by Liz Turner
Margie’s smile turned sad. “He really left you everything he owned when he passed, didn’t he?”
Dolly’s eyes filled with tears. “He had faith in me when no one else would, Margie. He was like a father to me,” Margie nodded, touching her shoulder very gently. “My father died when I was very little, so I never knew someone like Henry. He took me into his home and adopted me, unofficially. He taught me to bake and to manage people, then left me his run down winery and the bakery to make sure I could make a life for my own family.” She smiled at Margie. “He was a good man, Henry. But, he ran out of the energy to run both of these places, so the winery needed a lot of work. But it’s great now, isn’t it?”
Margie nodded at a loss for words. Poor Henry. The town of Bristol was never quite the same without him. It was odd he never married, considering how much he loved Dolly and nearly raised her when she left home at 15.
I’m going to end up like Henry. Margie thought, a little bitterly.
She shooed that thought away, determined to focus on the task at hand. It was important to make sure that the maiden voyage of this winery went as well as possible, and that meant her food would have to be something special. Dolly was counting on her to have a fabulous first main course.
So it was time to get on it.
Margie ended up with a team of eight. Most of the men and women of her kitchen were all young; they were probably students at the local high school, but they all looked like they were competent. Most likely Dolly scared them; she could be vicious when she had to be. Margie glanced around at all of them, her stomach sinking. I’ve never managed anyone before, she realized, feeling panicked and doing her best not to show it. I guess... well. Here goes nothing.
She cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Margie, and I’m going to be the chef in the kitchen until the full-time guy shows up.” She paused for a moment, trying to gauge the looks that everyone gave her. They all seemed attentive, so she kept going. “I just finished culinary school last week, and I will be completing my final internship in a month. Now, if everyone would go around the room, introduce yourselves, and give me a little background on what you like to cook and your strengths.”
Margie pulled out a notebook and pen and started taking notes as they each introduced themselves. “I’m Karen,” said one of the girls, her voice so quiet that Margie almost couldn’t hear her. “I’m working to help my mum out with household expenses. I’m a...” she hesitated for a moment and looked around, “junior in high school, and I am pretty good at cooking and cleaning up.”
Most of the other kids had similar stories, their cooking experience was just for their families or friends. But there was one exception.
“Good morning, everyone; I’m John Stanley,” said the only other adult in the room. He was handsome, his blonde hair and green eyes making him stand out from the rest of the mostly brown-haired and brown eyed kids in the room. He looked to be about Margie’s age; perhaps a little older. “I will be Margie’s assistant. I have been trained in catering for several years, and I hope to add my experience to Margie’s making for a marvelous kitchen.”
Margie nodded at him, a little stunned. Dolly had made it sound like no one else in the room had any real cooking knowledge, but she was pleasantly surprised. Another well-trained individual in the room would make things much easier.
“We’re going to do some preliminary cooking for the soups we will be serving for lunch tomorrow. Since bread takes about a day to rise and be ready for cooking, we’ll have a team start on those. We also need some chicken and vegetable stocks going. I know we have a variety of different levels here today, so we’ll take everything slowly. Please don’t be afraid to ask questions of either John or me,” Margie smiled at all the helpers, and they seemed to relax a fraction. Perhaps this would all work out. “Here are your assignments.”
After splitting the teams up, the bread team under her watchful eye and the stocks and soups team under John, everyone got familiar with the kitchen. The layout was expansive, and all of them learned where things were together. John was gentle and patient with the kids, which eased some of the tension in Margie. She didn’t think Dolly would hire anyone cruel on purpose, but...
Well, it didn’t matter. John was doing just fine.
It took several hours, but Margie managed to learn all eight of their names, their preferences, and who would be good on which stations. The quiet girl, Karen, was a whiz at chopping and her brother Steve was an absolute master at working with dough. Although all the kids did fine, these two stood out.
“Good work everyone; we’ll meet up first thing in the morning to start a plan for tomorrow’s dinner,” Margie said, dismissing them. “Everything is going well, and by tomorrow, we’ll have some amazing soups and killer bread to look forward to.” She smiled at all of them, covered in flour and sweating, but they looked pleased with themselves.
Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.
Margie made it back to her room and showered, changed her clothing, and threw herself onto the bed. She shut her eyes closing out the majestic view of the snow falling over the forest. She was so tired, but her stomach twisted in knots.
She’d been so busy, she hadn’t eaten all day.
Sitting up, Margie could feel exhaustion dragging down at her edges. It was hard to focus. Most of this was residual exhaustion, left over from long days and nights at school. A long day like this was really taking more out of her than it should. Sighing, Margie decided she desperately needed something to eat but didn’t want to hike all the way to town to grab something.
Just then there was a knock at the door.
“Good evening, Margie,” John was there, all bundled up in a thick coat. “I was cooking for myself and was wondering if you were hungry and wanted to join me.”
“Oh, yes, please. Thank you.” Margie nearly hugged him from relief. “I haven’t eaten much today, and I was trying to figure out what to do for food.”
