The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  Isaak followed, frustrated that his brother would leave him standing alone when they’d agreed on presenting a united front after their near brawl last night. Sidelong glances and hands cupped beside mouths to cover whispers magnified his chagrin. He smiled and touched the brim of his black felt bowler, gratified when mortification pinked cheeks or hurried steps. The feud between him and Jakob wasn’t something to be gawked at or exclaimed over as though they were the players on the stage.

  Isaak stopped on the opposite side of the portico, his muscles tense. As soon as Ma appeared, his face broke into a huge smile. He bent his knees, and the instant her arms went around his neck, he wrapped his around her waist and lifted her off her feet. “Welcome home, Ma. It’s good to see you.”

  He set her on the boardwalk, and she cupped his cheek with her palm. “It’s good to see you, too.” New lines creased the skin beside her blue eyes and a few gray strands of hair were intermingled with the blond ones, yet she seemed invigorated.

  “You look remarkable. Travel agrees with you.”

  She laughed and patted his cheek. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world, as usual.” She turned and enveloped Jakob in a hug, trading places with Pa.

  Isaak hugged his father tight. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, son.” The embrace was too short, but long enough for the sting inside Isaak’s soul to melt under his father’s love. Pa stepped back a pace, gripped Isaak’s biceps, and looked him in the eye.

  Isaak’s throat swelled. Like his mother, Pa appeared older. The wrinkles around his brown eyes were deeper and his silvery hair was touched with more white. It wasn’t much of a change, but enough to remind Isaak that his father wasn’t always going to be around to settle disputes and mend hurts. “We have lots to discuss, but let’s get you home and off that ankle. How is it?”

  “Tender, but not so bad I can’t walk on it a little.”

  “The cavalry has come out to greet you and Ma, so Jakob and I thought you should wait inside the depot where you can sit and chat while we load up your trunks.”

  Pa nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He reached inside his vest and withdrew the claim tickets. “I hope you saved a little extra room in the wagon.” He gave Isaak a conspiratorial grin. “Your mother spotted a set of lamps on our way out of Denver.”

  Isaak chuckled. He looked over to where Jakob was ushering their mother toward the depot. Had he told her about Zoe? If he didn’t say something soon, someone in the crowd of friends surrounding Ma was sure to bring up Jakob’s mail-order bride—a scenario Isaak had mentioned a few hours ago. But Jakob had refused to say how he intended to introduce Zoe before leaving the house.

  “. . . a good thing we sent the items for the stores ahead of us on last week’s train.”

  Isaak returned his attention to his father. “The crates arrived undamaged. I wanted to wait until you got home to tell us exactly which pieces you wanted in which store, but Jakob opened them all while I was busy with something else.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Isaak held the door open so his father could precede him inside the depot. Ma was already seated, Mrs. Hollenbeck on her right side, Aunt Lily on her left, with Mrs. Palmer standing and gesturing with her hands as she described her eldest daughter’s wedding. Pa chose to sit a few feet away so Mr. Palmer and Uncle Jonas could bookend him in similar fashion. The conversation jumped straight into Pa’s opinion on steam-operated streetcars as opposed to horse-drawn ones. Mr. Palmer was firmly in the camp of steam-powered, while Uncle Jonas favored horse-drawn—although Isaak had heard his godfather argue the opposite with Mr. Hess, the blacksmith, because Uncle Jonas didn’t care either way. He just loved a spirited debate.

  Isaak glanced into the telegram office and waved at Yancey. She smiled but didn’t wave back, her hand busy taking notes while Mrs. Watson spoke.

  A burst of feminine laughter drew his attention back to where his parents were sitting.

  Jakob leaned to touch Ma’s arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Isaak and I will go load your trunks. I’ll see you at home.”

  She patted his hand. “Thank you.”

  Isaak followed his brother to where two burly men hoisted trunks, crates, hatboxes, and toiletry cases. Isaak and Jakob silently waited their turn, stepping forward as each customer claimed their baggage and moved on.

