The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  Zoe’s throat tightened. She looked away from Emilia, blinking repeatedly to stop the tears from forming. To have named her after someone notable would have meant Maman cared. If Maman had cared about Zoe—if she had loved her—she would have stayed with Zoe and Papa instead of chasing her heart’s desire.

  “I lost my mother, too.” The tenderness of Emilia’s words drew Zoe’s attention.

  “How did you . . . ?”

  “Know?” Emilia smiled gently. As her eyes welled with tears, she cradled her hand around Zoe’s. “People whose mothers are alive don’t tear up”—she blinked, then fanned her face with her notebook—“like we both have. Grief is sneaky. It hits us when we least expect it.”

  Zoe blinked away her tears. She liked the stability emanating from Emilia. Yancey and Carline exuded fun, but their golden beauty, spontaneity, and vivaciousness drew too much attention, too much focus. Like pastries, Yancey and Carline were enjoyed best in small doses. Plus, both still had their mothers to talk to. As much as Zoe would like Mrs. Forsythe to be her mother, how could she be a genuine substitute?

  Zoe squeezed Emilia’s hand. “Zank you for understanding.”

  Emilia gave Zoe a tentative smile. “We mail-order brides ought to stick together.” Without releasing Zoe’s hand, Emilia peered into Mr. Gunderson’s office. “Well now, isn’t this strange?” she murmured. She walked to the storage room, pulling Zoe with her. “Isaak?”

  No answer.

  Emilia released Zoe. “Stay there for a moment. I bet Mr. Jones arrived and they’re outside negotiating a price on the plow.” She walked to the double doors at the end of the hall. A brick kept the right door propped open. She stepped outside and, as she released her hold on the door, the door banged against the brick.

  Zoe glanced inside the storage room, packed to the ceiling with household goods, yet all was neat, organized, and divided into sections. Two crates, almost reaching Zoe’s shoulder in height and width, sat in the far corner with the red-stenciled words THE IMPORT CO. on the sides.

  The door reopened.

  Emilia stepped back inside. “I’m sorry. I have no idea where Isaak disappeared to. When he returns, I’ll let him know you were looking for him.”

  “For Jakob,” Zoe corrected, and ignored the sudden fluttering in her belly. “I am looking for—”

  The black candlestick telephone on Mr. Gunderson’s desk rang.

  Emilia hurried into the office to answer it. “The Resale Company. How can I help you?” Pause. “He stepped out for a moment.” Pause. “Jakob’s not here either.” Pause. Her gaze shifted to Zoe.

  Something odd flickered in Emilia’s caramel-colored eyes and then it disappeared, replaced with genuine pleasure.

  Zoe looked to the door, feeing a sudden inclination to flee.

  “What if I send someone else over?” Emilia paused, again listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be sure to tell Mac how blessed he is to have married me. You have a good day, too.” She rehooked the earpiece, then turned to Zoe. “Would you mind doing me a favor?”

  The Pawlikowski house

  A month ago, Zoe stood in this very spot at the bottom of the steps, listening to Jakob boast about the locally quarried blue granite that framed his parents’ three-story home. While the raised first floor, wraparound porch, and magnificent tower added a whimsical beauty to the house, what appealed to her most were the front steps. Painted red, the twelve steps matched the porch columns, railings, gingerbread trim, and the house numbers on the wooden shingle hanging from the porch awning. Four, perhaps, five people could sit across each stair tread.

  A month ago, she had daydreamed about sitting on this porch with Jakob and their children, his brother, and his brother’s wife and children for a family photograph. Mr. and Mrs. Pawlikowski would be in the middle, surrounded by their legacy. Love, so much love, would be captured in the photograph. For years, they would repeat this pose on these steps, well into the next century, when Zoe would be in the middle with her husband, surrounded by their legacy.

  A month ago, she had hope.

  Now she was determined to make her daydream a reality.

  Smiling, she strolled up the steps to the double front doors and knocked.

  The right door opened.

  A bony woman with gray-tinged auburn hair cut close to her scalp stood there, curiosity in her blue-green eyes. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. McCall sent me to provide ze assistance you requested.”

  The woman’s amused gaze fell to Zoe’s sapphire silk day dress. “You seem to be a woman of good breeding. I appreciate your willingness, but I need muscle, not beauty.”