They walked back to the kitchen area together where something absolutely amazing smelling was cooking in the oven. Margie took a deep breath as they came into the kitchen, her mouth watering and her stomach tying itself in knots. “Whatever it is, it smells divine.”
“Oh, thank you. It’s a stuffed rosemary bread. It’s one of my specialities.”
Margie sat on one of the stools at the long counter. She studied John, curious as to where he came from but not wanting to be too inquisitive. His blonde hair was brushed back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, his skin deeply brown from too much time in the sun. There were tons of curious details about him, his lack of wedding ring, his hair too long to be fashionable, his tremendous cooking knowledge, and his ease with teaching, that brought up several questions for Margie. But she wasn’t sure how John would react to her asking.
“So, forgive me if this is rude, but I did not know they allowed women in culinary school,” John said, pulling plates out of the cupboard. “However did you manage it?”
“I was determined,” she said, shortly. She didn’t want to think about the pranks and the hazing she had gone through to finish her schooling. She wanted to move forward and start making her own memories. Newer, better experiences that didn’t involve the boys who had bullied her for moving in on a “man’s profession.”
“You must have been!” He said, his voice filled with wonder. There was no mocking in his voice, but Margie still narrowed her eyes, anyway; was he making fun of her? “I’m completely serious, my friend. Please don’t mistake me.” His smile was big and glowing. Margie decided she liked the way he smiled; his teeth were quite white and straight, and he seemed to be genuinely kind.
“It was long but well worth it.”
He nodded, dragging what looked like a collection of tiny loaves of bread from the oven. Margie was ravenous, and that bread smelled so good. John set them down just out of her reach. “Sorry to make you wait, my friend, but you’d burn your mouth to bi
ts if you tried to eat them now.”
“Oh, no trouble,” she said, wondering how much damage she’d do if she bit into one, anyway. Her stomach was wrapped piteously around her backbone and shouting complaints. “I should know better than to go all day without eating; you’d think I’d learned my lesson when I was much younger, but I seemed to have learned absolutely nothing about taking care of myself.”
“Have you no one to take care of you?”
Margie laughed. “Of course not. You think any husband would have let me run off to culinary school surrounded by all of those men?” She made a noise in the back of her throat, reaching for the bread. If she was careful and used a fork and knife, she might get away with eating it now unscathed.
“I, I suppose so.”
Margie dug in as quickly as she dared, the bread like an explosion of flavor in her mouth. She closed her eyes, happily chewing at the wonderful little morsel. What a delight. What a clever idea, cooking the meats into the bread; it would make for a lovely and portable lunch for those who wanted to tour the winery on foot with a picnic basket in tow. She eyed them curiously. “Are these easy to make, John?”
“Easy enough,” he answered. And so Margie laid out her idea to him.
They chatted amiably for about an hour, covering what should be on the menu for the next day and how it should be laid out. A few of the cleaning crew, drawn in by the amazing smells from the kitchen, joined them long enough to beg a quick meal of their own before wandering off to finish their duties before the guests began arriving the next day.
Margie found herself yawning as soon as she had eaten her fill. “Well, John, we have an early start in the morning, so I’ll be off. Thank you for dinner.”
John smiled at her with those perfect teeth, pulling his silky blonde hair down from its ponytail. It tumbled forward to brush his shoulders. “Until the morning, Margie.”
Margie walked all the way back to her cabin, running over the menu over and over again in her mind. But thoughts of John kept intruding in on her planning. She had so many unanswered questions about him. She frowned at the ceiling as she crawled into bed, but she was so tired that sleep pulled her down before she could think any more about it.
She dreamt of sausage-filled bread and the aroma of rosemary.
Chapter 3
Margie nearly collapsed when Dolly finally came into the kitchen, giving her the thumbs up. This first dinner had been so nerve-wracking, Margie felt like she was going to pull out all of her own hair in nervousness. She wasn’t quite sure she would have survived the evening with John’s cool head and even keel. He was an asset in the kitchen, and Margie was grateful for his presence.
The kitchen echoed with the tired, sweat-filled cheers of her little band of helpers. They filed out of the place to head back to wherever they lived in town, and John and Margie remained. They both sat down on the kitchen stools, too tired to leave just yet. The heat was nearly unbearable in here, with all the ovens and the nervousness filling the space, but it was slowly cooling off.
After a very successful lunch of warm soups and mini loaves of homemade bread, the dinner had also been a resounding success. It featured individual beef wellingtons with hasselback potatoes and salad. The guests swooned over the meal, and Dolly was nearly glowing with pride.
Margie closed her eyes for just a moment, taking in the smells and sounds of the kitchen fading into the distance. She took a big, long sip of icy cold water and sighed, content. This was what she had always wanted. This feeling of accomplishment that she never got at the school. Here her work wasn’t being pulled apart and critiqued with judges searching for every little thing to deduct points. No, these were simple people who loved good food and wanted to stuff themselves on their vacation to the winery. Although the job here required an amazing amount of work for all nine of them in the kitchen, everything from plating to serving, to cleaning, and even pouring wine for guests, Margie had never been happier.