  Either in agreement that they shouldn’t get into another fight in front of a crowd or out of orneriness, Jakob didn’t speak until they were loading the wagon. “Ma said the lamps she bought are for The Resale Company, so I’ll drop those off on my way home.”

  “Put them in—”

  “I know where to put them,” he said with that same flat calm as the last time he’d interrupted.

  Isaak set a wooden trunk in the wagon bed. “Is this how it’s going to be between us now?”

  “Until you stop commanding me with every sentence, yes.”

  “I’m not commanding.”

  Jakob’s look said, That’s a matter of opinion. “‘Remember to do this, put that there.’ Sounds like commands to me.”

  They went back for two more large trunks. Jakob hefted his trunk into the wagon box.

  Isaak offloaded the trunk in his hands. “Where is this coming from?”

  Jakob walked back to where the rest of the baggage was piled on the platform. He picked up a hatbox and tucked it under his left arm, then picked up two more.

  Isaak followed, picking up a fourth hatbox, a toiletry case, and a small trunk he didn’t recognize but the porter insisted belonged to them.

  Jakob laid the hatboxes on the front seat where they wouldn’t get crushed. “Per Uncle Jonas’s advice, I refuse to either obey you or fight with you.”

  “You talked to Uncle Jonas?”

  “Yes, Isaak. I do take advice from other people besides you.” Jakob looked down for a moment, huffed, and straightened. His face was impassive and calm again. “Uncle Jonas came to The Import Company this morning. He was furious about our altercation at the opera house. He said the next time we decided to kill each other, we’d better do it in private. I told him I didn’t know how to handle you. That’s when he suggested I call you out every time you ordered me around.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me.” Although Isaak wasn’t upset about it because spending the morning talking to Uncle Jonas left Jakob no time to propose to Zoe.

  Jakob took the hatbox from Isaak and set it beside the other three. “Not every conversation or decision has to be run through you for approval.”

  Isaak set the toiletry case and small trunk in the wagon box. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jakob turned away and walked back for two tapestry bags.

  Isaak didn’t join him. He was no longer needed. He returned to the depot and stood just inside the door, watching his parents as they spoke with friends who, despite being apart for a year, were as close as ever.

  Did he have any friends like that?

  Hale was more like a big brother. Calm, rational, brilliant, and organized in his own haphazard way, he was someone Isaak trusted to dispense sound wisdom, but they weren’t really friends. Mac was becoming more of a friend, but he was a newlywed who would—God willing—soon be a father. Windsor and Isaak competed back and forth in friendly one-upmanship, but the friendship was only three years old.

  None of them were—or ever would be—Jakob.

  Oh, for the days of catching frogs and watching clouds.

  Pa gave him a searching look. Isaak shook his head to say he was fine, but after a few more minutes of conversing, Pa limped over to stand beside him. “Something’s wrong, and I’d like to know what it is.”

  “Jakob and I are fighting again.”

  Pa chuckled. “I figured that out just by looking at you as we pulled in. What’s wrong this time?”

  “He thinks I order him to do things.”

  “You’ve always ordered him to do things. Why is he opp
osed to it now?”

  Isaak took a step sideways to look in his father’s face. “You’re serious.”

  “About you always ordering Jakob around? Of course I am. I don’t know why that stuns you.” Pa put a hand on Isaak’s shoulder. “Son, you order me around sometimes. It’s as natural to you as breathing.”

  “Yancey says I’m benevolently arrogant.”

  Pa chuckled again. “That might be the best description of you I’ve ever heard.”

  Isaak’s chest stung afresh. “I wish you hadn’t left us to open this store without you.”

  “It was on purpose.” Pa squeezed Isaak’s shoulder. “Sometimes the best thing parents can do is get out of the way and let their children figure things out on their own. You and Jakob are good boys. Good men, I should say.”

  Not of late.

  “Your mother and I knew we were taking a risk, leaving you with the responsibility of opening the new store, but we had faith we’d raised you well enough to do so without killing each other.”

  Isaak looked at his feet, summoning the courage to confess how close they’d come, when a shriek from inside the telegraph office snapped his head up.

