“This is a pleasant surprise,” Mrs Baker said as she greeted them both, then led them to a table near the window.
“Before I forget,” Grace said cheerfully. “Thank you for recommending my bonnets to Mrs Davis.
The older woman’s face brightened. “I guess that means she visited you. I’m so pleased.”
She would never know what her recommendation meant to Grace. It could be the beginning of a long and fruitful business in this developing town.
Grace didn’t expand on Mrs Davis’s visit. She was sure the other woman wouldn’t be pleased if she did. Eventually everyone would know when they saw her outfits, but for now, it would be their secret.
They placed their orders, and the two chatted about some of the aspects of their new ‘partnership’ and Mr Harkley told her a little about his business.
In return, she told him how her previous store had burned down. “The police were convinced it was arson,” she said quietly. “But no one was ever arrested for it.”
He reached across the table and patted her hand. “That’s terrible,” he said.
When she told him about Grumps, he was even more sympathetic. “I’m very sorry,” he said gently.
The warmth of his hand was reassuring, but Grace gently pulled her hand away. What would people say? Besides, the thrill that ran down her spine at the contact was worrying.
She’d never had anything like this happen before. Was it normal when a man touched a woman for this sort of thing to occur? She would try to forget it for now.
The food arrived, and she was glad for the reprieve. No more talking, only eating. It was a much safer option.
“I’m far too full for dessert,” Mr Harkley announced when Mrs Baker returned. “What about you, Miss Sunderland.”
“I am the same. I shall go for a stroll to walk some of it off.”
He looked horrified. “Oh my. You cannot go alone – not at this time of night.”
She stared at him. She thought it would be safe here.
“I agree,” Mrs Baker interjected. “Grand Falls is generally safe, but you just never know who is lurking around.”
He stood, and she followed suit. “I shall accompany you,” he said forcefully.
As much as she was annoyed at his presumption, she was looking forward to a nice stroll in the brisk evening air.
She balked when Mr Harkley insisted on paying for her meal. After all, she had planned to eat alone.
He won out in the end, after telling her she’d insulted him. He did wink as he said it, so Grace took it half-heartedly.
“Where would you like to go?” He offered her his arm and she accepted. “Mind the steps.”
She hadn’t even noticed and would have surely tripped. “I don’t really care where we go. I just want to walk to stretch my back.”
He grinned. “I am somewhat the same tonight. Shall we just stroll and see where the night takes us?”
She nodded and they were soon on their way. He pointed out some of the businesses along the way, several she would want to visit at some point. Like the Mercantile, the post office, and even the bank. She’d transferred her account here, but hadn’t visited the bank manager yet.
That was a job for the near future.
“Does your back feel any better,” he asked after they’d walked for about thirty minutes.
“Oh, it does, Mr Harkley. It really does. Thank you.” And it did, but now it was time to go home. “I am feeling rather tired now, and will leave you to go home.”
He frowned. “You must be joking. There is no way I would leave you to walk alone down that dark alleyway.” He looked rather affronted. “I shall walk you to your door and see you are home safely.”
“Why, thank you, Mr Harkley. I do appreciate it. I have to admit to feeling a little...dubious when I left tonight.”
He patted her hand. “Think nothing of it, Miss Sunderland.”
They made the rest of the trip in silence, which Grace appreciated. She was far to exhausted for chit-chat. But she enjoyed it nonetheless.
She unlocked the door and Mr Harkley told her he would wait until her door was locked behind her before he left. It was such a gentlemanly thing to do, but no one had ever bothered to do such a thing before.
It made her pause.
Chapter Four
After several days of making bonnets for Mrs Davis, Grace felt like she never wanted to sew another one.
It was at times frustrating, as she’d attempted to make each bonnet unique. She was sure her new customer would appreciate her extra effort. Besides, if she was being paid so much, she should ensure it was worth the money.
She placed the last of the bonnets in a hat box, and sat it on the top of the others. They were safe here, and also out of Mr Harkley’s way.
He had been working hard on the gowns that matched her bonnets, but told her they would all be finished by the following weekend.
How he managed that she would never know.
Or perhaps she did.
Working late into the night would be one solution.
He was a grown man – he knew what he was doing. And Grace would love to be able to help him, as he had helped her. But alas, she did not have experience making gowns.
She needed a break from being bent over a sewing machine and decided to take a short stroll. She locked the door to the store and began to explore some of the other businesses.
First stop was the Mercantile where she introduced herself to Mr Delbert, the owner. Grace wandered around the store and came across a rack of gowns. They were very pretty, and she almost bought one.
But how would it look for a seamstress to go buying ready-made gowns? The least she should do is ask Mr Harkley to make one for her, but he was incredibly busy right now.
Should she attempt to make one herself? She had a nice array of fabrics to choose from.
The decision only took twenty seconds. She had never been much of a seamstress when it came to clothes. Bonnets had always been her forte. Grace had made hats before too, when requested, but wasn’t convinced she could stitch a wearable gown.
