by Jenna Brandt
Secretly, her parents left Paris for America, where they could start a family and open their own bakery, away from the disapproval of her family. They had naïvely taken the harsh passage west on the Oregon Trail, resulting in the death of their baby. They were forced to bury him along the way. The loss of their first and only son took a toll on them. They were never the same after the loss; however, their faith in God had carried them through the pain. It was that same faith they had instilled in Amelie that would help her succeed in filling her parents’ shoes.
“Your mother missed her family and wished she could’ve reconciled with them. She remained steadfast in not contacting them, out of respect for your father. She worried time had not changed your grandfather’s opinion of the situation and she didn’t want to open old wounds. She was completely taken aback when your aunt arrived and informed her of your grandfather’s passing.”
“After my parents passed away, my aunt stayed under the pretense that she wanted to help us, but I’m not sure why she insists on remaining here still. She makes it clear she wants to return to her life in Paris; however, she refuses to leave without Elise. She thinks she would be better off there.”
Shaking her head adamantly, Mrs. Moore stated, “Hogwash, your home is here. We have known you girls since you were born.”
“Agreed. I always planned on making my home here after I finished school. It just seems my future has changed to running the family bakery now,” Amelie declared as she gestured around the room.
Mrs. Moore reached out and patted Amelie’s hand. “You always have such a positive perspective on things, my dear.”
“I am similar to my mother in that way. She taught me to always look at the bright side of any situation. Difficulties will come, but how we handle those obstacles define us.”
“Just remember, my offer still stands. I want to help you and your sister in any way I can.”
Nodding, Amelie responded, “I appreciate it, Mrs. Moore. Your care and concern mean a great deal to me.”
“I best be getting home to make sure the house staff has everything in hand for dinner tonight. Mr. Moore likes his dinner ready when he gets home from the mill.”
Indeed, he did. Everyone knew Mr. Moore liked everything precise. He had his wife run his home just as he ran his business, the Willemette Falls Mill, with an iron fist.
“Certainly, Mrs. Moore. I also included a Mille-feuille for Mr. Moore. I know it’s his favorite.” Amelie handed over the bag of baked goods to Mrs. Moore.
“You are too kind, dear. He will appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Mrs. Moore said, as she headed towards the exit. Pausing at the front door, she added, “I will be in at week’s end, for my usual order.”
“I’ll have everything ready, Mrs.Moore.”
“Good day, Miss Leclaire.”
Chapter 1
The enticing scent of fresh baked goods drifting down the street. As Pierre approached the bakery, his mouth watered. Memories of his family estate’s dinner table piled high with loaves of crisp golden baguettes, delicious puffed pastries and decadent cakes filled his head. Eager with anticipation, Pierre rounded the corner, with William beside him.
“Pierre, this is the finest French bakery in all of America. I could not believe it when I stumbled upon it a few months back while I was finishing up negotiations for the railroad. You had mentioned you missed all the familiar food from back home and this place came to mind.”
“My mother insisted we eat only the best. She selected the premier baker of the Parisian culinary world to be our family chef resulting in creating an exceptionally high standard when it comes to what I consume.”
“It never ceases to amaze me, Pierre, how your snobbery knows no bounds. I am telling you, these beignets are going to impress you.”
“I have to admit, the baked goods smell promising. After all the sub-par food I have had the displeasure of ingesting in this country, I can hardly imagine anything in America comparing to what we have back on the continent.”
The chaos in the bakery was exceptionally high. The Independence Day celebration was happening in the evening and Amelie had already made over a dozen pies for the pie-eating contest. On top of that endeavor, everyone wanted bread for sandwiches and pastries to take with them for the town festivities.
Two well-dressed gentlemen in perfectly tailored suits entered the building in the thick of the morning rush. Amelie only had time to glance up and greet them with a quick “hello.” She overheard their conversation as she helped the customers in front of them.
“My, this place seems remarkably busy.”
Amelie glanced up and looked at the man who was speaking with a thick French accent. He looked assured of himself, as if he believed his opinion was the only one which mattered. Objectively, he was good-looking, with his dense dark hair slicked-back to precision and his piercing brown eyes. Contrasting with his alabaster skin, she could tell he was used to getting attention wherever he went. Amelie suspected it only added to his ego.
“It is because of the American holiday they observe. You know, the one which celebrates their ‘liberation’ from my homeland’s ‘oppression,’” the Englishman ridiculed.
“Americans can be so obnoxious. This land is filled with the most repellent people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
“Pierre, ever since you got rejected by Lady Margaret for the second time, you have become inconsolable. I am telling you, if you just give Oregon a chance, you are going to grow to admire it. You might even find another lady to take your mind off your loss.”
Amelie could feel the man’s eyes on her, as if by staring at her he was saying, Look, there is one, right there. Uncomfortable with the attention, she patted at her wrinkled dress and apron and pushed back several tendrils of her golden-brown hair, which had fallen lose from her bun.
