushed his, warm against the cold glass.
The bubbles tickled her nose before she could get her lips to edge of the glass. Startled, she drew back.
Her employer lifted his glass and took a long swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his white shirt.
Violet took a dainty sip, blinked at the carbonation and then drank a swallow. The overpowering bite and syrupy sweetness took her by surprise. Her eyes watered. “Oh, my.”
Ben Charles grinned, his full mouth inching into a smile that revealed his teeth and an appealing dimple in his cheek. “Is this your first cola?”
“You must think me very unsophisticated.”
“Your reaction is charming.” He nodded toward the pantry. “Did you find the supplies adequate?”
“I’ll need a few things, but for the most part the pantry is well stocked.”
“Good. The iceman comes by every other day, and the dairy truck stops early each morning. Set the empty bottles outside the back door the night before. When you need wood replenished, leave Henry a message on the chalkboard.”
Violet noted the wood-framed chalkboard near the door. “Everything seems quite efficient.”
“Things run smoothly when they’re organized. Having you here is going to take a big load from my shoulders. I’m not much of a cook.” He finished his drink. “Can you manage supper with what’s here?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll shop tomorrow. I was wondering...”
“What were you wondering?”
“If it might be possible to keep a few chickens.”
He appeared to think for only a moment. “I don’t see why not. If you want to take care of them.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I need eggs to make good coffee.”
He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Coffee?”
“Äggkaffe,” she explained. “I learned from my Swedish father how to make coffee.”
“All right. As weather permits I’ll see about constructing a coop out of the wind.”
“What time would you prefer to have your supper?” she asked.
“We’re used to eating at six.”
She gave a nod to confirm. “Six it shall be.”
“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said. “If you need anything, Tessa is no doubt still upstairs reading and I’ll be right next door.” He set his glass in the basin, and pointed to a door she’d assumed led to a cellar. “Through there.”
He strode to the door and opened it. Violet imagined cold dank air seeping from the other side, but all she saw was a chalkboard just like the one in this room before he closed the door and was gone from sight.
A shiver ran up her spine.
A connecting door.
Everything about her new job had seemed so perfect only moments ago. But now she knew there was a door connecting the place where she’d be spending the majority of her time to the funeral parlor.
Somehow she had to learn to ignore that door and do her job. It was her only choice. Back in Ohio there were people who believed she’d started a fire that had destroyed the bakery where she’d worked.
Her employer had made it clear a year ago that he wanted her to marry his son. Wade Finney had been in trouble so many times, Violet had lost count. He constantly caused an uproar at a local establishment or came to work reeking of alcohol and stale tobacco. Sometimes his friends showed up during work hours and enticed him away from his job. Wade was trouble and she’d held no intentions of marrying him, but his father had constantly pressured her to give Wade a chance. All he needed was a good woman to settle him down, he’d say.
Wade was an only child and Mr. Finney had reminded her often that the bakery would go to his son and whomever he married. While Violet wanted nothing more than to own her own bakery, a life with Wade wasn’t an incentive.
And Wade hadn’t wanted any part of her either. He despised the bakery and everything related to it including her. On that fateful night only weeks ago he’d climbed the side of the boarding house where she’d been staying, broken her window and burst into her room.
Violet had been terrified that he’d come to hurt her. He’d been drinking, and his threats had held a tone she’d never heard before. He’d grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the window. In the moonlight thick smoke had curled into the night sky above the bakery two blocks away. “You soaked your apron with kerosene and used the matches you keep in your bin. You hate me enough to burn down the bakery.”
“I didn’t! I’ve been right here.”
“There are witnesses who saw you near the building only moments ago. My father will believe you set the fire.”
Violet’s heart had pounded in terror and confusion. “Why?”
“Get dressed,” he hissed. “Do you have a bag? I’ll send the rest of your things to the station in Pittsburgh. Send for them using the name Tom Robbins.”
Trembling, she’d taken the dress she’d pressed from a hook. “Turn around. Why are you doing this?”
While she’d dressed he had taken her clothing from the bureau drawers and had shoved it into the valise, then had held up the bag and swept the surfaces with his arm, dumping her belongings into a jumble on top.
She’d perched on the chair and hurriedly pulled on her stockings and boots.
He’d grabbed her hand and roughly shoved something into it. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be stuck in that bakery for the rest of my life.”
“I never had any intention of marrying you.”
“But you were too cowardly to tell my father that. He’d have convinced you eventually.”
“No. No, I—”
“Buy a ticket to somewhere far away. They put people who start fires in jail.”
Violet had stood in the alley behind her boardinghouse, tears streaming down her face. Lights had come on in the windows, and at first she’d thought other boarders had heard the commotion in her room and on the stairs, but as her head had cleared the sounds of people in the street had alerted her. The fire had been discovered.
And Wade was going to make sure everyone believed she was responsible. For a confused moment she’d considered staying and pleading her innocence. She hadn’t done it—surely the truth would come to light.
A window had opened overhead, and a voice had called down. “Violet? Is that you? What are you doing in the alley?”
She’d been standing in the dark with her bags packed for flight. Like a guilty person.
Violet had turned and run.
Now she had no choice but to make this work. Either make a go of it here or leave and hope for something else. She glanced around the Hammonds’ kitchen, her gaze touching on a glass-front cabinet filled with blue-and-white plates and platters. She took in the long uncovered window that let in the light, her aprons stacked on the table.
After starting the stove, she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat for dishwater, then found a drawer in the pantry and stored her aprons.
She could do this. She would do this. She had no other choice.
