The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  “Is that how you knew Aunt Lily was the woman you wanted to marry?”

  Uncle Jonas leaned back against the brown leather of his wingback chair. “No, but it’s a piece of it. My attraction to your mother stemmed from her willingness to enter into spirited debates with me, which was something I thought I wanted in a wife. Had we married, our home would have been full of arguments, some of which undoubtedly would have turned ugly.”

  Isaak had witnessed his godfather’s and his mother’s debating skills often enough to believe it. “Most of the time, Pa lets her argue every side of an issue without ever entering into it.”

  Uncle Jonas grinned. “Lily handles me in much the same way, and she always ends with, ‘You’re a good man. I’m sure you’ll come to the right conclusion.’ It’s a show of respect. I married her because I fell in love with her. Since then, every decision I make is motivated by my desire to keep impressing Lily, keep her believing in my goodness, and keep that glow of respect for me in her eyes.”

  A much better defining moment than Yancey wanting to feel as if her feet left the ground.

  “I can be a hard man sometimes.” Uncle Jonas crossed his arms over his chest. “Being a judge requires it. Lily’s softness—which is not to be confused with weakness, mind you—balances me.”

  Isaak needed softness in his life, too. And someone who’d encourage him to stop and stare at clouds or put activities on his schedule other than work, church, and civic duties. He opened his journal and jotted “softness” and “clouds” in the margin of a page to remind himself to add the attributes to his list of desirable traits in a wife.

  Uncle Jonas rubbed his chin. “We’ve strayed far from the topic of Miss de Fleur and your brother. What makes you question their suitability?”

  Isaak took a moment to formulate his reasons. He knew Jakob better than anyone, even their parents. As twins, they’d shared everything from the very beginning. Yes, sometimes they fought, but most of the time they were each other’s strongest defenders and best friends. Jakob came up with ideas all the time. Some of them wild and impractical; some quite good. Regardless, he could talk people into trying them. If it was a good idea, Isaak was the one who figured out the various tasks needed to accomplish their objective and which of their friends would be best suited for each. He was also the one to keep everyone on schedule because Jakob always lost interest or got distracted by details, to the detriment of the overall project.

  “My brother needs a wife who’ll challenge his ideas, as I often do, and then take on the role of organizer. Miss de Fleur values harmony over confrontation.” It took accusing her of being a fraud and offering her a bribe before she’d pushed back. Even then, it was with grace and that soft smile Isaak couldn’t shake from his memory.

  “I agree.” Uncle Jonas reached for his pen. “She’d be a far better wife for someone like you.”

  Isaak inhaled so fast he coughed. “For me?”

  “Yes, although Lily is convinced Miss de Fleur and Jakob will be wonderful together. I’ve only observed them at a few dinners, so I’m reserving judgment as to their suitability for the time being.”

  Uncle Jonas dropped his gaze to the notes he’d been taking during their meeting. “I have one last thing to say about Kendrick.”

  Isaak coughed twice more, then focused on his godfather. “Yes, sir?”

  “The man is a scoundrel and a cheat. You’ll be tempted to sink to his level.” He lifted his head to spear Isaak with piercing gray eyes. “Don’t. Let me handle Kendrick. I’ll expose his shenanigans to the papers while you remain above the fray. Your reputation as an honorable man is what sets you apart and will win you votes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, about hosting a barbeque to announce your candidacy . . .”

  * * *

  Zoe rested the second pan of golden-brown croissants atop the cookstove to cool. “Come look! Zese are as perfect as ze first batch.”

  Mrs. Forsythe left the sink and walked over, using her white apron to dry her hands. She stopped next to Zoe and breathed in deep. “Mmm, I love the smell of freshly baked bread.”

  Zoe stirred the still-warm glaze in the saucepan. “I will add ze glaze while you go meet your friend at ze train depot.”

  Mrs. Forsythe rested her palm on Zoe’s cheek. “You are so, so precious to me.” She sighed, then lowered her hand. “Is there anything we may have forgotten for tomorrow?”

