Flossie shook her head, and another lock of mousy brown hair escaped its pins. “No, Gideon brought it from the mercantile. I tried to tell him I didn’t have money to pay him, but he just said I needed the salve now and I could pay him later. He told me to soak my hand in eucalyptus tea, too.” She turned her hand over to show the healing blisters to Tessa. “See how much better it looks?”
Tessa arched her eyebrows. “That was a very kind thing for him to do.” But Gideon’s kindness wasn’t a surprise. She’d already been the beneficiary of his thoughtfulness more than once. Perhaps it was true that not all men were like Papa. They weren’t all drunkards, nor did they all care only for themselves.
“What do you think?”
Tessa’s face warmed. What did she think? She thought Gideon Maxwell was a very nice man. Very nice indeed. “About what?”
“Weren’t you paying attention? I asked you what you think we should do now that my hand is getting better. Fact is, I should be able to start doing the baking again in another day or two.”
Tessa folded the pastry dough over and laid it into the pie plate in front of her. “I haven’t given it much thought. I rather like doing the baking. Tillie does more of the serving than I do, although I help her as much as I can. You really do have your hands full just cooking the meals.”
Flossie put her hands on her ample hips and stared at her. “Tessa, you’re only getting paid thirty-five cents a day because Mr. Kilgore still doesn’t know you’re doing all the baking.”
Tessa shrugged. “The tips have gotten a lot better.”
Flossie laughed. “That’s because folks love your desserts, not to mention your biscuits, your white bread, and your yeast rolls. The tips won’t be as good when they start eating the stuff I bake again.”
Tessa and Tillie exchanged looks. “Flossie, you aren’t thinking about telling Mr. Kilgore, are you?”
Worry lines dug trenches across Flossie’s forehead, and she turned back to the stove. “I don’t want to. But it’s not right that you’re doin’ so much work and not gettin’ paid for it, Tessa. Before you came here, I’d never had anyone do something so nice for me like you did.”
Tessa heard a sniff coming from Flossie’s direction. She didn’t know what to say. The feeling Flossie described was familiar to her. The day they buried Mama, she experienced more kindness than she’d ever thought existed in the world, and she didn’t know what to do to repay the people like the preacher, Mrs. Dunnigan, and Gideon. Especially Gideon.
“Why don’t we just continue the way we are? I’m not complaining. I keep trying to tell you I like to bake. It’s more enjoyable than waiting tables and dodging rude men.” She slid three pies into the oven and wiped her hands on a towel. “As soon as those pies come out of the oven, these loaves of bread will be ready to go in. I’m going to go help Tillie clear tables.”
Several diners lingered at their tables over second cups of coffee.
Tessa removed plates and bowls and collected as many compliments as she did tips. She smiled and thanked the patrons and encouraged them to come again. With her tray loaded, she balanced it carefully through the kitchen doors and traded it for a clean, empty one. “Flossie, can you check the water reservoir to make sure we have plenty of hot water? I’ll be right back and start these dishes.”
Tray in hand, she pushed the kitchen door open again and headed for the other side of the dining room. At the second table, she came face-to-face with Gideon Maxwell.
“Hello there.”
“Hello, Gideon. It’s nice to see you. Did you enjoy your meal?”
Gideon smiled. “I ate dinner at home. My sister, Martha, is trying to learn to cook before she gets married in a couple of months, and I’m her victim. That is, I’m her loving big brother, so I have to—I mean, I get to—eat everything she cooks.”
His smile as well as his teasing comment about his sister warmed her and made her wonder what it might be like to sit across the table from him and listen to his rich voice and watch his eyes twinkle. She’d wanted to know him better from the first day she met him, but it hardly seemed appropriate, his being a business owner and her nothing more than a serving girl.
“Do you need more coffee?”
“No, thanks. I just stopped in for a slice of the best apple pie this side of the Mississippi River, and I don’t want to wash the taste out of my mouth with coffee.”