The Frenchman did not even glance her way, but continued to stare at his friend. “Hardly. I cannot wait to finish my business here and return to Paris.”
As they approached the counter, Amelie recognized the Englishman who exhibited average features but a kind smile. Apparently, he did enjoy her baked goods because he had frequented the bakery on several occasions.
“Good morning, Miss.”
“Good morning, Sir.”
“We would like two beignets and a piece of the brioche, if you still have some left.”
She watched to see if the other man would even acknowledge her presence, but he remained firm in his unresponsiveness. Irritated by the dismissive manner of his friend, Amelie fumed. In a clipped tone she responded, “Right away.”
Turning around without making eye contact with either man, Amelie went into the back room where a batch of brioche had been cooling. As she packed up their order, she could hear them still talking.
“My, my, it seems you have upset the baker of the establishment. Miss Leclaire seems to be angry with you, Pierre.”
“I have no idea what I could have done to upset that woman.”
“Your problem is if a woman does not have a title, she is of no consequence to you, Pierre. I mean, we are in America, you might as well sample the local goods. You could have your pick of the local women.”
“I am sure you are right. However, what is the point in that? I am tired of trying to drink and copulate Margaret’s memory away. Another woman is not going to fix anything.”
What a complete blockhead! Could he really be so pretentious as to not realize how indifferent he had just been towards her? Moreover, he seemed to think if he deigned to pay any woman attention, she would swoon at his feet. He might be used to women fawning all over him, but it would never be the case with her. She did not have the time or patience to deal with someone like that.
Amelie marched herself back into the room with their bag of pastries in hand. Haughtily, she shoved the baked goods over the counter towards them.
“Will that be all, my lord?” Amelie mocked.
Her comment got his attention. For th
e first time since entering the bakery, the Frenchman glanced her way. When his eyes met hers, it was a like a lightning bolt sparked between them. What started off as a glance turned into an unwavering, resolute stare. Amelie felt the connection and wanted to look away; however, some unknown force between them continued to hold her in place. It would not let her attention waiver.
“I think I was mistaken, William. Oregon may very well be growing on me.”
The Englishman was oblivious to the situation going on between his friend and Amelie. With gusto, he boasted, “Wait until you taste these pastries.”
“If they taste half as good as their maker looks, I would say you are right in your earlier statement that they are the best pastries in all of America.”
Amelie felt a blush flash across her body. No one in her life had ever paid her such a compliment. She wanted to stay mad at him, but this stranger had a way with words.
Hearing the banging of the back door and a soft spoken, “Sorry, Amelie,” she remembered Elise told her she would be coming back from Lizzy Wilcox’s home to help clean up before the holiday festivities.
The moment was broken and Amelie quickly looked down at the countertop. She picked up a rag and busied herself with cleaning the already spotless counter. In a curt manner, she stated, “Enjoy the pastries, gentleman.”
“Oh, we will, Miss Leclaire,” the Englishman replied.
“Indeed. I am quite certain I am going to be a frequent visitor of this bakery.”
She did not look up even though she could not mistake the flirtatious suggestion in the Frenchman’s statement.
Once the two men had left, Amelie asked Elise to take over the front for a moment. She went into the back to sit down. What just happened? She had never had her emotions turned upside down so rapidly in all her life. Amelie had better watch herself with that man; maybe he could make her swoon after all.
Chapter 2
As Pierre ate his beignet, admittedly the best-tasting beignet he had ever had the pleasure of trying, his mind would not stop drifting back to the gorgeous, blue-eyed, golden-brown haired woman responsible for making it. Why had he behaved so poorly when he went into the bakery? The more he ate the pastry, the guiltier he felt about his earlier conduct. William was right, he had been sulking ever since he left Colorado.
It made him feel off-kilter to be attracted to a woman so unlike the type he had been raised to court. In Paris, he would have never thought to pursue a woman without a title, but then, from out of nowhere, those piercing blue eyes captivated him. Pierre had planned to make a hasty departure from America and return home to Paris. Perhaps now, he could remain a fraction longer in order to pursue the unexpected reaction he felt when he saw the enticing Miss Leclaire.
When Amelie and Elise entered their family home a block off of main street, Amelie placed the key in the bowl on the entry table. She made her way to the back of the house and sat down at the kitchen table, wanting just a few moments to rest before she started to prepare dinner. She never knew she could be so tired, working all day at the bakery and then coming home to take care of her sister and their personal chores. It felt as if she were doing the job of a hundred people. It then dawned on her; she was doing the job of two people, and it felt like she was doing a horrid job at it.
Tears began to puddle, threatening to fall at any given moment, as she glanced at the stack of bills sitting on the table in front of her. Half of them were past due, and the other half needed to be paid this week so as to not become like the others. She thought she had settled several of the debts, but the bill collectors insisted they never received the payment. What was she going to do?
Silently, she whispered a prayer to God. Lord, help us! I am so worried about what I am going to do. I don’t want to fail and lose Elise to my aunt. Help me get everything done and send me a way to make up the lost revenue from the bakery.