Chapter Two
In his bright sunlit office Ben Charles ran his finger down a column in the open ledger on his desk. The numbers weren’t adding up today, and the problem was due to the pretty little distraction he’d picked up at the train station.
He’d prayed about hiring someone to help out after Mrs. Gable had resigned to care for her sister. The woman had been with them since Tessa’s childhood. She’d been a part of his and Tessa’s little family. He’d been sorry to see her go, and not only because of her cooking and housekeeping abilities. Her cheerful countenance had been sorely missed these past few months. Tessa needed another female around.
He’d been impressed with Violet’s replies to his ad, but after meeting her he wasn’t confident she had the maturity he’d been counting on. He had a good ten years on her, if not more. Only time would tell if she had what it took to run the place—or the stamina to stay. If God had directed her to them as he’d prayed, then Ben Charles had to believe she would work out. He and Tessa had both grown up in a home where the undertaker lived and worked. For Ben Charles it had been his father, for Tessa that figure was himself. The way they lived was normal to them. A death meant carrying out the duties required for a service and a respectful burial. There was nothing uncomfortable or repelling about it.
In his experience people appreciated his calling and stuck closer than brothers during their time of need. But as for friends and marriage prospects, they kept their distance.
Only once had he thought he’d met someone who understood his work and who would make a good companion. He’d been very young, very naive. Madeline had been interested, but only in a perversely curious fashion. He’d been an oddity, someone her friends whispered about, someone with whom keeping company drew attention, and she’d liked that.
Afterward he’d even wondered if she’d shown interest on a dare, if, after their evenings together, there had been curious inquiries. While hope had sprung to life in his heart, he’d been no more than a passing peculiarity to her. She’d married a banker and moved to Denver. And he’d learned his lesson. He stuck to business, devoted himself to his sister and his work, and didn’t aspire to be like other people.
At five-forty he closed his ledger, capped the bottle of ink and headed next door. The smells emanating from the kitchen made his stomach growl. He’d missed a meal at noon and eaten only a handful of pecans at his desk.
Violet started when he entered the room through the connecting door. “Sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t know whether to set this table or the one in the dining room, so I set that one for you and your sister, and I set places for Henry and me in here.”
He glanced at the two plates on the long wooden table. “Unless you prefer to eat in here, I’d rather you join us in the dining room.”
Her expression showed her surprise.
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
“No, sir. It’s just—well, employees eating with the family is unusual.”
“We’re an unusual family.” He dipped water from the reservoir into a small pitcher. “I’ll be back down in just a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow back stairs.
Tessa wasn’t in her favorite place at the other end of the hall near the front stairs, so he called out.
She poked her head from her room. “I’m ready for dinner.”
A few minutes later, washed and wearing his jacket, Ben Charles pulled out Tessa’s seat and waited for Violet to return and take hers. She blushed as he held her chair. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”
“It’s only scalloped potatoes and ham. Not much effort involved in opening a jar of green beans. I did make biscuits when I saw the crock of honey.”
Henry had seated himself before Ben Charles had entered the room, and his expression showed appreciation for the feast on the table.
Ben Charles reached for Tessa’s hand and she took his immediately. Henry bowed his head. Violet looked from one to the other, then followed their lead.
“Thank You for Your generous provision, Lord,” Ben Charles prayed. “We’re thankful for Miss Bennett’s safe journey and her presence here at our table and in our home. I pray her transition into this household is smooth and that she feels welcome.”
He was praying about her? The only person Violet remembered hearing pray was the reverend who performed her father’s burial service, and his stilted language had sounded nothing at all like the conversational tone Ben Charles was using to speak to God. The heat creeping into her cheeks would no doubt give away her embarrassment at being singled out.
“Keep us healthy, Lord,” he continued. “And bless the abundance of this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We humble ourselves in Your presence and rejoice in Your grace and mercy. It’s in Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Tessa and Henry chorused. Henry picked up his fork. Tessa spread her napkin on her lap. Violet was slow to raise her head, and when she did, she didn’t meet Ben Charles’s eyes. She leaned forward to serve the casserole.
Ben Charles inhaled the aroma of the steaming creamy potatoes on his plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this, Miss Bennett?”
“Both of my parents were excellent cooks,” she replied. “My mother worked for a family for years, and when I was small she took me with her. As she cooked she used to share stories about her family and her childhood. All her recipes were in her head, and she’d add a pinch of this or a handful of that as she talked.”
Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. “Those sound like good memories.”
“They are. My father was a baker. After Mama died and there were only the two of us, I helped him before and after school. Father was precise and businesslike while he measured and mixed.”
“Your parents are no longer living?” Ben Charles asked.
She set her fork on her plate and sat with her hands in her lap. For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer, but then she said, “Mother has been gone since I was small. My father became ill several years ago. He was forced to sell the bakery and I took care of him. After his death nearly two years ago I worked for the man who bought our bakery...until recently when—when it closed.”
The pain of her loss was plain in her voice and expression. “It’s always difficult to lose a parent, whether we’re children or not.” He took a sip from his water glass and glanced at Henry. “Miss Bennett will need to shop. If weather permits tomorrow, please have the carriage ready in the morning.”
“Yessir. It snowed some this afternoon, but nothing to keep us from going out.”
“Tessa, it might be nice if you joined Miss Bennett.”
His sister quirked an eyebrow. “To buy food?”
He’d had this sort of thing in mind when he’d hired Violet, and he might as well start pushing his plan now. “Maybe there’s something else you need. You might introduce her to the seamstress. You two can look at fabric and buttons or whatever it is ladies do.”
