The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  Zoe released a weary breath.

  “What was that sigh about?” he asked.

  She should have no care what he thought about her, but she had to ask. She had to know why he thought she was unlikable. “Why do you care so little for me?”

  * * *

  Isaak stopped walking before he tripped over his feet. “I care.”

  Disbelief flashed in her beautiful brown eyes. “False compassion—zat is what zis is. Pretense.” She said it with such assurance that his mouth gaped for a long moment in dumbfounded silence.

  “Pretense? How in the world do you come by that?”

  “If you truly cared, you would have been at ze train depot with Jakob to welcome me to Helena. If you truly cared, you would have supported Jakob’s courtship.” She poked his arm. “If you truly cared, you would treat me as if you are happy about ze prospect of my joining your perfect family and of me becoming your brother’s bride.”

  Stunned at both the number of words that had left her mouth and how blatantly wrong she was with each one of them, Isaak offered no reply. He’d been busy the day she arrived and was justifiably suspicious of a mail-order bride. She was right about one thing, though. He wasn’t happy about her joining his family as Jakob’s bride.

  “Indeed, Mr. Gunderson, you care nothing for me.” Her indignation was at odds with her usual gentle manner. “You need not say ze words for me to know you still wish me to leave Helena and never return.”

  She was right. Being around her made him uncomfortable, which was better left unsaid at the moment. And because he couldn’t justify it with a logical explanation.

  Isaak started forward. He didn’t want to add making her late for tea with Mrs. Hollenbeck to the list of his offenses.

  Miss de Fleur fell into step next to him. “Zere is no reason to deny your feelings.”

  “I’m not denying anything.” Her litany of complaints made sense from her perspective. So did his, but the middle of the street wasn’t the place for this discussion. “Watch where you step.”

  She bumped into him in her quick avoidance of a manure pile. “You reject my overtures because you still zink I am a fraud.”

  When they reached the opposite side of the street, she stopped and rested her hands on her hips. “Be honest with me, Mr. Gunderson. Is it because I am French instead of American? Or because I answered an advertisement to be a bride delivered by ze mail?”

  It was a natural opening into one of the things about her that plagued him. “Tell me why you left New York.”

  She looked away, but not before he saw embarrassment—or was it guilt?—in her dark eyes. She drew in a breath. “I was relieved of my position as household cook for a New York society hostess.”

  “Why?” Miss de Fleur’s brief explanation didn’t match the glowing telegram he’d received.

  “My employer said it was for my own good. She wanted me to open a restaurant.”

  Isaak conveyed his confusion with a look.

  “Papa and I met Mrs. Gilfoyle-Crane four and a half years ago when she came to London for ze wedding of her daughter to ze nobleman who had hired Papa to cater ze reception. Mrs. Gilfoyle-Crane offered Papa double his usual pay if he would move to Manhattan and become her private chef. He agreed. Last year, after he passed away, I was promoted to household cook.”

  Isaak lifted his brows. “You really can’t be called a chef because you’re a woman?”

  “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “Zis past Christmas, Mrs. Gilfoyle-Crane had a dream in which I owned a restaurant. She began working tirelessly to help me bring her dream to life, so how could I tell her no?”

  “Did you—do you—want to own a restaurant?”

  “No.” She spoke so softly he barely heard her response. She started walking up the Hollenbeck carriageway.

  He followed. “You went along with what she wanted for your life even though it wasn’t something you wanted? I can’t believe you would have opened a restaurant, spent all that money and time, just to please this woman.”

  She shrugged. “I did not wish to be ungrateful for her kindness. She paid for Papa and me to come to America. She opened her home to us. She hired a tutor to help us speak English.”

  The magnitude of her response sank in. Even if she discovered she and Jakob were unsuitable, she would marry him out of gratitude for bringing her to Helena and providing her housing, food, and friends.

  Isaak didn’t want to believe it. “Why come out West to find a husband?”

  “I want a home and a family,” she said without pause. “I want a husband who will laugh with me but mostly just sit in lovely, companionable silence. Together. Faithfully together.” Her voice grew raspy. “I want until death does us part.”