  As Mrs. Forsythe untied the apron she wore over her calico day dress, Zoe dug into her own apron pocket for the menu they had decided upon for tomorrow’s eight o’clock breakfast party. While she had disliked being volunteered by Nico into giving cooking lessons to Mrs. Deal, Zoe had enjoyed helping Mrs. Deal learn to cook better. Partially because Mrs. Deal and Janet, before she returned to Butte, were cheerful and willing learners. Volunteering to cook for Mrs. Forsythe’s breakfast party would show the depth of Zoe’s appreciation for the Forsythes.

  Their love for the Gunderson-Pawlikowski family was as apparent as their love for her. The Forsythes were as close to a set of doting parents as Zoe could dream of having.

  Feeling the warm sting of tears, she blinked rapidly and focused on the menu. “For ze first course,” she said, “we will serve individual bowls of warm oatmeal with baked apples, topped with fresh cream. All ingredients are stocked in ze larder.”

  Mrs. Forsythe nodded. “Next one.”

  “Ze second course is scalloped fish and cucumbers.” Zoe looked up from the menu. Both baked round dishes filled with layers of flaked fish, bread crumbs, and butter were also in the larder awaiting reheating. The cucumbers were marinating in vinegar. “All has been prepared. Do you remember seeing parsley in ze larder?”

  “There isn’t any.”

  Zoe looked back at the menu. “For ze third course, we will serve both sweetbreads and cauliflower with a cream sauce. All ingredients are in ze larder, but nothing can be prepared until ze morning.” She followed Mrs. Forsythe’s worried gaze to the counter on which sat a dozen jars of marmalade, olives, and pickles.

  Mrs. Forsythe sighed. “I wonder if we should include a few relishes.”

  “Zere is no reason why we cannot serve zem.” Zoe gave a cursory glance to the menu. “Ze forth course will include fritters and delicate griddle cakes. Coffee zat was first served with ze fish will be refilled.”

  “Then it sounds like the only thing we need is fresh parsley.”

  Nodding in agreement, Zoe slid the menu back into her apron pocket.

  Mrs. Forsythe chuckled, a sweet, melodic sound Zoe had noticed never failed to bring a smile to her husband’s face. “I have been trying to figure out all week what it was I couldn’t remember I needed. Buy Parsley was it. Jonas keeps telling me to make a list. After nine years of marriage, he ought to know me better.”

  Zoe held up the saucepan as she drizzled glaze from a spoon over the croissants. “Ze grocer is two blocks away. I will purchase some parsley.”

  “Oh, don’t do that.” Mrs. Forsythe removed the black netting covering the back of her ash-blond hair. “Marilyn grows herbs year-round in her greenhouse. Isaak can take you over there while I go to meet Pauline at the depot.”

  Zoe blinked, hoping she had misheard. She scooped another spoonful of glaze. “Mr. Gunderson?” she said, her heart beating faster at the mere mention of his name.

  Mrs. Forsythe’s gaze shifted to the pan of croissants.

  Zoe looked down to see she had drizzled the last spoonful of glaze on only one croissant, soaking it. She dropped the spoon into the saucepan, then set it back on the cookstove.

  Mrs. Forsythe gave Zoe a strange look as she said, “He and Jonas are in the library. Jonas surprised me by returning home early from his trip to Bozeman. He leaves again on Monday, so he sent Isaak a note asking him to reschedule their campaign-planning meeting to today.”

  Zoe glanced at the kitchen door in panic. In the library meant Mr. Gunderson was in the Forsythes’ home. What was he doing here? He
should be at home resting after a day of work, or be at The Import Company checking up on Jakob or—or—be anywhere but here. Where she was.

  Mrs. Forsythe gripped Zoe’s elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  “He dislikes me.”

  “Isaak?”

  She nodded.

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Forsythe insisted. “Isaak is a nice young man.”

  “He zinks I am a schemer who wishes to rob his brother. He”—Zoe lowered her voice—“zinks I am a woman ze newspaper warns about.”

  Mrs. Forsythe’s eyes widened. “Does Jakob know this?”

  Zoe nodded.

  Mrs. Forsythe shook her head in a disapproving manner. “Isaak’s problem is he’s jealous.” She spoke with an impressive amount of assurance that she was right. “Jakob has always been the one girls flocked around and fawned over. Once Jakob marries, Isaak will be alone for the first time in his life.”

  “He has his mother and stepfather.”