No, she would ask Mr Harkley to refresh her wardrobe, as Mrs Davis had. Only in Grace’s case, she only needed one or two gowns. She was far from being a socialite.
Next she visited the post office, where she introduced herself to Mr Abner Ackerman. If mail or a telegraph arrived for her, she needed to know it could be delivered.
She went to the butcher shop where she bought a small roast. Mr Dunning told her this piece of meat would be best put in the oven at lunchtime.
After leaving, a thought crossed her mind – it hardly seemed worth the effort to make a roast for herself, but perhaps Mr Harkley...
She shook the thought away. It wouldn’t be proper, would it, having a man in her home? Alone.
Goodness, no. She couldn’t do that.
She hurried back home with the meat in its wrapping, ready to go in the icebox until it was time to place it in the oven. She was very grateful Patrick Harper had thought of all the little things.
Or perhaps it was his wife, Emily. She smiled. Yes, it would definitely be his wife.
Either way, Grace was grateful for the essential amenities.
She dearly wanted to continue her amble around town, but needed to get back to work. She’d squandered enough of her time already.
“Ah, Miss Sunderland!” Mr Harkley hurried across the main street toward her. “Do you have a moment to spare?” He didn’t wait for an answer but continue to hurry toward her.
She stared at him as she clutched her piece of beef, an indulgence if ever there was one.
“Good morning, Mr Harkley.” She waited for him to reach her, wondering what all the fuss was about.
“I’m glad I caught you, Miss Sunderland,” he said, seeming a little breathless having rushed across the road to reach her. “Do you have plans for Sunday?”
She closed her eyes in a slow blink. Of course she had plans. “I will be attending
church. Of course.” It was a forgone conclusion.
“I thought perhaps you could accompany me to the church picnic in the afternoon.”
A slow smile came to her face. “How delightful,” she said, dropping her package as she began to clap her hands in her excitement.
He caught it for her as he laughed.
“Oh dear, I’d totally forgotten about the piece of roast beef I’d bought.”
His eyes opened wide. “It’s a long time since I’ve had a roast,” he explained. “It’s hardly worth the effort for one. Are you having company?”
Before she could think, the words were out of her mouth. “I thought perhaps you would care to join me?”
“I, I wasn’t vying for an invitation, Miss Sunderland.” He backed off with his hands in front of him.
She reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Please don’t,” she said. “I bought it with you in mind.” It was the truth. She wouldn’t mention the fact she was having second thoughts.
Her concern was leaving her reputation in tatters by entertaining a man in her home. The two of them alone.
Well, it was too late now. That horse had already bolted.
“In that case, I would be delighted, Miss Sunderland.” He began to turn away, but suddenly turned back. “What can I bring? As a contribution to the meal?”
“No need,” she said, but another thought struck her. “I do need a favor though.”
His eyes slanted and he stared at her.
“Not now, but once you’re done with Mrs Davis’s order, I would like to order some gowns from you.”
He frowned.
“Most of my belongings were destroyed in the fire. I thought of buying some from the Mercantile...”
“Please don’t,” he said quickly. “I can certainly accommodate you, make something especially for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, then turned to unlock the door. “Tonight at say, six?”
“Six it is.” She heard him whistling as he strolled back across the road.
As bold as her invitation had been, even with her reservations, Grace was looking forward to this evening’s meal.
* * *
Grace closed up early to attend to the evening meal. The last thing she wanted was to leave a bad impression on Joe Harkley.
After all, it was presumed all women could cook.
She’d been given instructions at the butcher’s shop, so was confident the meat would be fine. At least she hoped it would be. She’d added the potatoes, onions, and carrots at the time Mr Dunning had also instructed.
She opened the oven door briefly – everything seemed to be fine. It smelled pretty good, so she closed the door again.
Grace had purchased fresh beans from the Mercantile, and prepared them earlier. They sat in the saucepan ready to cook.
She turned back to the counter and finished cutting the peeled apples. The pastry sat waiting to be rolled out.
Before she’d left, Aunt Mary had insisted Grace take her much loved and well-used recipe book. She’d balked at the time, but now she was incredibly grateful of Aunt Mary’s determination. She wouldn’t be standing here baking if it hadn’t been for her aunt’s thoughtfulness.
She wiped her hands across the white apron she wore, then tackled the apples once more. She’d never made apple pie before, and the task was daunting.
In fact, she’d never baked anything before, although she had helped Aunt Mary on several occasions.
The moment the pie was in the oven, she set about readying the table. She flicked a clean white cloth over the small table, and lay the cutlery perfectly, as her mother had taught her.
She placed a crimson linen napkin next to each fork, then set out a jug of water and two glasses.
The butter and bread had just been added to the table when there was a knock at her door.
“No, no, no!” she said under her breath. “I’m not ready – he can’t be here yet.” But she knew he was.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the door, opening it a crack.
He took one look at her and grinned. “Good evening, Miss Sunderland,” he said cheerfully.