  His heart kicked inside his chest. He wanted the same thing.

  Isaak tromped up the carriageway to Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house. “You could have found that there. In New York. Or anywhere. You didn’t need to come to Helena. You didn’t have to agree to be a mail-order bride. You didn’t have to sign that”—he caught himself in time to substitute a more suitable word for her ears—“foolish contract with the matrimonial company.”

  She walked beside him, silent until they reached Mrs. Hollenbeck’s porch steps. “Not foolish. Ze contract is prudent for all.”

  Isaak clamped his lips over a contradiction.

  “When Papa asked if we should move to America, I happily agreed. It was another exciting adventure, but no longer do I have Papa to journey to ze unknown with. I am weary of being alone, Mr. Gunderson. I ache—” She looked away and whispered, “I ache for something more.”

  He paused on the fourth step. “Does Jakob know this?”

  “He knows of my desire to marry.”

  “But not that you feel alone?”

  Her gaze turned to his, and he read the answer in her eyes. She had shared her heart, her deepest desire, with him. Not Jakob.

  Isaak’s heart pounded. People confided in Jakob. Went to him for solace because he could cheer up a lemon. People came to Isaak for decisions—which travel trunk to buy, what gift to give a bridal couple. They didn’t tell him they felt alone or what they ached for. It was a gift. One he didn’t deserve after the way he’d treated her.

  He turned away from her and continued up the stairs to Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house.

  Miss de Fleur climbed alongside him. “I am sorry zat I burdened you with my feelings. I should be sharing zis with Jakob.”

  If she intended to marry him, yes, she should. But saying as much was the exact opposite of what Isaak knew she should do. “That’s not why I walked away.”

  “Zen why did you?”

  Because he kept picturing the two of them sitting together in lovely, companionable silence. “I need to get this box to the Sundins before dinner tonight.”

  “I will take you to ze bank in ze morning and show you what is in my account.”

  Isaak stopped on the top step and stared at her. How her mind jumped from feelings to finances made no logical sense to him. “Why?”

  “So you will believe my reason to marry is not for financial security.” Her tone held equal amounts of innocent sincerity and how-is-this-not-obvious-to-you?

  “I know that’s not your reason.” Although he was taking that on faith. He’d not verified her accounts.

  She looked hopeful. “You no longer believe I am a schemer, yes?” Before he could answer, she said, “You seem unhappy with zat realization.”

  He was . . . because he now thought of her as an honorable woman. Shame heated his chest as he recalled their previous encounters. He’d been rude, accusatory, and distant. Arrogant.

  He ducked his head, staring into the vegetables as if they could absolve him. Pa had taught him that a man admits fault while looking the person he’s wronged in the eye. So Isaak raised his chin and gazed into her deep brown eyes. “Miss de Fleur, every complaint you have against me is justifiable. I had my reasons. They no longer apply.” Except for thinking she and
Jakob didn’t belong together. “Please allow me to apologize for my treatment of you.”

  She gasped. “Zis is a new beginning for us. No more dislike. No more distrust. We shall become friends, Mr. Gunderson, you and I.” She held out her hand to him in a show of amity, her face glowing with delight.

  He glanced at the box he held, preventing him from shaking her hand. “Sorry.”

  Undaunted, she laid her hand over one of his. “Zis is nice, yes?”

  “Yes.” And some other emotion he couldn’t quite place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning

  “Ze sky is sunshiny here and yet grimy over ze mountains,” Zoe remarked in awe at the gray-and-white clouds in the distance. Without looking away from the window, she sipped the warm coffee Mrs. Deal said had too much cream in it to still count as coffee. “Nico, have you ever seen such a beautiful storm?”

  “Stop being so happy,” he grumbled in response.

  Zoe turned to face him. Instead of looking at her, he aimlessly pushed his food around on his plate. Even the usually friendly male boarders seemed morose. None had smiled in her direction or offered anything more than a polite “Mornin’, Miss de Fleur” and “Mornin’, Nico.”