Tessa and Violet exchanged a glance. “Yes, of course,” Tessa replied.
“Do you live here, too?” Violet asked Henry.
“No, I have a place at the south end of town. Sometimes I bunk here if the weather’s bad, but not often.” He helped himself to another heaping serving of the potatoes and ham. “You’re a fine cook, Miss Bennett.”
A quick smile lit her features, bringing a new sparkle to her eyes.
Her smile was gone too soon. Ben Charles considered how to elicit one himself, and then realized what he’d been thinking. He used the opportunity sitting across from her to enjoy an assessing look. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny, and she wore it loosely contained on the back of her head, with practical tortoiseshell combs holding it away from her face behind each ear.
Her narrow brows arched gracefully above expressive dark eyes fringed with black lashes. Her ivory skin was a becoming contrast. Her appearance might easily lead one to think she was delicate, but the air of confidence and strength with which she handled herself hinted otherwise. He admired the courage she’d shown by coming to a place she’d never been to work for people she’d never met.
She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t have time to prepare a dessert. But there are jars of peaches, and I hoped one of those might do.”
“Sounds perfect,” he replied. “We can get to know each other better over coffee.” He glanced at Tessa. “And tea.”
Tessa gave him an affectionate smile that said she appreciated his attention to her preference for hot sweet tea. She spent too much time by herself, and he hoped Violet’s presence was going to change that. Though she’d kept much of her unhappiness to herself, she’d been teased and shunned in school, due to living beside the funeral parlor. Once he’d learned the extent of the cruel treatment, he’d removed her immediately and sent her to a boarding school out East.
She’d been painfully homesick and begged him to let her come home—and so of course he had. A tutor came four days a week to guide his sister with her studies.
Violet served the peaches, steaming cups of coffee, and placed a Wedgwood teapot filled with steeping tea within Tessa’s reach.
Ben Charles sweetened his coffee and turned his attention to Violet. “You must be tired after digging right in as soon as you arrived.”
“I’m thankful to have this job.”
“You said the bakery where you worked closed?”
She stood and refilled Henry’s cup, then glanced at Ben Charles’s, which was still full. “The tea should be done.”
Tessa filled her cup. “It smells good.”
Violet had changed the subject, and he surmised that closing what had once been her father’s business was an uncomfortable topic. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Is there anything you want to ask us? I want you to feel at ease.”
Her cheeks were flushed, probably from her chores and the tension of serving her first meal. At last she lifted her gaze to his. There was deep vulnerability in the dark abyss of her eyes, an uncertainty that touched his heart. The same bone-deep protectiveness he felt toward his sister reached its possessive arms toward her.
She wanted to say something, so he waited.
At last she parted her lips to speak. “What time would you like breakfast served?”
He drew on inner reserves to find a shred of detachment, which had never been his strength. “Henry and I will eat in the kitchen at six. Tessa usually wakes later, so keep a plate warm for her.”
This relationship wouldn’t work if he couldn’t keep his objectivity. He could already see the flaw in that plan.
Everything about Violet intrigued him.
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.
Chapter Four
Violet didn’t want to disappoint her employer, who plainly took for granted she’d be going to church. She had no idea how to decide which one to attend, so if a man like Ben Charles attended the Carson Springs First Christian Church, she figured it must be all right. She wore the dress she’d traveled in, because it was the newest, and she took special care with her hair. She had saved a tiny hat that had belonged to her mother, so she pulled it from its box and adjusted it on her hair, securing it with a long pin.
Violet studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to remember what her mother had looked like, wondering if she resembled her. She had only a few mementos and had been fearful she’d never see them again, after her unexpected flight from Ohio.
Her belongings had been stored, awaiting her arrival, when she’d used the name Wade Finney had given her to claim them. While she was still angry and resentful, she was thankful for that small favor. The fistful of money he’d thrust at her had been enough to pay for a room until she found a job, to buy a few pieces of clothing for travel and to send telegrams. Ben Charles had paid for her train tickets and wired her money for expenses to get here.
Already the fire seemed so long ago. She and her father had both grieved over selling the shop to the Finneys and now it had gone up in smoke. At least her father hadn’t lived to see the destruction. Violet got her coat and carried it downstairs.
She’d made biscuits the night before, so they each ate one with a cup of tea before heading out. It had snowed again during the night, and in a few places the snow had drifted over the road. More than once Ben Charles took a shovel from the boot and made a path for the horse. The main street through Carson Springs had been cleared, making the rest of the trip less difficult.
Ben Charles removed his hat as they entered the church, and his hair was damp from exertion. He took a handkerchief from inside his jacket and wiped his forehead, then hung their coats in a cloakroom before coming back and escorting them into the sanctuary.
A few older men spoke to Ben Charles as they made their way forward. About halfway toward the front of the narrow building, he stepped aside and ushered them into a row of pews, Tessa leading the way. Violet sat between brother and sister and studied her surroundings.
Sun shone through the stained-glass windows on one wall and reflected color across the polished pews as well as the heads and shoulders of the people seated in the front rows. The scenes depicted were robed men and women, what she recognized as shepherds, the nativity, the crucifixion. As she looked at each one, she realized there was an order, beginning with the ten commandments, but she didn’t know what the loaves of bread or the men on the fishing boat stood for.
The first strains of organ music caught her attention and she straightened to see who was playing the lovely music.
Glancing aside, she caught Ben Charles watching her. Warmth crept up her cheeks.
“Is this different from where you attended church?” he asked.
“Very different.” She attempted to look away and let the subject drop, but the lie of omission wouldn’t let her keep silent. She looked up into his kind and compassionate eyes. “To be honest, I’ve never been to church before.”
