Maime laughed again. “I believe that is an excellent idea.”
“I’ll start it.”
“And I’m going to make a sign to hang on the front gate saying that we need a cook.” She glanced into the kitchen. “But first I need another cup of coffee. How about you?”
Lucy nodded. No need for either of them to mention what the day would be like without Emma. Maime had beans soaking and enough ham and a good-size bone to make soup and corn bread for lunch, and she could add a few vegetables and serve it again tonight. They were low on meat. Perhaps the good Lord would nudge James. Goodness, had she resorted to begging?
As the sun started to make its ascent in a brilliant yellow, Maime affixed a large piece of paper advertising COOK NEEDED to the gate. Surely before the sun made its evening departure, someone would be working in the kitchen.
For the first time in many days, Hank was able to shove away the hunger raging in his stomach. His anticipation of seeing Maime caused him to whistle all the while he bathed in the Mississippi—not exactly the cleanest river, but it was indeed wet. Hobbling down the riverbank and into a shallow enough spot was his biggest challenge, but he’d navigated enough riverbanks to maneuver down and back up successfully with his one leg. He pursed his lips for another song and kept a lookout for snakes. Experience had taught him to keep a knife between his ear and his head in moments like these.
Once he’d dried and slipped back into his clothes and before he headed down the dusty road to town, he paused to thank God for this chance to see his sweet girl. All the way to Cranberry Hill, he thought about days gone by. The good times settled on him like the warm sun moving across the sky. If Maime had remarried and was raising a family, then that would be his closure, his cue to move on and stop the senseless wandering.
Hank looked up and saw the house. Unlike so many others in Hannibal, this one still looked as magnificent as he remembered. But he expected no less. However did she manage to live alone in such a monstrosity? At one time, he and Maime planned to fill it with children.
He limped closer. Something was stuck to the gate. COOK NEEDED. He held his breath. If Maime still lived here … and needed a cook, he could apply and talk to her. She’d never recognize him. He would thank her politely for taking the time to speak with him and make an excuse why he couldn’t take the job. Hank chuckled. His worn and dirty clothing would disqualify him for the position. But seeing Maime! Thank You, Lord. What a glorious blessing.
He hesitated. What he planned was deceitful. For certain she’d long since gotten over his death. Yet he no longer resembled the agile, strong young man who kissed her good-bye and boarded the train for war … the war to end all wars. Hank recalled what the Bible said: “And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars.” Not a soothing thought for a man who had lost his leg and countless friends. Was he entering another combat zone with what he contemplated?
Hank had never stepped away from a battle before, and he wasn’t about to start now. He limped toward the back door of Cranberry Hill. His pulse raced and a strange stirring swirled in his stomach. This couldn’t be wrong. He just wanted to see Maime … talk to her … make sure she was fine.
The sight of his old home bred both comfort and sadness. The windows on the conservatory to his left fairly sparkled in the morning sun. Green plants flourished, and his thoughts trailed back to when he and Maime first set up housekeeping, and a neighbor had brought them an ivy. Maime placed it in the conservatory and christened the plant “Miss Ivy” with promises of many more to come. She’d kept her word … unlike her husband who failed to return to her as a whole man.
For a moment, he considered walking away, but a woman inside spotted him and came to the door. She swung it open.
“If you are hungry, sir, we have some oatmeal left from breakfast,” a tall young woman said.
“That would be nice, ma’am, but I see you have a sign out front about needing a cook.”
The woman tilted her head as though trying to decide if Hank was a beggar or indeed a cook. “Do you have experience?”
“Yes, ma’am. In the war. After I lost my leg, I cooked for the rest of the soldiers.”
She nodded, but no smile. “I’ll have the lady of the house speak with you.”
Is it my Maime? Is she still here? “I appreciate that. I don’t look like much, but I can cook.”
“Have a seat on the steps while I fetch her. What is your name?”
“Hank Carter.”
The long moments waiting for someone to speak to him reminded him of waiting for his commanders to issue orders. He wondered why Maime needed a cook. When he had about given up, she appeared. Hank knew it was her without turning around. The faint scent of roses gave her away before the screen door slammed shut. He removed his tattered hat, then stood and turned to face her while leaning on his crutch. Trembling like a schoolboy, he offered a shaky smile. The woman before him had haunted his dreams.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Carter. Lucy says you wanted to see me.”
“Morning, ma’am. I see you’re looking for a cook. I have experience from the army.”
The mere sight of Maime caused his insides to quiver. The years had only served to increase her loveliness. Her pecan-colored hair had not grayed, but there were a few lines fanning out from her sky blue eyes.
“Goodness, sir. Are you faint?” She hurried down the steps to where he sat. “I bet you haven’t eaten. Lucy, please give this man a dish of oatmeal and a slice of bread.” Lucy disappeared, and Maime focused her gaze on his. The girl he married wouldn’t have been able to do this. She’d been rather shy back then.
“Thank you, ma’am. About the job—”
“What kinds of things do you cook?” She motioned for him to sit back down on the step. Once he’d made his awkward descent, she joined him.