When Margie opened her eyes again, she found John was looking at her strangely. Some of his long, blonde hair had slid its way from his ponytail to hang in front of his face, which was unreadable. He looked almost angry, but Margie couldn’t keep down her curiosity.
“A penny for your thoughts?” she asked, a little uncomfortable at his contemplative silence. Especially since he seemed to be contemplating her.
“Oh, I’m not sure they are worth that much.” John laughed, his clear voice ringing through the empty kitchen. “I was just wondering what brought you to want to work in such a profession.”
“It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. I worked in the service industry for years, envying the men who worked the kitchens. Why does everyone think it is so odd for someone to have a dream and go for it?” Margie said, her voice like ice. She ran her fingers over the condensation of the glass of water in front of her, staring down at it without really seeing it.
John held out his hands as though he were surrendering. “Of course, of course. I’m sorry, Margie. I don’t mean to sound condescending.”
He seemed sincere enough, so Margie let it go. She stood up from her place at the counter though her feet protested bitterly. “Thank you for all of your hard work today, John. I really appreciate how well you handled the young ones. They look up to you, and that’s wonderful. Please keep up the good work.” And she left, walking out through the dining room.
Much to her surprise, a few of the patrons were still there. She knew all of them. Dolly and her husband Grayson, Kevin Withers and his wife Lady, Lucas and his sisters Charlotte and Missy, Margaret and Thomas McCoy, and their young adult son Little Tom (who was now much too big for that nickname), Justin and his brother Jack, and the widow Carol Ramone. They were all sitting at the table, swapping stories and drinking wine.
Kevin Withers looked a little pale and drawn, but the rest of the group seemed to be in good sorts.
They all greeted her fondly, calling out for cheers to the chef. Margie blushed but joined them when they poured her a glass of wine.
“Sorry about my clothing, friends; I’ve not had a chance to change.”
Carol waved her off, shushing her. “Ye’ been working hard, lassie,” she said, her words barely discernible through the slur of her accent and the wine. “Ain’t no shame in hard work n’ sweat.”
“To hard work and sweat!” Dolly said, her eyes glowing with success. Her glass was filled with water instead of spirits, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Margie caught her lovingly caressing her baby bump on occasion, a motion that made Margie feel a little lonely. But everyone raised their glasses, and she toasted along with them, her heart still warm from the evening’s success.
“Congratulations, Margie,” Kevin said, a smile on his wane face. “Forgive my rudeness, but I was just about to excuse myself for the evening.”
She smiled at him, noting how sweat beaded on his forehead. Poor thing must have been ill. “No offense taken here; go to your rest, my friend. We can chat later?”
He nodded, the smile on his lips was half-hearted.
“Have a bit of wine and tell us about school, Margie!”
“Yes, and your internship!”
A chorus of agreement. Margie blushed again, her skin feeling tight and uncomfortable. “My final internship starts in about a month in the Caribbean.”
“Oh my, I love the Caribbean,” Lady said, her eyes following her very ill looking husband as he made his way out of the room. “They have done so much to make it tourist friendly; the people are so kind, so kind.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “We have so much fun when we go down to see the marina; they have such wonderful...”
A yell. Margie turned just in time to see Kevin fall, hitting the decorative side table by the door. In slow motion he slumped down, collapsing to the floor like a broken doll. Lady screamed, her voice echoing through the ballroom like a banshee.
Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter 4
Once Margie organized everyone, s
ending one of the least shaken to call the police, she sent Lady off with Carol to get her away from the body. For a body Kevin certainly was. The poor man hadn’t stood a chance against the very sharp corners of the table. He must have been so ill and dizzy that he didn't even try to catch himself, poor Kevin. Margie, who had seen her share of dead bodies over her time helping Officer Brighton of the Bristol PD still got queasy around blood and did her best not to look. She ushered everyone into another room but kept an eye on the scene.
Officer Brighton was the first through the door, pushing his way past the crowd to get to the body. He nodded at Margie before going to work, two other officers piling in behind him. Then two ambulance attendants joined them, and they filed into the dining room. Margie stayed behind, the whimpering Lady pressed up next to her left side. The EMTs eventually took her away, wrapping her in a blanket to keep her warm against shock.
It left Margie to gently shoo all the other patrons back to their rooms, making sure to clear the way for the investigators. Ray, looking tired and like he’d been dragged from his bed, walked up to her after his initial glance over the scene.
“How are you doing, Margie?” he said, holding out his hand. Ray and Margie had been friends for almost eight years, and Margie was also best friends with his wife, Camelia. Camelia and Margie had even been roommates for seven years before Ray and she tied the knot, leaving Margie on her own.
Margie shook his hand vigorously, a smile bursting across her face. Seeing a familiar face in all of this chaos made it a little easier to swallow. “I was doing just fine until this evening,” she said, inclining her head towards the dining room. “Poor Dolly. She’s been fighting to get this place open for how long, and now there’s a dead body.”
Ray sighed looking around. “The place looks good, though; she did a bang up job.”
Margie nodded, her smile fading around the edges. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to come see you two; I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had time to sit down. How is Camelia?”