His surprise was evident in his expression. “I hope you enjoy it. If you have any questions, I’ll be glad to answer them afterward.”
She nodded and averted her gaze just as two rows of burgundy-robed men and women filed in from a side door and stood behind the podium.
The preacher joined them before the seated congregation. “Shall we all rise?”
He prayed, but not as conversationally as Ben Charles did. When he’d finished, he sat and the choir led the congregation in songs. It was obvious Ben Charles and Tessa had sung them many times, because they barely looked at the music book the three of them shared, but Violet followed along with the words.
Ben Charles’s nearness beside her as they sang unnerved her. He had a pleasant singing voice, and the barely discernible scents of his woodsy soap and shaving cream pleased her senses. She tried not to be distracted by his hand holding the book or his arm brushing her shoulder, but it was impossible. He was larger than life and because of that his presence took up more space and air than the average person.
The preacher talked about Moses, and Ben Charles turned to the story in the front of his Bible. He held it so Violet could see, too. She listened with fascination as the man spoke of the pharaoh who kept the Israelites in bondage to his will, and how God called on Moses to lead the people to freedom. The man had a gift for storytelling, and Violet sat enthralled as he related how the pharaoh’s chariots chased the Israelites and the sea parted to let them escape, then closed behind them, swallowing up the enemies in pursuit.
Occasionally she looked at Ben Charles’s Bible to see that the preacher was indeed relating the story as it unfolded there.
After another song the service ended. A few neighbors introduced themselves to Violet, and Ben Charles introduced her to the preacher, whom he called Reverend Densmore.
“You’re welcome to join us for lunch,” Ben Charles told Violet as they made their way through the path in the snow to the carriage. “But remember it’s your day off, and you may do anything you please.”
She didn’t know anyone else yet, and she had no idea where she’d go, except back to the house alone. “I’d like to join you. Thank you for the invitation.”
The dining room of the Conrad Hotel was decorated in warm tones, and a blazing fire burned in a huge stone fireplace. Sounds of glasses and silverware were muted by the massive beams overhead and velvet swag draperies tied back with gold cords.
A waiter brought them menus and Violet studied the meals listed and the prices.
“The roast chicken is always good,” Tessa told her. “And the pot roast is tender. It’s served with potatoes and carrots in a delicious gravy.”
“What do you like?” she asked Ben Charles.
“I almost always get a steak or the trout. And their cook does something special with the fried potatoes that makes them crispy.”
When the waiter returned she ordered the trout. They were served steaming bowls of dark onion soup while they waited for their meals.
“Was that story true?” she asked Ben Charles. “About Moses and the pharaoh?”
“I believe the Bible is the inspired Word of God and everything in it is true,” he replied. “The men who recorded the happenings were the scholars of their time and wrote it all down as God led them. The Scripture was preserved over time. Scrolls were translated, and eventually type was set and the Bible printed into languages we can all understand.”
“It’s just kind of hard to imagine a sea opening up and letting six hundred thousand men walk through.”
“Able-bodied men, the verses say,” Ben Charles agreed. “Plus the children and all the women—probably old men who weren’t able-bodied being carried. And their herds and flocks, and the spoils they’d taken from the Egyptians.”
“Think of how long it must have taken to get across the sea,” Violet said in awe.
“I read about that sea in my studies,” Tessa spoke up. “It’s known as the Sea of Aquaba now, but it was the Red Sea in the Old Testament. Men have discovered a three-mile-wide land bridge from one side of the sea to the other. Archaeologists suggest a strong wind held back a few feet of water temporarily.” She glanced at her brother. “Remember when I showed that to you?”
Ben Charles nodded.
“Then perhaps the whole thing can be explained by natural means,” Violet suggested.
Ben Charles smiled. “Archeologists know about that land bridge now, but God knew about it all along. He planned it at creation for such a time as He’d need it to save Moses and his people. I don’t believe in coincidence. Even if He used natural means to save His people, God prepared the way supernaturally.”
Violet had a lot of information to absorb. “It’s all so fascinating.”
“The story itself or how God planned ahead to save the Israelites?” Ben Charles asked.
“Both,” she said with a smile. “This God of yours seems pretty amazing.”
Ben Charles exchanged a glance with his sister. They both smiled at her.
A middle-aged couple stopped to speak with Ben Charles briefly. He introduced them to Violet. “We will see you tomorrow,” the gentleman said as they departed.
“What’s tomorrow?” Violet asked.
“Guy Chapman’s funeral service and burial.”
“The ground’s not too frozen?” Tessa asked.
“Henry and his helpers were able to open the plot yesterday,” he replied.
Violet’s mood plummeted.
She finished her tea and folded her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to know gruesome details of the burial.
As though he sensed her discomfort, Ben Charles changed the subject, asking her if she cared for dessert. She was full, as was Tessa, so he paid the bill and they headed for the house.
“I hope snow holds off a day longer,” he said as they sat huddled in a row on the seat of the buggy.
The heavy gray sky issued a warning.
“Is Mr. Chapman’s family traveling?” Tessa asked.
“Only a son from Iowa, and he’s already here,” Ben Charles replied. “The rest of his family is close by.”
The ride home went smoothly, since Ben Charles had already cleared the road for the horses on their way to church.
“I’ll be reading,” Tessa said once he assisted them down from the carriage.
He led the horses and buggy to the carriage house.