“I can cook the toughest meat up tender and juicy, and I know how to stretch a potato as well as a skinny chicken.”
She smiled, and he realized that God could take him home this very instant. “I have an unusual house full of residents, Mr. Carter.”
“As long as they are hungry folks, I’m fine.”
“Perhaps I need to explain. Obviously you aren’t from around here. My residents are those unfortunate folks who came back from the war with nightmares that ruined their minds. I also have folks who lost everything in the Depression. They can’t take care of themselves and need gentle caring.”
Emotion tumbled through him at the thought of how Maime was spending her life. She’d done well without him. She’d grown up and taken her love for people to those who needed her touch. Which was probably why she was talking to him now.
“Mr. Carter, you’re not saying anything. Does the thought of working with my residents sound distasteful?”
He peered into her eyes. No malice laced her blue pools. All the love he’d felt for her since the day they first met seemed to bubble up inside him. “No, ma’am. I’m just moved at what you are doing here in this big house.” He chuckled. “Look at me. I’m a tramp. How could I ever find the people here distasteful? It would be a blessing to cook for all of you. And if you have doubts, let me start this very day. Then you can choose whether you want me or not.”
She startled, then paled.
“What’s wrong, ma’am?”
Maime shook her head. “I’m sorry. You remind me of a man I knew a long time ago—a kind and dear man.”
“That’s a good thought.” Hank saw she still wore the wedding band he’d given her. He had to know the truth. “Do you need to get permission from your husband?”
A sweet smile tugged at her lips. “My husband died in the war. And you do remind me of him. I’m sorry for not introducing myself. I’m Maime Bradbury.” Instantly she reached out to shake his hand and then stood. “I can’t pay you much more than room and board.”
“Since I don’t have either, that would be fine.”
Her slender shoulders lifted and fell. “Here I am letting the morning pas
s with much to do. If you can cook up something for lunch with what I have, I think we might have a deal.”
“How many folks?” Hank said.
“Sixteen counting yourself.”
He grasped his crutch and pushed himself to his feet. “I will do my best. Show me the way to the kitchen.” If only the war hadn’t stolen his leg and his dignity.
“I just started a pot of beans, but I haven’t added any seasonings yet.”
“You’re making my job easy.” He smiled.
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I do hope this works out.”
“Me, too, ma’am.”
“You can stay in the cellar. It’s really quite comfortable and clean.”
Lucy stepped outside with the oatmeal and bread and handed it to Hank. It smelled like the porridge of heaven. “I think your cellar would suit me just fine.”
Chapter 3
Hank had moved into the cellar before the sun went down. The room was a cool reprieve from the summer heat, and the cot, though small, suited him just fine. He even had a basket to hold his few belongings. His conscience picked at him for accepting the job, but he told himself that he was only there to help Maime until she found another cook. He hadn’t asked her to keep looking for another more suitable person, but he would … soon.
Two weeks later he couldn’t think of ever leaving. All the deep-rooted feelings he’d once held for his precious wife had grown by leaps and bounds, and regret washed over him for the missed years. He understood her heart for the residents of Cranberry Hill. Even now she talked to a woman in the backyard, touching the woman’s face and letting her know she was loved. He quickly glanced away before a tear trickled down his cheek. One thing he had to continually guard against was the need to stare at her. He picked up a scrawny potato and a peeling knife.
“Hank, the garden looks wonderful since you’ve been tending to it,” Maime said, entering the kitchen from the back door. “Look, I’ve even found flowers that I didn’t know I had. Someday I want a huge flower garden again.”
He glanced up at the fistful of bright pink petunias, doing his best to focus on the flowers and not the sparkle in her eyes. “They’d look real nice on the dining room table, even though their scent is not the most pleasant.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.” She smiled. “You treat the residents here with caring and respect as though nothing is wrong with them.”
“Oh, Miss Maime, there are times in all of our lives when we wish we could shut out the ugliness of the world.”
“You sound so much like my dear Charles. I guess God has decided to bless me with a cook and a reminder of my late husband.” She stepped into the conservatory. “My husband never liked the scent of petunias, either.”
“There are those flowers which do have a more favorable smell.”
“You sound just like him. However, Charles may not have appreciated what I’ve done to the home he bought for us.”
Hank’s stomach churned. How long could he keep up the deceit? “Why do you say that?” The words dropped from his mouth, though he needed to keep things to himself.
“Well, this big house was once a mansion, and I’ve turned the nursery, study, extra attic space, the music room, cellar, every available space into a spot for someone to sleep.”
“I admire what you’re doing, and I imagine he does, too.”
Maime stepped from the conservatory and leaned against the faded wallpaper on the kitchen wall. “Perhaps he does in his heavenly home.”
“I’m surprised you’ve never remarried.”
She laughed. “No one ever suited me. You would need to have known my Charles. A more honorable, more loving man never existed.” She paused. “Like many widows, I remember all of his finer qualities and none of his less desirable traits. Of course, he didn’t need much improving.”
“I’m real glad you have fond memories.” Something in the backyard under the maple tree caught his attention. “Miss Maime, I see Mr. and Mrs. Weaver are welcoming a gentleman inside the fence.”