  “I am happy, but . . .”

  Nico finally looked up. “But what?”

  She wanted to say her spirit was as conflicted as the sky—part joyful, part turbulent. But a boardinghouse dining room was no place for an intimate confession.

  Zoe rested her china teacup on its matching saucer. “Mr. Gunderson and I became friends yesterday.”

  “I thought you already were friends.”

  “With his brother, Jakob, yes”—she sighed—“but with Mr. Gunderson, no. Until yesterday. Our spirits are now in harmony.”

  Nico’s brows furrowed. “Which one is courting you?”

  “Jakob. His brother is Mr. Gunderson. Zat is how people keep zem separated,” she explained. “Zey are twins.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re now bosom friends with your suitor’s twin brother.” Nico tapped his fork against his plate. “That’s not strange at all.”

  She frowned. “What is zat supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” he insisted. He resumed pushing the food around on his plate. “I’m happy for you.”

  He was not truly happy for her; that was clear. Once he met Jakob, Nico would see what a good man he was.

  Or she could end the courtship contract today. She could walk away and not look back, as her mother had. The other option was for her to hope for renewed interest, as Papa had with Maman. Zoe nipped at her bottom lip. Could she live with walking away? Probably. She disliked how sad Papa’s longing for Maman kept him from finding a new love.

  Zoe refused to miss out on love. She could live with the regret of not giving Jakob a second chance. She could not live with not honoring her promise to give Jakob sixty days to court her.

  For the remainder of the contract, she would give a wholehearted effort to this courtship. She would be understanding, patient, and supportive. She would show Jakob what a wonderful family he could have with her and Nico, too.

  “You must meet him,” she announced.

  Nico stared at her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Your new friend, the brother?”

  “Not him. Jakob. It is past time you two met.”

  “You’re right.” Nico looked to the window. “Maybe the meeting should wait until the rain passes, though. I owe you another chance to beat me at chess. I’ll spot you two pawns and a knight. I’m sure you’ll win this time.”

  As tired as she was of losing chess matches to Nico, she felt no inclination to accept his offer. Nor had she lived in Helena long enough to judge the rain potential of the clouds. It could be minutes before a droplet fell. It could also be hours. The storm may not be heading to Helena at all.

  Nico, for too long, had avoided meeting Jakob.

  Zoe looked at the gray sky beyond the window . . . and then back at Nico. “Finish your breakfast,” she ordered, and then she stood. “I must go upstairs to claim my umbrella. When I return, I will take you to meet Jakob.”

  Nico muttered, “Sure.”

  With a jubilance in her heart, Zoe hurried upstairs to her room. Once Jakob and Nico were friends, she would take him to meet Isaak Gunderson, who would realize what an upstanding citizen Nico was and would offer him employment as the delivery boy for The Resale Company. Mr. Gunderson would then train Nico to manage a business, to speak with honesty, and to make the community a better place by helping deliver food to needy widows and orphans. Jakob could teach Nico how to be charming and adventurous. Maybe one day, Nico could become mayor. Or governor of the entire territory. If there was a governor. Constable? Senator? Did territories have senators? Oh, she knew so little of American politics.

  What mattered was that Nico’s life would change for the better with the Gundersons in it.

  As hers had.

  Now that she had made things right with Isaak Gunderson, she needed Jakob and Nico to get along so all four of them could move closer to being a happy family. Zoe claimed her umbrella and smiled. For Nico’s sake as well as her own, she would make this courtship a success. She had come West to marry the man of her dreams.

  And marry him she would.

  Eight minutes later ...

  The Import Company

  “What do you mean, Jakob is gone?” Zoe said to Jakob’s expert carpenter, Mr. Lucian Snowe, who stayed focused on the piece of crown molding he was measuring in the construction area on the building’s ground floor. She tapped the tip of her umbrella on the sawdust-covered floor, her wariness growing. “Jakob always begins his workday speaking to ze crew. He should be here.”

  “Isaak sent a message saying he needed Jakob over at The Resale Company.” Mr. Snowe drew a line onto the molding stretched across two sawhorses. He stuck the pencil behind his ear, then met her gaze. “If you hurry on over there, you’ll probably catch him.”