After hanging her coat and changing out of her good dress, Violet decided to look around the rest of the house. So far she’d only familiarized herself with the kitchen and dining room and the pantries. A formal sitting room at the front of the house was filled with ornate furniture, framed paintings, potted ferns and bric-a-brac. Violet assumed it had been decorated by Ben Charles’s mother many years ago. After checking the dirt in which the ferns grew, she got a pitcher and made several trips, watering the thirsty plants.
Across the hall and farther down the hallway she discovered a massive pocket door. Initially she’d assumed this side of the house backed the funeral parlor, but since it didn’t she rolled back the door and instead discovered another well-appointed room. This one held more comfortable sofas and chairs, paintings of floral arrangements, several colorful lithographs, a pianoforte and a massive stone fireplace.
On either side of the huge windows at the front were large open shelves displaying vases and busts and wood carvings of horses.
Violet liked the muted wallpaper, the geometric-patterned carpets and the glass bowls of shells and small stones. She’d never seen so many different types of shells and she studied several of them.
Seating herself on a comfortable sofa, she enjoyed the immense space and the care and detail that had gone into every object. The other was a formal room, perhaps for receiving guests, but this one felt welcoming and comfortable. Basking in the tranquility, she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d had a moment’s peace like this.
Nearly half an hour had passed when footsteps alerted her to Ben Charles approaching from the hallway. He entered the room and spotted her. “You must be chilly. I’ll add a log to the fire.”
“Now that you mention it, I guess it’s a little cool in here. I was enjoying the room so much I really didn’t notice.”
He opened a hinged box near the stone fireplace and took out a good-size log, which he added to the fire. After he used the poker to arrange it, and added a few sticks, the flames licked around the log, sending their warmth into the room.
“Better?”
“Much. Thank you. I hope it’s all right that I came in here.”
“This is your home, Violet. That’s why I told you to make yourself comfortable.”
“No one could be anything but comfortable in this room. Did your mother decorate it?”
He glanced at the wall surrounding the fireplace. “No. Actually about five years ago I refurnished this room to be less formal and more peaceful.”
“Well, you achieved that nicely. I admit I haven’t been in another home as nice as yours, but I can’t imagine anywhere more like a place of refuge.”
“That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.” He brushed his palms together. “I didn’t come to disturb you. I wanted to check on the fireplaces and see what was needed this afternoon.”
“You’re not disturbing me. If this is where you spend your Sunday afternoons, please don’t let me displace you.”
“I don’t want you to feel as though you have no privacy.”
“When I need privacy I’ll go to my room. Which is another joy to occupy, I mean to assure you.”
“If you’d like to make changes, feel free to do so. Is there anything you’d like to add or remove?”
“Perhaps a few shelves for my own books, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Just show me what you’d like to see.”
She sat forward. “I saved a photograph from a magazine. It shows shelves above the windows. If you think the idea is acceptable, I could pay for it myself.”
He shook his head. “Show me the clipping and I’ll see to it.”
“I’ll go get it right now.” Halfway to the door, she paused. “If that’s all right.”
He waved her on. When she returned he was seated on one of the sofas, a large book open beside him. He took the picture from her. After a few minutes of discussion he asked her if he could keep the magazine page to show the carpenter. “He’s the same fellow who did this room. He’ll do a good job for us.”
“I have a few framed pictures I’d like to hang in my room if that’s all right with you.”
“Perfectly all right.”
Tessa joined them, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot and three cups. “Time for refreshment, don’t you agree?”
She set the tray on a nearby table and served them.
Ben Charles watched Violet’s demeanor change, and recognized she was uncomfortable with the role reversal. “We don’t want to push ourselves on you, Violet,” he said in a gentle tone.
Her dark gaze moved to his, and he read her uncertainty.
“Perhaps if you think of Sunday as a family day, and remember we want you as part of our family, you’ll be more comfortable.”
A flicker of pain crossed her features, but she quickly hid it. “I’ll try.”
Chapter Five
The afternoon sun streaming through the front windows enhanced the color of Violet’s eyes, which always appeared so dark. In this light they were a rich deep mahogany, flecked with gold and green. The last thing Ben Charles wanted to do was impose on her and scare her off. Apparently she had no one else, and everyone needed a family. His might be small, but he and Tessa had a lot to offer.
“We have a new player to draw into our games?” his sister said as she settled beside Violet. The last word had ended on a higher note, indicating her question.
“I was hoping to make a good impression this first weekend,” he replied with good humor. “Not send her packing.”
“What games are you referring to?” Violet asked.
Tessa got up and took one of the game boards from the wall.
“I thought those were colorful lithographs,” Violet said with surprise.
“They’re game boards,” Tessa replied. “This one is my favorite.”
The game she referred to was ’Round the World with Nellie Bly. Tessa had loved to play this one since she was a child. “She’s read Nellie Bly’s book a dozen times,” Ben Charles told Violet.
“Have you read it?” Tessa asked, her expression animated.
“Indeed I have,” Violet answered. “I was twelve when she made headlines. My father and I followed her column in the New York World from the moment she left New Jersey, through the Mediterranean, across the Suez Canal and the Indian Ocean, to Japan, all the way until she arrived in New York City. It was the most exciting adventure a girl could imagine.”
The pleasure on Tessa’s face was worth a hundred Sunday afternoons of playing her game. “I was too young then to remember,” she said. “But I read the newspaper accounts in the archives at the library.”
Their conversation convinced Ben Charles once and for all that God had answered his prayers and sent Violet. Emotion spread throughout his chest, like a comforting emollient for a previously aching heart. Thank You, Lord. Your mercies are indeed new every morning.
“How do you play?” Violet asked.