  “Parents aren’t the same as a sibling. I was devastated after my sisters married. They were in their twenties. I didn’t marry until I was thirty-four.” Mrs. Forsythe twisted her wedding ring. “The most caring thing I can do for Isaak is to intervene.”

  “Intervene?” Zoe wanted no part in this.

  “Yes, dear. The best way to help Isaak is to find him a lady to court. Doing so will keep him out of Jakob’s courting of you.”

  The idea was tempting. But what did Zoe know?

  “The problem with this whole plan,” Mrs. Forsythe mused, “is if there was a girl for Isaak here in Helena, he would’ve already found her. The man plans everything months and months in advance.”

  “Jakob has told me of ze calendar his brother keeps,” Zoe remarked, because she felt increasingly unsure about Mrs. Forsythe’s impulsive idea. “His life is full with family, church, work, and running for mayor. Where is ze time for him to pursue a girl?”

  Mrs. Forsythe sighed. “I know. I’d hoped he’d fall for Yancey or Carline or even Miss Snowe. Isaak Gunderson is the type of man who’ll fall in love once he decides doing so fits in his schedule. There’s no joy in that. Love is too wild, too unexpected, too grand an emotion to limit it to a timetable.”

  Or expect it to occur by Day 28 of a courtship contract.

  Unlike during the first weeks of their courtship, work now consumed more of Jakob’s time. Whenever Zoe inquired about his plans for the future—marriage, children—his answers had been vague. Sometimes she wished Jakob would be a little more decisive. And focused.

  All courtships reached a point of stagnation, did they not?

  Her heart felt no pull toward Jakob. Maybe Jakob’s lost interest was the confirmation she needed to end the contract.

  Zoe managed a small smile. “I wish you well, but zis is none of my—”

  Before Zoe could say “business,” Mrs. Forsythe grabbed her hand. “Come. You and Isaak need to clear the air.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I do not zink—” Zoe bit off her argument as she hurried to keep in step with Mrs. Forsythe’s determined pace to the front foyer and up the stairs.

  They stopped at the second door on the right.

  After a quick knock, Mrs. Forsythe opened the door. She pulled Zoe inside the library, breathed in deep, and smiled as if she had just sniffed the bouquet of roses. “Jonas, have you and our godson finished with your campaign planning?”

  Mr. Forsythe, who was standing next to a wall of books, slid the one he held back onto the shelf. “We haven’t, but what do you need done?”

  Zoe did her best not to look at Mr. Gunderson standing next to the library’s window. She had seen his scowl when they entered the room. She felt his gaze upon her. She must look unladylike to him, dressed in her serviceable gray work dress and her hair hidden by a white kerchief. And yet her heart fluttered, truly fluttered. Why? He usually made her sick with nerves.

  Mrs. Forsythe squeezed Zoe’s hand. “We need parsley.”

  “Parsley?” Mr. Forsythe echoed.

  “Yes, darling. We need parsley from Marilyn’s greenhouse.”

  “I’ll ring over there,” Mr. Gunderson said in a genial tone. “Mrs. Wiley is cleaning today. She can bring you some.”

  “Thank you, dear, but no.” Mrs. Forsythe was smiling; Zoe could hear it in her tone. “Zoe needs to go herself to select the amount we need. You will escort her to the house so she isn’t molested, as Miss Rigney was on her way home from school last week. It will be dark soon.”

  “In three hours,” he clarified. “The greenhouse is only a couple of blocks away. There’s no need for me to accompany Miss de Fleur. Marshal Valentine arrested the perpetrator.”

  “The accused perpetrator,” Mrs. Forsythe corrected him. “Until the man is proven guilty in a court of law, I am not putting my daughter’s virtue at risk.”

  “Miss de Fleur isn’t your daughter.”

  “Isaak David Gunderson, do not take that tone with me.” Her grip tightened on Zoe’s hand. “As far as I’m concerned, she is.”

  Silence descended.

  Zoe twisted the bottom edge of her apron. Whatever looks they were giving each other, she had no desire to see. Her life was more pleasant without Isaak Gunderson in it.

  It was Judge Forsythe who finally spoke. “Isaak, do what Lily asks. We can continue this discussion tomorrow, after you’ve finished with work.” He paused. “And if we’re fortunate, there will be remainders from my wife’s breakfast feast for us to enjoy.”