  “How long ago did Jakob leave?”

  “Five minutes, tops.”

  Which was how much of a head start Nico had had on her. She should never have gone upstairs for her umbrella. She also should never have expected Nico to wait for her, not after the many other times he had promised to go with her to meet Jakob yet never had.

  “Oh, Miss de Fleur, my wife asked me to invite you and the Gundersons over for a coffee-and-cake social next Monday evening. Would around seven work?”

  “Zat would be nice. Zank you.” Zoe started to leave and then stopped at the first twinge of suspicion. She looked back at Mr. Snowe. “Did a young man with walnut-colored hair, blue eyes, about my height leave with Jakob?”

  Mr. Snowe shook his head.

  “Might you have seen who gave Jakob ze message from his brother?”

  “Timmy, the lad who cleans up around here.”

  Zoe glanced around. Another five men worked. No little boy anywhere, but that could mean Jakob finally had convinced the boy to resume attending school. “Mr. Snowe, might you also have seen who gave Timmy ze message?”

  “Now, that I don’t know.”

  If she were a betting woman, she would place a wager on Nico. Since arriving in Helena, he had been resistant to Jakob courting her. Refusing to meet Jakob was one thing. Intentionally sabotaging their relationship by tricking Jakob into leaving this morning before she could arrive to talk to him . . . why?

  She looked out a front window at the gray, cloudy sky.

  Thunder rolled in the distance.

  “I suggest you wait here,” Mr. Snowe said with fatherly concern. “Storm’s coming. The roof will keep you from getting drenched. Trust me; Jakob’s bound to come back.”

  “Zank you, but—

  “You’re gonna chase after him,” he cut in and then chuckled. “My daughter’s been doing that for years with no success, so I wish you all the luck catching Jakob. I’ll let my wife know you’ll be at the coffee-and-cake social.” Mr. Snowe grabbed the hand saw and wen
t to work cutting the molding.

  Zoe hurried out of the building and down the boardwalk in the direction of The Resale Company. She crossed the street and headed north. The store came into view. Zoe waited for a lull in the traffic before she crossed the street. Then she strolled past the shop’s paint-chipped front door, which was propped open. The moment Zoe stepped inside the shop, Emilia McCall stopped dusting a table of lamps.

  “Well, good morning, Miss de Fleur. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “And you.” Zoe glanced in the direction of Mr. Gunderson’s office. “I was told Jakob is here. His brother needed his help.”

  “That’s strange. I haven’t see Jakob since yesterday.” Mrs. McCall hooked the feather duster onto the white apron she wore over her serviceable gray dress. “Maybe Isaak knows something. I’ll walk you back there.”

  “Zank you, Mrs. McCall.”

  “As much as I love hearing ‘Mrs. McCall,’” she said over her shoulder as she walked, “please call me Emilia. I doubt there’s much difference in our ages.”

  “Zen you must call me Zoe.”

  “It’s such a lovely name.” Emilia veered around a stack of leather trunks. “My parents named me Emilia after my mother’s second cousin, who was more a sister to her than a distant relative.” She stopped near the partially open door to Mr. Gunderson’s office, then looked at Zoe, her brows raised in a silent how did you come by your name?

  “Maman liked how Zoe sounded.”

  Emilia seemed accepting of that answer, which was good, for it was the truth as far as Zoe knew. Once she had asked Papa why she was named Zoe. Your mother liked how it sounded had been his exact and only response.

  “I hope you don’t mind”—Emilia withdrew a notebook from the pocket on the right side of her apron—“but I did a little research on your name after we first met. Several notable women in history have had the name Zoe, including . . . Let me find where I wrote the information.” She turned the pages. “Here we go. ‘Two empresses in the Byzantine Empire, and St. Zoe, a Roman noblewoman martyred for her faith during Emperor Diocletian’s persecution of the Christian church.’” She looked up. “Wouldn’t it be nice to think your mother named you after one of those ladies?”