From a cabinet Tessa gathered the spinner and worn wooden tokens and explained the simple forward and backward movement in the spiral of spaces. “This isn’t Ben Charles’s favorite game, but he indulges me.”
Violet met his eyes, her appreciation and compassion obvious. She gave him a tentative smile that changed the warmth in his chest to something else. Something hotter and more surprising.
Something that didn’t resemble appreciation in the least.
“What is your favorite game?” she asked.
“I don’t mind a competitive game of croquet,” he replied. “Weather permitting.”
“I keep telling him there is a parlor croquet set in Mr. Levine’s shop.”
He grimaced. “If it must be a board game, then I prefer Carrom.”
“You fling little disks across the board into pockets.” Tessa wrinkled her nose the same way she had since she was five and pointed to one of the larger boards on the wall. “Did your family play games at home?”
“Only checkers,” Violet answered.
“Maybe we could read Around the World in Seventy-Two Days together,” Tessa suggested.
Violet didn’t blink an eye. “I would enjoy that.”
Ben Charles believed she meant it.
Violet joined the play with enthusiasm, and the two young women pointed out the details of the book at each space on the board. His sister’s animation and smile gave him immense satisfaction. The game lasted a couple of hours, until he got hungry. “I’m going to go get us a tray of ham and cheese and bread.”
“I can do that,” Violet spoke up.
“It’s your day off,” he reminded her. “We’re used to fending for ourselves on Sunday evenings. We can pop corn over the fire later.”
It was obvious their routine and customs were new to Violet. He and his sister spent a lot of time alienated from others, but perhaps even in their seclusion they’d been more like a family than anything Violet had experienced.
They shared a simple meal, and later ate popcorn. Tessa played a few pieces on the pianoforte. When she’d finished she said to Violet, “I had a nice time. Thanks for joining the game.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Tessa kissed Ben Charles’s cheek. “Thank you, too. And don’t say it was your pleasure.”
“It’s my pleasure to see you happy.”
She briefly pressed her cheek to his. “I’m going upstairs to read before bed. Good night.”
Once she was gone, Violet stood and leaned over to gather their dishes on the tray. Without standing, Ben Charles extended his hand and placed it on her wrist. “I’ll do that.”
She looked at his hand, but he didn’t remove it.
He should have.
She was new to their household. He intended for theirs to be a strictly working relationship, but he felt a constant need to assure her she was part of their family. He had no business changing their agreement or making her uncomfortable by letting new feelings get in the way.
She’d only been here a few days.
In those brief moments while her gaze moved from his hand to his face, he went over all the reasons why he needed to keep his distance.
But everything about Violet appealed to him and made him feel protective. He told himself he held only a brotherly concern, like that he felt for Tessa, but the lie didn’t convince him.
She didn’t pull her arm away. Her curious gaze searched his eyes and moved to his lips. His chest expanded with warmth, and he reminded himself to breathe.
He wanted to kiss Violet Bennett.
Kissing would definitely be inappropriate. She was in his employ.
“Was there something else you wanted?” she asked finally.
He released her wrist finally. “I’ll carry that to the kitchen and bank the fire. Run along and get some rest.”
His voice was gruffer than he’d intended.
She straightened, wished him a good-night and left the room. Once she was gone, he could breathe more easily. He had a long day ahead tomorrow, and he needed to rest, not stir up his thoughts and reactions to the new cook. He had more fortitude than that.
By midnight he questioned that reasoning.
Chapter Six
Ben Charles and Henry both came to breakfast dressed in black suits and white shirts. Violet couldn’t help a second look at Ben Charles’s neatly combed hair. He wore a ring with a gold letter on a flat black stone on his little finger. She’d never seen the piece of jewelry before. As she served his coffee, she noted the initial was a cursive H.
He smelled good, too—clean with a hint of barely discernible spice. She remembered the warmth of his fingers on her wrist the night before. She hadn’t been able to sleep because of that touch. She’d lain awake thinking of the game the three of them had played and the smiles they’d shared. For brief moments during those hours she’d been able to forget she was alone in the world. In those minutes she’d felt accepted and like a part of something valuable.
This morning, seeing him in his funeral clothing ready to perform his duties, she was forced to remember how different the two of them were. She was curious now about the schedule and events, but too cowardly to speak of it.
Tessa surprised her by joining them, dressed in a lovely black dress with pouf sleeves. A sash belted her waist, the tail of the bow streaming down the front of the skirt. Up close, intricate silver-gray embroidery was visible on the bodice. Tessa would be attending the funeral?
As if recognizing Violet’s puzzlement, she spoke up. “I help arrange the flowers and chairs in the family room, and I greet family and friends as they arrive.” She glanced at her brother. “If a need arises, Ben Charles lets me know and I’m there to handle it.”
“You didn’t know Guy, but the service is at ten if you care to attend,” Ben Charles told her. “Don’t worry about our noon meal. There will be food served after the burial. You’re welcome to join us.”
Just the thought made Violet’s heart beat more quickly. She didn’t know how people could eat after something like that. “Thank you, but I’ll stay here.”
“That’s fine.” Ben Charles finished his second cup of coffee.
“There was a moose on the road this morning,” Henry said.
“Male or female?” Ben Charles asked.
“Male. He wasn’t inclined to move either.”
“Will you check the road again before ten?” Ben Charles asked. “We don’t want that animal hindering our guests’ arrival.” He looked to Violet. “If you go out of doors for any reason, keep an eye out. This time of year the moose can be aggressive. They’re hungry and traveling a long way to look for food. They see humans as threats and will attack.”
She nodded her understanding.