  An instant later, Yancey ran into the depot, her face white. “The Resale Company is on fire.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Pawlikowski House

  Leaving the stewed greens to simmer, Zoe scanned the menu she and the twins had agreed upon for the welcome-home dinner tomorrow night. With the last of the comfits and sweetmeats prepared, her next task was to make the brioche dough and puff paste for the morning’s baking. She slid the menu into her apron pocket, then opened the right cookstove to check on the braised ham for the Pawlikowkis’ return-home meal today, which neither twin thought necessary until she suggested it.

  She breathed in the smell of garlic, thyme, carrots, wine, and brandy. Perfect! She closed the oven door.

  A quick touch notified her that the baguettes had finally cooled. She stacked them in a basket, covered it with a napkin, and then carried the bread basket and a crystal butter dish into the dining room.

  Zoe stopped and frowned. Why was the table set for five? She had asked Mrs. Wiley to set it for four—Mr. and Mrs. Pawlikowski and their sons. Perhaps Mrs. Forsythe had decided to join them. But why only her? Judge Forsythe would want to enjoy the meal, too.

  After setting the butter and bread on the table, Zoe added a sixth place setting. Then she returned to the kitchen to start on the brioche dough.

  You have no backbone.

  Nico’s words swirled around in her mind as she mixed salt and sugar into the bowl of flour.

  Zoe poured the yeast mixture into the center of the flour mixture. She added eggs and stirred.

  You have no backbone.

  Zoe growled under her breath. She had a backbone. That was why she was leaving.

  The telephone in the parlor rang.

  On the fifth ring, it stopped. Presuming Mrs. Wiley had answered it, Zoe dumped the dough onto the floured counter. She kneaded in pieces of butter.

  For her plan to work, she would have to leave without saying good-bye to anyone. With the side of her left hand, she pressed on her chest in a vain attempt to ease the aching. She wanted love now. She wanted a home now. She wanted family.

  Most of all, she wanted Isaak.

  “It can never be,” she said because she needed to hear the words, to feel them killing any hope she may have otherwise. She had to leave Helena before her heart crossed the threshold into unrelenting love. She had to learn to forget him.

  The kitchen door slammed open.

  Mrs. Wiley looked horrified. “The Resale Company is on fire!”

  * * *

  Zoe could barely believe what she saw. Like knights storming a breach, firemen clambered up and down scaling ladders; two men leaned over the eaves pounding against the roof with their axes. On the ground level, a stately fireman bawled through a tin trumpet, telling the men where to direct the water hoses and where to chop vent holes. Zoe stepped over hoses, maneuvered past a horse-drawn water truck, and weaved through the hundreds of people whose gazes never wavered from the building, black smoke billowing from the second-floor windows.

  Where were Isaak and Jakob? The depot?

  Zoe grabbed the arm of the nearest person. “Do you know ze hour?”

  The man checked his pocket watch. “Eleven-twelve.”

  The Pawlikowskis had been due to arrive on the ten-thirty train. Isaak and Jakob could still be there, loading luggage.

  “Zank you,” she said to the man, then hurried on, weaving through the crowd in hopes of finding someone she knew. Her gaze caught on a blonde standing next to a petite brunette.

  Carline and Emilia! It had to be. Isaak left them to manage the store while he spent the day welcoming his parents home.

  With “excuse me” after “excuse me,” Zoe made her way to her friends. She touched Carline’s arm.

  “Zoe!” Carline enveloped Zoe in a tight hug.

  Zoe pulled back. “Where are Isaak and Jakob?”

  Carline’s troubled gaze shifted to Emilia.

  “I don’t know where Isaak is,” she answered, her voice strained. “But Jakob is”—she turned to The Resale Company—“in there.”

  “He went in after the cat,” Carline explained before Zoe could ask why he would do such a foolish thing. Her heart managed to pound even harder.

  Zoe looked to the front of the shop, where a fireman stood holding a hose nozzle and directing it to the awning over the door. She looked up to the roof. Flames flickered from the section between where the two firemen were cutting holes.