  “Oh, Jonas, I’ve repeatedly said you are welcome at the party.”

  “Yes, dear, I know.”

  Silence descended again.

  Zoe tipped up her chin enough for her to see both men still stood where they had been when she entered the library.

  Mr. Gunderson made no response to the judge’s order.

  Zoe said nothing either, but she suspected Mr. Gunderson, for the first time ever, appreciated her silence.

  “Now that we’ve got that settled . . .” Mrs. Forsythe released Zoe’s hand. “You’ll love Marilyn’s greenhouse. She designed it herself.” To her husband, she said, “I’m leaving to meet Pauline at the depot.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I know.” He strolled toward his wife, the corner of his mouth indenting. “But a man would be a fool not to indulge in a private carriage ride with a beautiful woman. Heed my words, Isaak.” He wrapped his wife’s arm around his and escorted her out of the library, but not before Zoe noticed Mrs. Forsythe’s blush.

  Mr. Gunderson cleared his throat. “I have a Widows and Orphans Committee meeting to go to. Let’s make this quick.”

  Zoe nipped on her bottom lip. This was her fault. She should never have confessed what she had about Mr. Gunderson’s dislike to Mrs. Forsythe, or complied with her insistence about going to the greenhouse for the parsley.

  “Well?” he prodded in that I-dislike-you-more-than-the-plague voice of his.

  Zoe opened her mouth to apologize for putting him in this awkward situation. She wished to be kind to him, but—oh, how he unnerved her! So she pursed her lips tight. She should draw comfort in knowing Mr. Gunderson was no more pleased to be accompanying her than she was at this moment.

  And yet tears pooled in her eyes.

  Without waiting for Mr. Gunderson, Zoe hurried out of the library, removed her apron as she descended the stairs, hung the apron on the hall tree, and then ran out the front door and across the lawn. She reached the first intersection—and rid herself of tears—before he caught up to her.

  He slapped his black hat atop his head. “I can’t protect you if you run off.”

  “You should return to work,” she said, suddenly warm at how close he was standing. His arm could easily wrap around her waist and draw her against him, holding her close, never letting her go. Mortified at the thought, she blurted out, “I need no assistance.”

  “Your self-reliance is admirable.”

  As
much as she wished to be immune to his biting honesty, his words stung.

  “I prefer you leave me alone,” she whispered.

  Mr. Gunderson did not respond.

  They stood there silent, waiting for a surrey to roll past.

  Zoe looked anywhere but at him, hoping for a sudden outbreak of hives. Or a megrim. Or a plausible head cold. As fate would have it, nothing happened. She felt as healthy as ever.

  The street cleared, and Zoe released a grateful breath.

  Mr. Gunderson held on to her elbow and escorted her across the street without first asking if she needed assistance. He dropped his hold. They continued down the street.

  She said nothing.

  He said nothing, that perpetual scowl on his face.

  Or perhaps perpetual was too harsh a word.

  He looked happy to see some people. Just never her. Or his brother. She had yet to see him pleased with Jakob. That could be from concern and worry over Jakob’s handling of the building of the store.

  There—two houses away—was his three-story home. She again did not wait for him. She hurried up the street, turned onto the house’s side path, and entered the white-picket gate leading to the back property.

  She gasped at the heartbreaking sight of the neglected garden.

  Jakob said his mother’s beloved garden and greenhouse were the first two places everyone looked when wanting to find her. April was past the ideal time to cultivate the garden for spring planting. Why had this not been done? Mrs. Pawlikowski would wish to come home and see her garden loved and cared for.

  Not this!

  Ashamed of the brothers’ disregard, Zoe moved past the pitiful garden bed to the grand wood-and-glass building. She opened both double doors and stepped inside, just over the threshold, expecting to find the same neglect.

  “Oh,” she breathed in awe.

  Both paths on either side of the center table had been swept yet held an occasional dropping from the little brown birds resting in the feeders hanging over them. None of the raised beds contained weeds. Dozens of sprouts and tomato plants grew from clay pots. The greenhouse smelled heavenly of lavender, rosemary, and roses from the three times as many aroma plants than budding ones, all looking lovingly tended to. Against the farthest wall a trio of citrus trees bore abundant fruit.