He might change his mind when he tastes the food, she thought ruefully. She was certain he had no idea what he was getting into.
She opened the door wide and he stepped inside. “Welcome to my humble abode.” She took his jacket and hat, and hung them up on the coat rack that sat next to the front door. She tried to sound normal, joyful, but inside she felt all sorts of anxiety.
He glanced about. “You have a lovely place, Miss Sunderland. Our Patrick did a magnificent job.”
“He certainly did. I’m very happy with it, and feel right at home here.” She forced herself to smile. All she could think about was not ruining their supper, but she was preoccupied with having to deal with polite conversation.
“Do have a seat, Mr Harkley,” she said, indicating one of the comfortable chairs nearby. Instead of sitting, he reached out toward her face.
She leaned back.
His eyes opened wide. “I was not trying to accost you, Miss Sunderland, I promise,” he said, clearly offended by her actions. “It’s just... you have,” he reached out again then grinned.
“You have flour on your cheek.”
“Oh!” She grabbed up the apron she’d almost forgotten she wore and tried to remove it.
He stood back trying to stifle a grin, which only made her mad. “Do let me. You’re only making it worse. Far worse.”
He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her face.
Her heart raced at his nearness. Her mind swirled at the folly of inviting him into her home. She barely knew the man after all. What if...?
No! She wouldn’t go there. Nothing would happen – she was perfectly safe with Mr Harkley who was an absolute gentleman.
She stared into his eyes. They seemed to be closer than a few minutes ago. “Is it all gone?” she asked quietly, breaking the silence.
He continued to work on removing the flour. Exactly how much flour was on her face? It must have been loads.
He didn’t seem inclined to stop, so she took a step back. “I, I need to check on the supper,” she said firmly, and headed toward the kitchen.
She heard him follow behind.
“May I help with something?”
His presence was sending her off-balance. Little did she realize when she’d invited him, how much distraction he would be.
She handed him two kitchen towels. “Would you mind pulling the roast out of the oven? It’s a little heavy.”
Grace admonished herself the moment she’d said the words. They made her sound like a weak female, and she was far from that. “Put it on top of the stove, if you don’t mind.”
He followed her instructions and Grace checked the meat. It was nearly ready.
“It looks perfect, Miss Sunderland, and smells delicious.” He placed the food back in the oven, and Grace pulled the beans further onto the heat.
“Shall we sit while we wait?” She indicated the chair he was meant to sit in earlier, but never did. This time she sat first, hoping he would follow suit.
They stared at each other for long moments, then Mr Harkley spoke. “Thank you again for the invitation, Miss Sunderland.” He fiddled with his hands for minute, staring down into his lap.
“Can we drop the formalities? May I call you Grace?”
She glanced up at him, then nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. Would that be alright? She wasn’t certain. “I, I guess it would be alright.”
“Then you should call me Joe.”
She nodded. “Oh, did I tell you I’ve finished Mrs Davis’s bonnets?”
“No, you didn’t. That’s great.”
Suddenly it the air between them seemed to crackle. Grace jumped up to check the food again. Joe followed.
“It smells really good, Grace,” he said. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a very long time.”
She glanced across at
him. Surely he ate at home sometimes? “You don’t cook?”
He lifted the hot dish out of the oven and placed it on the stove top. “Only if you call canned beans cooking.” His face lit up with his smile, and she felt happy inside. “Seriously though, I can cook. I prefer not to spend time cooking for one.”
He leaned into the steaming food and breathed deeply. “A man could get used to this,” he said as he pulled away.
Grace’s heart thudded in her chest. Exactly what did he mean by that comment?
She was enjoying his company, that was for sure, but they hardly knew each other. She glanced across at him, but uttered not a word.
“I didn’t mean to imply...”
“It’s alright,” she interrupted. “I didn’t take it that way. Besides, I’m not such a great cook.” She picked up Aunt Mary’s recipe book. “See? Step by step instructions from a dear aunt.”
He reached over to take it from her hands. Only instead of the recipe book, one hand wrapped around her much smaller hand.
Her heart rate accelerated, and Grace wasn’t sure what to do next. Should she snatch her hand away? Leave it right where it was, or should she simply walk away?
She studied his face – he was also studying hers. “Joe,” she said quietly. “The food is ready, I need to serve it.”
He continued to stare. Had he even heard her speak? “Would you mind carving the roast?” She gently pulled her hand out of his, and he snapped out of his trance-like state.
“What? Oh, yes, of course.”
She placed the vegetables on a platter and began to prepare the gravy while he carved. It felt as though they’d done this before.
A calmness came over Grace, and she wondered what it would be like to be married to Joe. To be his wife, and have this scenario play out day after day.
She stared into the baking dish and quickly stirred the gravy. It was beginning to lump – she hadn’t paid enough attention, and was instead daydreaming.
“Darn it,” she said quietly, annoyed with herself. She poured a little boiling water into the oven dish until the gravy evened out again, then spooned it into the pretty gravy boat she had waiting nearby.
Grace Page 3