  Suddenly, a cry arose.

  Jakob stepped outside, fairly covered in ashes, dust, and smoke. He cradled the tabby in his arms. A fireman followed, patting Jakob’s back.

  “Get back! Get back!” yelled the tin-trumpeted man who Zoe presumed was the fire chief. He waved at the crowd. “Back farther! I can’t guarantee this roof won’t crash in!”

  Jakob spoke to the fireman with him as they moved farther into the street. Someone called his name. He looked around. His gaze settled on Zoe, and he grinned.

  She dashed forward and into Jakob’s arms. “Oh, Jakob, I was so worried.”

  He drew back. “You were?”

  She stared at him. Of course she was. For goodness’ sake, she did not have to be in love with him to be concerned about his welfare. He had dashed into a burning building to save the cat. A cat!

  “You could have died,” she said, even though her throat felt it could not get any tighter. “My heart could not bear zat.”

  The fireman patted Jakob’s shoulder. “My father’s by the ambulance. He’s fairly proud of his doctoring skills, so don’t leave without seeing him first. You breathed in a lot of smoke.”

  Jakob nodded. “Thanks, Frank.”

  Zoe released a long, slow breath, hoping it would lessen the tension inside. “Ze fire is horrible, but at least you are safe. And ze cat is safe, too.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been distant of late.”

  “You had to work.”

  “I thought you—Forget it! That was the past.” He slid the tabby cat into her arms. And then he knelt. “Zoe de Fleur, will you consent to be my wife?”

  * * *

  Isaak pulled the horses to a stop, tossed the reins to his father, and jumped out of the surrey. He didn’t care about the fire, not when Jakob was safe and kneeling in front of Zoe, not when the cat was in her arms, and not when Emilia and Carline were part of the crowd waiting with breathless anticipation for Zoe to answer Jakob’s proposal. The only thing Isaak cared about was getting to Zoe before she said yes because she couldn’t say no.

  The scene blurred. Only Zoe was clear. She was wearing a white apron with green stains. She was beautiful and gracious and gentle and everything he’d ever wanted.

  Part of Isaak’s brain recognized that he’d stopped running and was standing before her, and that he had no idea how to tell he
r what was in his heart.

  “Zoe, I . . .” He should get down on one knee. Everything about how he’d fallen in love with her was as far from tradition as it could get. At least one thing needed to be right. He kneeled, and the crowd gasped in unison. “From the moment I met you, my life went sideways. I think that’s why I worked so hard to find fault. I wasn’t ready—didn’t even want to be ready—for love to upset my well-ordered world. I fought against you every way I knew how, but you slipped under my skin and into my soul. I’ve planned my future a hundred different ways, but now I know in the deepest place of my heart that you—and only you—are my future. Marry me?”

  She stood there wearing an expression he couldn’t read.

  “Please say yes,” he begged. “Please.”

  Firefighters sprayed water on the flames crawling up the sides of The Resale Co., but their gazes were locked on Isaak and Jakob kneeling side by side in front of Zoe.

  Aunt Lily wept and clung to Uncle Jonas.

  Ma and Pa stood still as statues, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists.

  Emilia had her hand over her mouth. Carline’s mouth was wide open.

  Mayor Kendrick was smiling as if he’d just won the election.

  He probably had.

  Isaak didn’t care. He needed Zoe more than he needed to run the city of Helena.

  She looked between him and Jakob.

  Isaak knew her answer before she spoke, and it stopped his breath.

  “No . . . to you both.”

  Minutes later

  “Zoe, dear, please don’t walk so fast.”

  She paused on the boardwalk long enough for Mrs. Forsythe to catch up to her. What Isaak and Jakob had done stemmed from pure selfishness. After a glance at Mrs. Forsythe, Zoe resumed walking. They had humiliated—humiliated!—her in front of her friends, in front of their parents, in front of dozens of people who would remember this moment for years. Years!

  Two brothers proposing marriage to the same girl while their store burned. Not a good time. Not a good place.

  Did they not care how foolish they looked? Or how foolish they made her look?