She walked to the door. “Oh, it’s James.” She threw a glance over her shoulder. “He’s a farmer outside of town who just seems to know when I’ve almost run out of meat and vegetables.”
“That’s the mark of a Christian man.”
“Oh, he’s a godly man all right, but he’d also like for me to marry him.” She shook her head. “Widowhood has left him very lonely.”
A surge of something between panic and fear rose in Hank. “Then maybe you should consider his offer.” What was he saying? Maime still belonged to him. They were married. But … oh, the mess he’d made of her life, a woman who deserved the finest God could give a person.
She laughed again, a sweet tinkling sound. “And who would take care of my dear friends?” Without waiting for Hank to respond, she opened the screen door and walked out into the sunshine. “Morning, James. How good of you to come by.”
“I have some fresh beef, chickens, and a smoked ham in the back of my truck,” a man’s voice called. “My, but you sure look pretty, Miss Maime.”
Hank dropped a half-peeled potato into the basin and grabbed his crutch. Maime might need help bringing in the food.
One look at the man, and jealousy rose in Hank like stew in a bubbling pot. It was James Arnold. He’d gone to school with Hank and even served in the war, but he’d returned a whole man. Hank wondered how long he’d been a widow. The couple had married shortly before Hank and Maime wed.
Judging from the amount of meat and potatoes on the bed of his truck, James practiced Christian charity. Either that or he was serious about courting Maime.
“I want you to meet my new cook.” Maime’s cheeks tinted pink, and she blushed like a girl.
Hank hobbled toward them, all the while telling himself that he’d brought this trouble on himself. No doubt the good Lord had seen fit to show Hank the error of deceit. A fine man now looked after Maime, when her own husband had abandoned her. Hank had no right to be jealous or angry. Instead, he should be down on his knees asking God for mercy.
Hank stuck out his hand while balancing the crutch under his right arm. “The name’s Hank Carter. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
James gripped his hand and smiled. “Glad you’re able to help Miss Maime. I hear you can cook anything.”
“I try to please.”
James released Hank’s hand and waved at a couple of the men sitting under the maple tree. “Mornin’, fellas. Who’s winning the checker game?”
“I am,” both men echoed.
James laughed, not in a condescending manner but good-naturedly. He hadn’t changed much from boyhood days. They’d been close back then.
The three carried the food inside to the kitchen. Neither Hank nor Maime searched out Lucy. She had her hands full tending to the folks there at Cranberry Hill. The young woman worked nearly as hard as Maime.
“We’ll be eating like royalty for a long time,” Hank said.
“I brought you some strawberries,” James said. “I know how you enjoy strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” Maime said.
Flirting. Could he blame her? “I can whip up a couple of those for dinner tonight, Miss Maime.”
For a moment she paled, then took a breath. “That would be real nice.”
“Is something wrong?” James said. “Are you ill? Shall I find Lucy?”
Maime laughed. “I’m fine. Just remembering something.”
James pressed his lips together. “About Charles?”
“I’m sorry. It was his favorite pie, too.”
Hank wanted to hobble out of the kitchen.
“You can’t keep living in memories. Neither of us can.”
Maime lifted her shoulders and smiled. “You’re right. And all of this because of a pie. Won’t you join us tonight for dinner?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Maime tugged on the corner of a sheet and helped Claudia smooth out her bed.
All of the residents were to complete the task every morning and tidy up their rooms. If some were not able, then others were to lend a hand. Maime believed every one of these dear people needed to feel worthwhile and understand the satisfaction of a job well done. So housework, yard work, simple painting, and sewing were a part of the requirements to live at Cranberry Hill. She used to have them help her keep the small garden in good order, but some of the residents couldn’t distinguish a weed from a flower or vegetable. Praise God for Hank. He was teaching some of the men how to till the soil. Already he planned a much bigger garden for next spring. His soft-spoken mannerisms gave rise to patience with all of the residents. Maime loved them all, but it was too easy to do the task herself rather than take the time to teach them. What had she ever done without Hank?
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. Good, they needed rain. She walked to the window.
“Is it raining?” Claudia wrung her hands. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, and the woman shuddered.
Maime turned to the older woman and took her veined hand. “Don’t be afraid. The thunder and lightning will bring cooler temperatures and rain to green up our garden.”
Claudia’s lips quivered, and she nodded.
“Would you like to go downstairs with me?”
“What about the children?”
Poor Claudia. She’d lost two sons in the Great War and her husband had died shortly afterward. “God will take care of your children.”
“I hope so. He always has before.”
Maime led her outside of the bedroom and into the hall. “Let’s see what Mr. Hank is doing. I imagine he’s bringing the men inside before the storm hits.”
As much as she welcomed the rain, the anxiety among the residents was often difficult to manage. Lucy met her in the kitchen as Hank hurried the men up the back steps. Lucy gathered the residents together, much like a hen with her chicks.
“This looks like a great afternoon for storytelling,” Hank said. “Why don’t we make our way into the parlor, and I’ll start. Then one of you can tell the rest of us a story.”
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 41