Heat filled her face, and she couldn’t keep from smiling. She lowered her eyes and reached to take his empty plate, noting there wasn’t a single crumb left on it.
“I understand you are the one doing the baking.”
She caught her breath and glanced to the right and left. “We’d rather nobody knew about that.”
Gideon gave her a knowing look. “You mean you’d rather Kilgore didn’t know about it.”
She didn’t know how he’d become privy to the information, but she merely nodded. Gideon could be trusted. “I really like doing it. Tillie even told me I should open a bakery. Of course that’s ridiculous. Opening a new business takes money, and I don’t make that much. But it was fun to think about.”
Gideon nodded. “That does sound like an interesting idea. You should give it some consideration. Maybe you could get a loan from the bank.”
“Pfft! Me? Why would the bank want to loan me money? No, it’s silly to even allow myself to dream about such a thing.”
Gideon appeared to be about to disagree when his expression darkened abruptly.
A hand grabbed Tessa’s upper arm and jerked her around. Mr. Kilgore’s ferocious expression bore down on her like an awakening grizzly in spring-time. “Didn’t I tell you not to stand around dawdling?” His fingers dug into her flesh so hard she winced.
Gideon was on his feet in an instant, grabbing hold of Mr. Kilgore’s arm. “Let go of her, Kilgore!”
Her boss pulled away from Gideon so forcefully she nearly dropped her tray and lost her footing. “Gideon, please. It’s all right. I shouldn’t have stopped to talk. I’m sorry, Mr. Kilgore. It won’t happen again.”
Gideon grabbed the man’s jacket lapel and necktie all in one powerful grip. “I said let go of her, Kilgore.”
“Who do you think you are, ordering me around in my own hotel? I have half a mind to call the sheriff and have you thrown out of here.”
The man’s bluster didn’t make Gideon back down an inch. As soon as Mr. Kilgore released Tessa’s arm, Gideon turned loose of the man’s garments.
Mr. Kilgore swore and pointed to the door. “Get out, and don’t you set foot in here again.”
Tessa’s heart pounded in her ears. Fear dug cruel claws up her throat, as she held her breath, anticipating the men coming to blows.
Mr. Kilgore whirled around to growl in her face. “You’re fired. Clear out of here.” He tossed a few coins at her feet. “That should cover whatever I owe you.”
The flinch that shuddered through her felt too familiar.
Chapter 7
Tessa stooped and picked up the coins with a trembling hand. When Papa left her, she thought groveling at a man’s feet would become nothing more than an ugly memory, but she was wrong. She could feel Mr. Kilgore’s glare boring into her, but the man wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing her cry.
Ignoring the stares of the diners, she fixed her eyes on the kitchen door and walked resolutely between the tables. No more exchanges between Gideon and Mr. Kilgore roared behind her, so she assumed Gideon had left as well.
As soon as the kitchen door closed behind her, she sagged against the worktable and let the tears come.
Flossie and Tillie came immediately to her side.
Flossie patted her on the back. “We heard him bellowing all the way in here.”
Tillie slipped an awkward arm around Tessa’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Tessa.”
Tessa dried her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Those pies ought to be just about ready to come out, and the bread is ready to go in.”
“Oh, wh
o cares? Let the old buzzard bake his own pies.”
Tessa shot a glance at Tillie. “Don’t let them burn, or Flossie might get fired, too. Remember, he thinks she’s doing the baking.” She hung up her apron and exited the side door, only to run squarely into Gideon.
Remorse defined the lines carved in his forehead. “Tessa, I’m so sorry you got fired. But I couldn’t sit there and let him put his hands on you.”
She stared at him in astonishment.
He must have taken her silence for anger, because contrition filled his tone. “I apologize. It doesn’t change anything, and it’s my fault you got fired. Please allow me to help you find another job.”
Words failed her. Never in all of her nineteen years had she ever seen a man apologize for anything, much less for losing his temper. Twice now Gideon had sprung to her defense. Her eyes remained riveted on his face, and the words she wanted to speak refused to line up in the right order.