After they’d gone and she’d washed the dishes, she wondered if she’d done the right thing by insisting she stay here. Ben Charles hadn’t seemed perturbed by her decision, and it wasn’t part of her job to attend events at the mortuary.
It was Monday, and as such it was a good day to change bedding, gather the laundry and do some extra cleaning, especially since she didn’t have to plan and cook a meal midday.
Upon entering Ben Charles’s room, her attention was immediately drawn to an enormous stuffed owl perched on a branch atop a round table in the middle of the room. Its eyes seemed to follow her as she stepped around it, a chill spreading up her spine. The room was functional, with heavy pieces of furniture and a collection of feathers under a piece of glass on a long table. She changed the sheets, then dusted and swept the floor.
Tessa’s room was as cheerful as her own, with lacy curtains at the windows and an assortment of bisque dolls on a shelf. On one wall hung an arrangement of four magazine covers, all depicting Nellie Bly in her signature coat and carrying her carpetbag. Violet took a moment to study the colorful images, and she smiled, remembering the girl’s enthusiasm.
Quiet and bookish, Tessa was enamored by the adventurous story and the spirit of a world traveler, but when she’d been sent to boarding school, she’d begged to come home. Violet pictured her in this room as a child, mourning the death of her mother. She was fortunate to have Ben Charles.
Violet went about her work, changed her own bedding and still it was barely after nine. After finding the canvas bags for the laundry and packing it all up for Henry to take to the washhouse, she made herself a pot of tea and sipped a steaming cup.
It took her a few minutes to gather cleaning supplies. She planned to dust and sweep the two drawing rooms before noon. So far she’d kept away from the windows, and she intended to avoid them so she wouldn’t see the comings and goings next door.
Stopping beside the pocket door that led to the room they’d used the evening before, she set down her pail and rags in the hall, grasped the indented metal finger hold and slid open the door.
The unexpected sight of a dozen people dressed in black took her aback. Men and women mingled, speaking in low tones. Tessa, who’d been listening to a woman speak, glanced at Violet over the person’s shoulder. She gave Violet a soft smile. The woman turned to see who Tessa had looked at, but then distractedly went back to what she’d been saying.
Heart pounding with surprise and embarrassment, Violet tugged the heavy door closed as quietly as she was able. Grabbing her cleaning supplies, she darted into the formal parlor. She stood unmoving for several minutes, absorbing what had just taken place...and what she’d learned.
The lovely room where she’d felt such peace the night before was now being used as a gathering place for mourners. She hadn’t noticed another door on the opposite side until her quick glance today. The space had been open to a hallway on the opposite side.
Neither Tessa or Ben Charles had bothered to mention the room’s use to her. Should she find withholding that information disturbing—or hadn’t either one thought of it? She blocked all thoughts of what was going on next door from her mind.
Violet jerked into action and gave the room a good study before deciding what needed done. She covered all the furniture before dusting the ceiling, wiping the walls and cleaning light fixtures. She wasn’t going to get to the other room today, so she’d focus her attention here and do a thorough job.
Finished with the dusting, she pulled off the furniture drapes and carried them out the back door to shake them.
For the second time that day she drew up short.
Fifty yards from the back door stood an enormous moose. Its size—probably six feet high at its shoulders—shocked her. The beast swung its head to look at her as she exited the house. It had begun to snow and the fluffy white flakes showed up against the animal’s dark hide. The moose’s impressive rack of antlers spread over a foot and a half on either side of its blunt-featured head. The moose stared at her, but didn’t move.
She dropped the cloths in the snow and backed up, nearly stumbling in her haste to get safely back inside. Closing the door securely, she went to the long window. The moose had a huge hump across its shoulders and a long hairy beardlike thing hanging under its chin.
The connecting door opened, startling her yet again. She released an involuntary squeak and spun to discover Tessa.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked. “I brought you a late lunch.” She set a napkin-covered tray on the table.
“The moose,” Violet told her. “It’s outside the back door.”
Tessa joined her at the window. “He’s a big one. I’ll let Ben Charles know, so he can keep an eye out as the guests leave.” She glanced at Violet’s face. “Did you go outside?”
Violet nodded. “I was going to shake the furniture covers. I left them out there in the snow.”
“They’re fine. I’ll help you with them later.”
“What does that thing eat?”
“Roots and shoots. Conifers. They’re like giant deer. You’ve never seen one before?”
“Never.”
“Hunters shoot them for their antlers. For the most part the moose are only looking to survive. This one is big and probably eats a lot of food in a day. Today he got a little too close to town, but we’re living in his territory, after all.”
Violet studied the beast with a different perspective. “Do the hunters eat them?”
“I don’t think so. They just shoot them for the trophy.”
“Seems like a cruel thing to do.”
“I agree.” Tessa moved away from the window. “Try the little sandwiches Mrs. Match brought. They’re delicious. And I got a slice of cake for you before it was gone.”
“Thank you, Tessa. I didn’t get around to eating. I’ve been busy. I’d better think about supper once I’ve tasted the lunch.”
“People will be heading home soon. I’ll stay until the last guest is gone and then put away chairs while Ben Charles and Henry see to the grave.”
Violet’s stomach plummeted. She nodded.
After Tessa had gone, she peered at the food. The thought of eating didn’t appeal to her, but she forced herself to taste the sandwich. Again taking control of her thoughts, she moved a chair before the window, carried her plate and sat to observe the moose.
It had moved farther away and was nibbling at twigs poking through the snow. She nibbled at a slice of pickle. She and that moose were getting by the best they knew how. She found the humor in comparing herself to a moose and finished her funeral meal before setting about preparing supper.