  Zoe hesitated, unsure of how to respond, so she said the only thing that came to mind. “I am Zoe de Fleur.”

  The woman gasped. “Oh! You’re Jakob’s girl! Come in, come in.” She pulled Zoe inside, tossed her umbrella onto the hall tree, and then shut the door. She leaned close and sniffed. “Jakob was right—lilacs at first bloom. His brother said you smelled like a bridal bouquet. I told Mr. Gunderson he needed to learn to be more romantic if he ever wanted to win a girl’s affections, but he insisted he wasn’t trying to be romantic, that the description fit.”

  Warmness spread under Zoe’s skin. A bridal bouquet was far more romantic in her opinion than lilacs in bloom. The latter, to be fair, was the exact name of the perfumed glycerin soap she used—Colgate & Co.’s Lilacs in Bloom.

  The housekeeper studied Zoe. “Goodness, you’re so pretty. I took this job hoping to ingratiate myself so much into Jakob’s life that he realized he couldn’t live without me. My plan was to marry him this summer, but now that you’re here . . .” She sighed. “You’re fortunate I’m not fifteen years younger. I’m sure I could lure him away from you.”

  “I zink you are joking with me, but if you are not”—Zoe smiled and gave the housekeeper’s arm a consoling pat—“zen I am sorry I ruined your plan to marry Jakob.”

  Merriment danced in the housekeeper’s eyes. “You’re here, so I might as well put you to work. Come along with me.”

  Zoe removed her bonnet, hung it on the hall tree, and followed the good-humored housekeeper down the hall.

  “I’m Mrs. Wiley, by the way,” she said over her shoulder. “You may call me Sarah, if you like. I’ve been working for the twins since mid-February. Twice a week cleaning.” She opened the door and allowed Zoe to enter the kitchen first. “Mr. Gunderson gave me a list of what he wanted cleaned and the most efficient schedule to have it all accomplished by the time the Pawlikowskis return home.”

  As Mrs. Wiley continued on and on about what was on Mr. Gunderson’s list, Zoe glanced about the kitchen, which was larger than the front parlor. Burgundy silk curtains lay across the corner table, next to the ironing board. On the back wall, between two tall windows, was a steel sink as wide as a drinking trough. Black soapstone framed the sink, leaving room on either side for dishes to sit. That same soapstone covered a counter in the center of the room.

  And Mrs. Pawlikowski had two—two!—cookstoves.

  Best of all, the greater size of the kitchen allowed people to enjoy each other’s company while preparing a meal. And the two-person table under a window provided the perfect spot for one to look outside to the greenhouse, the what-should-be-lush garden, the carriage house, and the fenced yard for several horses, a cow, and chickens. If the Pawlikowskis no longer needed space for their animals, they could build two more homes on their property. Not that either would need a kitchen, considering the size of this one.

  “She must enjoy cooking,” Zoe said when Mrs. Wiley paused to take a breath.

  “Who must?”

  “Mrs. Pawlikowski. Jakob’s mother.”

  “She prefers to call it experimenting.”

  Zoe looked out the kitchen’s window. “Zank you for caring for Mrs. Pawlikowski’s greenhouse. Zis is kind of you.”

  “Oh, that’s all Mr. Gunderson’s doing.”

  Other t
han Mr. Gunderson’s godparents and a small circle of friends, everyone Zoe had met in town referred to him as Mr. Gunderson and Jakob as Jakob. Why that bothered her, she was not sure.

  She returned her attention to Mrs. Wiley. “Why is ze garden untended still?”

  “Fret not! Jakob will take care of it before his parents return.” Mrs. Wiley patted Zoe’s arm. “It’s a good thing you learned about his minimal gardening skills before he proposed marriage, isn’t it?”

  Zoe laughed. “I see what you are about, Mrs. Wiley. You wish him to lose my favor so he will be free to marry you.”

  “Am I succeeding?”

  Zoe let her answer be a smile. At that moment, she noticed a jar on the kitchen table.

  Mrs. Wiley’s gaze shifted to where Zoe was looking. “Those are Mr. Gunderson’s.”

  Zoe frowned as she walked toward the table, her attention on the glass jar half-filled with strange kernels. “What are zey?”