“I … It … it wasn’t … your fault. I … I—”
Gideon grasped both her hands. “Did he hurt you? Is your arm all right?”
Lucidity finally made its way back to her brain. “Yes.”
“Yes, he hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t hurt me, and yes, my arm is all right. Gideon, why?” Her hands seemed to not have a purpose. She clasped them together and held them to her chin. “Why did you get angry? Why did you grab him? I’m not worth your trouble.”
Gideon jerked his head up, his eyes darkened. “Don’t say that, Tessa. You shouldn’t believe those things your father told you. You’re a lady, and I will never stand idly by while a lady is treated disrespectfully.” The anger on his face softened. “And besides that, you’re not just any lady. You’re … well, you’re special.”
His face flushed crimson. Perhaps he didn’t mean to say what he’d just said. Maybe, like her, he had a hard time putting words together when he was upset. At any rate, his hangdog look spoke volumes. He regretted what happened—but did he regret defending her, or was he just sorry she’d lost her job?
“Well, thank you, Gideon. Don’t worry. Something will work out. Mama always said tomorrow will be brighter.”
He gave her a tiny smile, lifted his fingers in a half wave, and walked away.
She turned and walked toward the shed. Maybe Mr. Kilgore wouldn’t care if she stayed there tonight. She hadn’t planned on having to look for a new place to live so soon.
She turned the corner at the end of the alley and stopped short. Stuck in the door handle of the shed was a bouquet of daisies. They looked rather forlorn and slightly wilted, but they seemed to echo Gideon’s words. She was worth something, even if it was just a bunch of wildflowers.
If they were from Gideon, it meant he knew where she was living, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. She reversed her direction and trotted down the alley to see which way Gideon had gone.
Just as she reached the boardwalk, Mr. Kilgore stepped out the front door of the hotel. “Ah, there you are.”
What did he want? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good.
“I suppose you’ve learned your lesson. In fact, I wondered if you had given any more thought to my previous offer. If you can’t manage to serve tables efficiently in the dining room, maybe you’re better suited to a different type of establishment. You know, standing around and flirting with my clients at the Blue Goose might make you one of the favorites over there. They like it when the girls are nice to them. What do you say?”
Her mouth dropped open at his audacity, and she snapped it shut before she said something she’d regret. Did he expect her to lick his boots for telling her she could work serving whiskey? Besides, according to Tillie and Flossie, the girls who worked at the saloon did more than just serve drinks. Tessa didn’t want to think about what other duties they might have to perform. Maybe the kind of work Mr. Kilgore suggested was the best she could be, but the unceasing tug on her heart reminded her that Gideon thought her to be a lady. She took a deep breath and met Mr. Kilgore’s icy eyes. “No, Mr. Kilgore. I will not work in your saloon. Good day.”
She started to go around him, but he stretched out his hand to stop her. Her feet froze, and she glared at his hand touching her arm, then up at his face, and back down at his hand.
Mr. Kilgore lifted his hand from her arm and held it slightly aloft, scorn coloring the sneer on his face. With methodic motion, he splayed his fingers and slid his thumbs down his suspenders and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re the one who’s been doing the baking.”
Her pulse skipped a beat. They’d been so careful to keep their secret. She feared for Flossie’s job, but she lifted her chin and tried her best to appear poised. “That’s right. Flossie burned her hand, and she was afraid you’d fire her. I didn’t want to see her lose her job, so I helped out.” She again started around him.
This time he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself. “Miss Langford, I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling rather generous today, so you can have your job back.”
Tessa cocked one eyebrow at him. “At thirty-five cents a day?”
“Well, since you’re doing the baking, I could raise you to forty-five cents.”
She turned to face him squarely. “Fifty cents and Flossie gets to keep her job.”
Mr. Kilgore’s face reddened. Though a vein popped out on his neck and his lips tightened around his cigar, she didn’t blink.