It was still early enough to cook a roast, so she browned the meat and set the covered pan in the oven before peeling potatoes and turnips.
She had time later to wash and change before supper. Henry didn’t join them that evening. “The sky is threatening snow, so he went on home,” Ben Charles explained after he’d prayed. “He looks after his elderly grandfather.”
“He never mentioned it,” Violet replied.
“News is there’s a storm farther north, and it’s heading this way. I strung a rope from the back door to the stable before I came in.”
“What for?”
“If visibility is poor, I can find my way there and back to feed and water the horses.”
“I can help you.”
“We’ll see what it looks like in the morning. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
They ate, and the siblings were unusually quiet. Violet assumed they were tired from their long day.
“I liked the biscuits,” Tessa told her.
“Klenor,” Violet explained. “Sweet cream makes the difference. I made trivilies for dessert.” She brought a tray with a plate full of the pastries and cups of coffee. Hot tea for Tessa. The walnut and oatmeal sandwich cookies held a layer of date filling.
“There wasn’t anything this tasty at the luncheon today,” Ben Charles said. “You go to a lot of work for us.”
“I could make these in my sleep,” she said. “At the bakery I made hundreds at a time. Even a dozen seems like a lot for us. The extras will be in the pantry.”
“Not for long,” Ben Charles said, reaching for another.
The dining room was on the side of the house against the funeral home, so there were no windows. Violet was surprised when she returned to the kitchen to hear the wind howling against the door and window. She peered out to discover a flurry of swirling white flakes obscuring the backyard and the stable.
“I grabbed the cloths that were in a heap in the yard,” Ben Charles said from behind her.
“Oh, thank you. I’m afraid I dropped it when the moose startled me.”
“Henry thinks he’s moved on. The animal must have sensed the storm coming and come foraging.”
“I never knew a moose was so large!”
“That’s why I cautioned you to be alert.”
“I’d have run from that fellow even without forewarning.”
Tessa helped her with the dishes, while Ben Charles went next door.
That evening Violet selected a book and sat with Tessa in her upstairs getaway. Later the hallway grew chilly, so they decided to move to their rooms where they could stoke their fireplaces.
Alone in her room with the wind battering the window, Violet was thankful for her job and for a warm place to sleep at night. This home was built of brick, and inside they were safe from the elements. She was comfortable here, and the Hammonds treated her well. Church and Ben Charles’s prayers were new to her, but he and Tessa set great store by God, and Violet had no evidence they were wrong.
At a tap on her door she stood from her chair, with her shawl wrapped around her, and opened it.
Ben Charles stood in the hallway, holding an armful of logs. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid I got busy, but I wanted to make sure you had enough wood to last the night.”
She took a step back. “Thank you. I’m keeping quite warm, thank you.”
He placed the wood in the bin beside the fireplace and brushed bits of bark from his sleeve, then picked them up and tossed them into the fire. After striding back to the door, he turned momentarily. “Sleep well.”
She closed the door behind him and listened to his footsteps move away down the hallway. A feeling of well-being akin to nothing she’d ever experienced washed over her.
She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she belonged here.
Chapter Seven
Ben Charles awoke to the sound of the wind. During the winter months when he wasn’t tending to graves or grounds, he had time to work on headstones. He found it immensely satisfying to create monuments that would last through the ages and bless the families of the departed.
In his workshop were stacks of flat cut marble and he had been looking forward to time to work on them.
The tantalizing smells of coffee and bacon drew him to the kitchen, where Violet coached Tessa on cutting circles from a layer of dough. “What are you ladies up to?”
“Violet’s teaching me to drop doughnuts.” Tessa took two of the circles she’d cut and turned to place them in an enormous skillet of grease.
The resulting popping sounds and the smell made Ben Charles’s stomach rumble. “I have an idea where you can drop a couple of those doughnuts.” With a grin, he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I’ll fix you a plate,” Violet offered.
He stopped her with a raised hand. “I’ll get my own. You’re busy.”
The oven held pans of bacon and a platter of pancakes she’d kept warming.
“I helped make those, too,” his sister called.
Ben Charles sat to eat, enjoying Violet and Tessa’s chatter as much as the food. “The road must have been too bad for Henry to venture out this morning.”
“I can’t tell if there’s more snow falling or if all that snow in the air is coming from the roof and the trees,” Violet replied.
Ben Charles got up for more coffee and stopped at the window. “Looks like a little of both.” He filled his cup. “Will you two be all right today if I fill the woodbins and then go work in my shop?”
“We’ll be fine,” Tessa answered. “We’re making an applesauce cake after these.”
He took a doughnut from the plate of finished ones and tasted the warm sugary goodness. “What will you do with extra baked goods we can’t eat?”
Violet looked up with a stricken expression. “Is this wasteful?”
“Not at all. I’ve enjoyed every single treat to come out of your kitchen so far. And it’s obviously an excellent learning opportunity for Tessa. She’s enjoying herself, and that makes me happy.”
“Maybe we can take extras to people in town,” Tessa suggested. “Not today, of course, but when the weather permits.”
“Good idea.” Ben Charles nabbed another doughnut. “Now I’d better go before I eat the entire batch.”
“Will you be back at lunch?” Violet asked.
He caught the expectant look on her face, and his stomach dipped unexpectedly. “Indeed, I will.”
“What will you be doing today?” Tessa asked.
“I have a couple of more days’ work before Ivan Chambers’s stone is finished.”
“May we bring your lunch and watch you for a while?” She turned to Violet. “I love to watch him work. Will you join me?”

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