  “You’ve never seen candied corn before?”

  She had made candied carrots, beets, fruit, lemon peel, ginger, and even horseradish, but never had she seen or heard of candied corn. “Are zey edible?”

  Mrs. Wiley picked up the jar and removed the lid. “Here, try one. He won’t mind.”

  Zoe chose one of the tricolored kernels. Instead of the crunch she was expecting, it was soft. How could such a sweet fondant have so little flavor? She tasted vanilla, butter, and honey, but the waxy texture was unappealing at best. This faux candy should be melted and turned into a crème. With a little cayenne and cocoa power—

  No! This candy should be tossed to swine.

  There was no polite way to spit it out, so she swallowed. “Zey are edible, but eatable?” She shook her head. “Zat is not candy.”

  Mrs. Wiley laughed. “Don’t let Mr. Gunderson hear you. He has a serious sweet tooth.”

  “He eats candied corn because he knows not better. I could make him a treat zat would banish all desire for zis—” Zoe grimaced. “Ick. I have no words to describe it.”

  “The twins mentioned you’re a chef.”

  Household cook, to be exact. Weary of explaining the difference, she looked at the curtains. “How may I help?”

  Mrs. Wiley grabbed the hem of her calico skirt and tucked the edge into the waistband, exposing her white bloomers. “Pick up one end of the curtains here and I’ll do the other. We can lay them over the divan. I’ll climb the ladder; you certainly won’t be able to manage it in that fancy gown.” She picked up one end of the stacked curtains. “Once we’re in the parlor, you can hand me one curtain at a time.”

  While Mrs. Wiley walked backward down the hall, Zoe carried the other end of the stacked curtains, taking care not to let them wrinkle. They were midway in redraping the last parlor window when the rain began.

  After hanging the curtain, Mrs. Wiley climbed down the ladder. She drew up to the window where Zoe stood watching the rain pound against the street, mud puddles everywhere. “I’ll wager we have a good hour or two before this lets up. How about we—Miss de Fleur, is something bothering you? You seem distracted.”

  Zoe stared absently at the rain-splattered window. “Zis morning Mr. Snowe mentioned how his daughter had once favored Jakob.”

  “Miss Snowe is one of dozens who once favored him.” Mrs. Wiley bumped her shoulder against Zoe’s. “Or still do.”

  “Including you?”

  “If I were fifteen years younger . . .” The besotted sigh that came from Mrs. Wiley seemed more fitting coming from Carline or Yancey. Zoe had uttered a few of those sighs herself after first meeting Jakob. Clearly, he had his choice of ladies who would happily allow him to court them.

  Desperate for an answer to the question that had plagued her for weeks, Zoe turned to face Mrs. Wiley. “Why did Jakob write for a bride by mail delivery when zere are many eminently suitable women here in Helena?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself.” Her knowing gaze settled on Zoe. “For all Jakob’s virtues—and that man has many virtues—he’s impatient and can miss what’s right in front of him. If the idea pops into his mind to put out an advertisement for a bride, he’s going to do it. Why not? As he often says, It’ll be fun.”

  Zoe nodded, having heard him say that. “Jakob knows how to make a girl smile and forget her worries.”

  Mrs. Wiley chuckled. “That he does. I doubt his brother has ever done a spontaneous thing in his life without Jakob leading him on. Compared to Jakob, Mr. Gunderson is quite the bore. You should see the cleaning schedule he gave me. He plans everything.” The emphasis Mrs. Wiley put on everything made Mr. Gunderson’s diligence seem a grave character flaw.

  “Mr. Gunderson can be counted on to do what he says he will do,” Zoe said in his defense, “to be faithful, to never leave because something new has caught his interest. Some women would find zat dependability as appealing as Jakob’s joie de vivre.”

  A wrinkle deepened between Mrs. Wiley’s brows. “I’m not even going to try to repeat what you just said.”

  Zoe chuckled. “It means a cheerful enjoyment of life. Jakob has happy eyes because he has a happy spirit. He will bring laughter into ze life of ze girl he marries.” She turned to look out the window, her smile fading as understanding dawned. The more Jakob separated from Isaak, the emptier Isaak felt. “Mr. Gunderson needs to find a girl with happy eyes and a happy spirit who will bring joie de vivre into his life, as Jakob has done for him all zese years.”