“All right! Fifty cents.” He yanked the stubby cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. “But you remember one thing. Nobody tells me what to do. Not you or that hypocrite Gideon Maxwell. I don’t take that sanctimonious rot from anybody, and don’t you forget it. You watch your step.” He huffed and stalked down the boardwalk.
An odd mixture of laughter, tears, relief, and disgust welled inside her. Her pulse drummed in her temples, and she couldn’t decide whether to look for Gideon or return to her humble dwelling. Instead she did neither. Her knees began to shake, and she sat down on the boardwalk, her lungs heaving like she’d just run a race.
Gideon slammed the door of the living quarters above the mercantile. Fortunately Martha wasn’t home to witness his tantrum. Anger seethed through him at the thought of Kilgore manhandling Tessa. His feet refused to stay still, so he paced back and forth across the front room. He wished he could have thrown at least one punch—just one—square in the mouth.
“He’s insufferable!”
“Henry Kilgore may not have behaved like a gentleman, but you’re not behaving like one either. Kilgore has an excuse. He’s not a Christian. You are.”
Gideon flopped down on the settee and sighed. “I know, Lord. Now Tessa’s lost her job, and it’s my fault.”
He slid to the floor and knelt, leaning his elbows on the settee and holding his face in his hands. “Father, please help Tessa find another job. I hated that she was working for Kilgore, but now she has nothing. She probably won’t accept any help from me. Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.” He remained on his knees for a time, asking God to forgive his display of temper and praying for Tessa’s situation.
After a while, he felt the urge to go downstairs and work off some of his aggravation.
He’d been meaning to rearrange things in the storeroom for a long time. If the place was better organized with increased shelf space, the mercantile might be more attractive to a buyer.
He rummaged around, pushing and shoving crates here and there, and sketching some shelving ideas on a tablet. A large lumpy object hid under an old canvas in the corner, and Gideon groaned when he remembered the cookstove his father had ordered three years ago for a customer who never came back to get it. The thing took up so much space out front that Gideon finally dragged it back to the storeroom and covered it, thinking he could at least stack bales of fence wire on it.
He pulled off the canvas and scowled at the behemoth. Maybe if he put a reduced price on it and hauled it back out front, someone might take it off his hands. He gr
ipped the thing and pushed and pulled, grunting until sweat popped out on his forehead and dribbled down his face.
Finally, after twenty minutes of wrestling, he straightened up and glared at the stove. The monstrosity simply didn’t want to move.
Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.
An idea began taking shape in his mind. He grabbed the tablet that bore his rough sketches and crumpled the page. With pencil in hand, a new plan unfolded on a fresh sheet of paper. He sketched efficient shelving and storage, a work space, and a new display area.
An hour later, the plan lay before him on the tablet. “Lord, if this is what You want me to do, You’ll have to make all the details work. But don’t let me run ahead of You, Father. This has to be Your plan, not mine.”
Gideon slapped his hat on his head and bounded out the back door with the tablet in hand. The next step was to speak to Pearl Dunnigan. He took the stairs leading to her back porch two at a time and rapped on her door.
She opened the door and smiled broadly. “Why, Gideon! How nice of you to drop by. Please come in.”
He swept off his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Pearl. Would you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Of course. Come sit down at the kitchen table.” She bustled about pouring two cups of coffee.
The aroma of Sunday pot roast lingered in the spacious kitchen. He wiped his feet on the braided rug at the door. Cheery red-checkered curtains framed the wide window from which sunlight flooded the room. Clay flowerpots lined up like fence posts along the windowsill.
Miss Pearl ushered him to a bare, work-worn table in the middle of the room. Gideon sat on a creaking chair and laid his tablet in front of him, while Miss Pearl set out a plate heaped with molasses cookies and joined him at the table.
He took a tentative sip of the steaming coffee. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” He pushed the tablet over so she could look at his sketches.
Thirty minutes later, Miss Pearl shared Gideon’s excitement. She clapped her hands. “Oh Gideon, I can’t tell you how I’m looking forward to this.”
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