“Amelie, what are you going to make for dinner?” Elise asked.
Taking a deep breath, Amelie stood up and walked over to the cold box and glanced inside. There was hardly any food in it. She believed there was a small amount of rice still on the pantry shelf, and she could use the chicken broth left over from last week’s soup. If she added the last bit of celery, onion, and carrots they had, it could pass as dinner.
Trying to sound upbeat for her sister’s sake, Amelie exclaimed, “It just so happens, we have all the makings of a gourmet dinner. Tonight, we will dine on Mirepoix de riz.”
With a skeptical look on her face, the tow-headed Elise looked in the cold box next to her sister. “You’re sure you have everything you need to make something so elaborate.”
Not wanting to give away the fact she was exaggerating the quality of the dish for Elise’s sake, she smiled with a nod. “Of course, silly. Who did mom teach to cook over the past two summers?”
Elise stiffened immediately and lowered her lashes over her identically blue eyes, which matched her sister’s eyes.
“What is it?”
“It’s not my fault mother died before she could teach me how to cook.”
Amelie immediately regretted bringing up their mother. Elise did not do well with the subject. The loss had been distinctly difficult for her, considering her age. Elise was mature for fourteen, but she was still just a child in many ways.
Gently, Amelie wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders and offered, “I can teach you to cook, Elise.”
“Really? I would love it.”
A knock came from the front of the house and Amelie made her way to the door. She opened it to find her aunt standing on the other side. The older woman, with greying black hair and fierce dark eyes, looked perturbed. Amelie was not sure if she was upset because of something they did or did not do.
“Good evening, Aunt Marcella.”
“Amelie, I thought you had agreed to meet me at the inn for dinner this evening.”
She had completely forgotten her aunt had insisted on them meeting for dinner. Even though Amelie had protested, explaining it was Independence Day, she had lost the battle and was forced to indulge her aunt’s demands. It seemed her aunt was an expert in getting her own way.
It had frustrated her that her aunt felt the need to disparage the holiday she so loved, uttering she found it ridiculous that America was so vain it felt a need to celebrate its independence each year. She had claimed that France was a country of subtlety, and would never do something so vulgar. Amelie had refrained from asserting her mother had told her about the elaborate emperor’s balls, and depravity of the French court.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Marcella. I came home straight from the bakery and completely forgot you had asked us to have dinner with you.”
She looked Amelie up and down with a critical eye, before saying, “I suggest you change into something more presentable and then come join me in my carriage.”
“Yes, Aunt Marcella.”
Amelie wanted to tell her aunt she could go ahead without them and they would meet her at the inn. It was only three blocks away; however, she had learned not to argue with her aunt who was not afraid to give a dressing down when contradicted.
“And I assume Elise needs to change as well,” she snapped, as she glanced past Amelie to her sister behind her.
“It’ll only take us a few moments. We’ll hurry.”
With an exasperated sigh, she stated, “Very well. Go on then.”
Amelie hesitated, wanting to shut the door on her aunt, but realizing it would be rude to do so. She glanced at the other woman for a lingering instant. Feeling she had no other choice, Amelie left the door ajar as she turned around and headed to the staircase, which went to the bedrooms.
Once they were alone upstairs, Elise apologized. “I’m sorry I didn’t remind you we had dinner plans with Aunt Marcella. I had hoped she would forget and we could get out of it.”
“It’s alright, Elise. It’s not your responsibility to remind me of my obligations.”
She picked out a simple white
pinafore and blue dress for Elise and watched her put the garments on properly. After she was finished, Amelie combed her sister’s hair and placed it in a quick braid.
“Go on downstairs and wait with Aunt Marcella in the carriage. Tell her I’ll be down momentarily.”
In her closet, Amelie found a modest blue dress with tiny white flowers embroidered along the collar and cuffs. Opening her mother’s jewelry box, she lovingly pulled out one of the brooches from inside. She went over to the mirror and gingerly placed it at the center of her neck. After slipping her shoes back on, she combed her hair, and placed it in a loose French roll. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she hoped she was presentable and would not receive a disdainful look from her aunt. Even though it seemed nearly impossible at times, she wanted her aunt’s approval.
Hurrying down the stairs, Amelie picked up her shawl, clutch, and the house key from its regular spot. Locking the front door behind her, she slipped the key into her dress pocket as she made her way over to the carriage.
“Get in girl, you already took far longer than you should have. We need to be on our way before the kitchen closes for your town’s festival.”
Amelie internally flinched from the chastisement. So much for earning her aunt’s approval.
Chapter 3
The dinner passed by dreadfully slow and Amelie watched every word she uttered, every gesture she made, trying to balance between pleasing her aunt and not upsetting her. She had never felt so inferior as when she was around the woman.
Luckily, her aunt was an early-to-bed type person, and coupled with her contempt for the American holiday, she chose to retire early to her suite. Amelie was relieved as she could barely sit through an hour of dinner without making a mistake; she had no idea how she would have made it through an entire evening if she had been required.