  “She’ll have to storm into his life like a cyclone because Isaak Gunderson would never go looking for a female version of his brother. There’s not a soul in Helena who tries his patience more, and that’s by his own admission.” Mrs. Wiley stepped closer to Zoe and lowered her voice, even though they were the only two in the house. “I think young unmarried ladies intimidate him.”

  Zoe opened her mouth . . . yet no words came out.

  Isaak Gunderson carried too much confidence to be intimidated by anyone, least of all a young unmarried lady. If anything, he was too busy to realize he was lonely. What he needed was a steady, gentle rain—not a cyclone—to remind him to work a little less and have fun a little more.

  “He’s never courted anyone,” Mrs. Wiley remarked.

  Zoe snapped to attention. His brother was the first person to court her.

  “Never?” she asked even though this was none of her business. No one’s romantic pursuits—or, more precisely, lack thereof—fascinated her as much as Isaak Gunderson’s did. “How do you know zis?”

  Mrs. Wiley paused for a long moment. “I’ve only lived in Helena for six years, but I can’t remember seeing him with any girl besides Yancey Palmer or Carline Pope . . . or Emilia McCall before she married. He’s always at work or helping at church with the Widows and Orphans Committee. Every widow in town knows to go to him for help. There isn’t a more generous man or a more dutiful son than Isaak Gunderson.”

  “You said he was a bore.”

  “That he is. He’s a good man, even if he’s not as exciting to be around as Jakob is.”

  Zoe nodded in agreement. She glanced over her shoulder at the clock sitting on the piano Carline Pope had lovingly played a month ago. Not quite an hour had passed since Zoe arrived to help. Yet the rain still looked strong and steady.

  Zoe smiled at Mrs. Wiley. “Is zere anything else I can help clean?”

  “Do you want to clean?”

  Zoe grimaced. “I always prefer someone else do ze cleaning, but I enjoy helping someone in need. And I like you.” She motioned to the window. “Plus, I cannot leave. Ze rain holds me hostage.”

  “As it does me,” Mrs. Wiley said grimly. “The rain and Isaak Gunderson’s cleaning list.” She looked from the window to Zoe, and the corners of her mouth slowly indented. “Miss de Fleur, please take no offense when I say I don’t believe you can cook a better sweet than candied corn.”

  “You like zat wretched treat?”

  “If I say yes, will you feel compelled to prove my opinion wrong?”r />
  Zoe realized where this was headed. “You are hoping I am competitive enough to rise to ze bait.”

  “Seeing we have Mrs. Pawlikowski’s grand kitchen all to ourselves,” Mrs. Wiley said smugly, “I’m hoping you are mercilessly competitive.”

  “I feel strangely compelled to prove you wrong about my cooking skills.” Zoe followed Mrs. Wiley back to the kitchen. What could she make based on memory alone? It needed to be simple. With limited ingredients. As they entered the kitchen, Zoe glanced at the icebox, then at the closet door she suspected led to the larder. The best sweet to fit the requirements would be—

  “I shall make praline de café,” she announced.

  Mrs. Wiley walked to the wall-mounted coffee grinder. “What is a praw-leen do—I have no idea what you just said.”

  “All zat matters is zey are a million times more eatable zan candied corn.” Zoe gave the housekeeper her most mischievous grin. “Every flavor of praline is as alluring to men as a siren’s song. I shall make ones flavored with coffee. Zey were Papa’s favorite candy.”

  Mrs. Wiley seemed sufficiently impressed. “Be forewarned: I fully intend on telling Jakob I made these.”

  Zoe laughed. Mrs. Wiley could tell Jakob anything she wished because Zoe intended on taking Jakob a jar of pralines, along with a personal invitation to join her for supper tonight with Lily Forsythe. He would say yes. She was a jarful of candy sure of it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Later that evening

  The Pawlikowski House

  Isaak opened the front door. “Jakob? Are you home?”

  Silence.

  The scent of coffee and something sweet filled the air. Isaak’s stomach rumbled in response. He’d gone straight from The Resale Co. to church to talk to the Ladies’ Aid Society and missed dinner.

  Isaak shut the door. Where was that heavenly smell coming from?