Getting up from the chair, Jean-Michel began pacing. It didn’t make any sense. Hadn’t Mrs. Harrison thought that he was the only hope for Katherine? He couldn’t very well help, though, if they weren’t even in the same location and especially if they couldn’t ever talk.
The question that burned the most was why on earth Katherine would turn to God rather than turn to him? It wasn’t like she’d been a religious person all those years ago. As he recalled, her parents didn’t even go to church services on Sunday. And it definitely didn’t sound like her husband had any interest in such matters.
What changed?
And why did he all of a sudden feel useless? He sank back into the chair.
“Knock, knock.”
He looked up to find Collette coming in through their adjoining bathroom. She looked quite lovely dressed in a salmon-colored dress that sported a wide ivory collar trimmed in lace. She’d pinned up her hair in an orderly bun and looked ready for a day of leisure.
“I heard you had a letter.”
“News travels fast in this place.” Jean-Michel held up the missive.
“Is it from Katherine?”
“No, the King of England.”
She scrunched her nose and fixed him with a look. “So what does His Highness have to say? Honestly, Jean-Michel.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not good company.”
“There’s nothing new about that.” She came to him and bent down to kiss his head. “But I am always hopeful you will change. I just came by to tell you I’ll be visiting with Mrs. Brennan . . . Cassidy.”
“Why?”
She straightened and walked toward the door. “Why not?”
“Collette, I’m serious. Why would you bother the poor woman?”
“Because she invited me to.” Collette opened the door. “She’s bored and needs a friend, and I have questions and need some answers.”
“Answers about what?”
“God.” She exited, pulling the door closed behind her.
God? Yet another person turning to God rather than him? It was like some sort of strange joke that he couldn’t ever hope to be in on. What was happening to him?
Collette sat in the ladder-backed chair beside Cassidy Brennan’s bed. “So then it made me wonder if God might have really sent me to that bridge just for the purpose of saving Davey.”
“I’m sure He did. The Bible says that He sees even when the sparrow falls. How much more is He going to keep track of little boys?” Cassidy put her hand to her protruding stomach. “Just like He’s been watching over me and my baby.”
“So God isn’t just up there somewhere—doing nothing?” Collette pointed to the ceiling. “Or just waiting to judge us and destroy us for not pleasing Him?”
Cassidy looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Goodness. Who told you that?”
Collette shrugged. “I don’t know that anyone in particular has. It’s just that our family was never overly religious. My mama used to read me Bible stories. I remember that.” She smiled at the memory. “I was especially fond of the one where these two women are fighting over the same baby. They both say they are the mother of the baby. Oh, there was another baby, but he was dead—one of the mothers had rolled over on him in the night. At least I think that’s how it went.”
“Yes. It’s the story of Solomon judging the case and deciding which mother was speaking the truth. When neither was willing to admit the baby wasn’t really theirs, he decided to cut the baby in two and give half to each woman.”
Collette got excited. “Oui, and the real mother fell to her knees and begged him not to do it. She told him to just give the baby to the other woman, and that’s how Solomon knew she was the real mother—because she didn’t want anything bad to happen to her baby. Mama told me she would give her life for mine.” Collette felt a wash of emotion but fought back her tears. “In many ways, she did. I was quite sick with the influenza, and Mama nursed me, even though she wasn’t well herself.”
Cassidy grew thoughtful and stroked her stomach. “I don’t even know my little one yet, but I feel such a fierce love. I would give my life for my child. It makes me stand in awe of God all the more, because He gave His only Son to die for me.”
“Just you?”
“Goodness, no. But if I had been the only one who needed a Savior, Jesus still would have died for me. God loves us just that much.”
“But why? What have we done that merits such love?”
Cassidy laughed. “We’ve done nothing and that’s the wonder of it. Think about it. Your mother said she’d give her life for you. I would give my life for my baby. Neither you nor this unborn child have done anything to merit such declarations. Just as we did nothing to deserve a Savior. It’s not about us, Collette. It’s about Him.”
16
JUNE 23
A Scotsman, Cassidy Faith. A Scotsman!” Margaret hadn’t wanted to upset the mother-to-be, but she had to talk to someone. “Mr. Bradley said he’d be here today. I can hardly bear it. I ought to just give my notice.”
“You can’t do that, Mrs. Johnson. We need you. I need you. Besides, you said he’s only here on loan for a short time. Just until I’m back up on my feet.” Cassidy scooted up in bed, prompting Margaret to hurry over and help her.
“Do you need another pillow behind you?”
“No, I need out of this bed, but no one seems willing to consider that. You have your Scotsman, and I have this.” Cassidy waved her hands over the confines of her bed. “And all because Dr. Reilly says I must. I feel like a prized pig in a cage.”
Margaret laughed. “More like a princess in the tower.”
Cassidy smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“Oh, get on with ya.”
“Well, it is. You’ve been upset ever since you stepped into my room and that was fifteen minutes ago.”
She was right. Margaret forced herself to take a deep breath. She grabbed the chair and sat down. “I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you.”
“You haven’t. Goodness, this is the most entertainment I’ve had in days.”
“So my problems are entertaining, are they?”
“You know what I mean.” Cassidy held up a piece of flannel. “Far more entertaining than making diapers.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I don’t need a man interfering in my kitchen.”
“No, nor a Scotsman,” Cassidy added with a grin. “But you do need help. It won’t be possible for you to manage all those meals without someone to assist—someone who knows what they’re doing. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be very polite and soft-spoken—willing to take direction without question.”
“Ha! He’s a man and a Scot. I’ve never known either one to be any of those things.”
“What about your husband?”
“Ted? He wasn’t a Scot, but he was stubborn and ornery. You couldn’t tell the man anything—especially the word ‘no.’ I wouldn’t even have married him, but he wore me down. Nagged me to the altar, I used to say.”
Cassidy couldn’t contain her mirth. It started as a giggle, then burst into a full belly laugh. She held her stomach and laughed so hard tears ran down her cheeks.
Margaret couldn’t help smiling. “Well, it’s true. You couldn’t tell him anything. And if you expected to get something done, you had to make him believe it was his idea.”
Her precious Cassidy sobered and gave her a look suggesting she’d just hit upon the solution to the problem.
“No, no, no. I can see what you’re thinking. Don’t be expecting me to coddle Daniel Ferguson along. I haven’t got time or patience for it. This is just going to be a disaster. I know it will. They simply can’t expect me to work with a Scotsman.”
“For pity’s sake, why not, Mrs. Johnson? What have you got against the Scots?”
“Because . . .” Margaret stood and smoothed down her apron. “I’m a Scot. Scots-Irish to boot.” She shook her head. “And you just can’t have two of them in t
he same kitchen without a fight starting up sooner or later.”
Given the way Cassidy laughed hysterically, Margaret knew she couldn’t convince her assistant that Ferguson was a bad idea. “Oh, I give up. It’s time to get back to the kitchen anyway.”
“But you know I love you.” Tears slipped down Cassidy’s cheeks as she continued to giggle.
“Of course, you silly girl. And I love you too.” With that, she excused herself and headed out the door. Making her way downstairs, she decided she would just have to deal with the matter in the best way she could. No one was going to listen to her anyway. At least not until there were “wigs on the green,” as her Irish grandfather used to say.
Her foot hadn’t touched the bottom step when Mr. Bradley came around the corner. “Oh, good, there you are. Please come into my office. Mr. Ferguson arrived on the train and is waiting to begin in the kitchen.”
Biting off a retort, Margaret followed the manager with great trepidation. If she’d been a praying woman like Cassidy, she might have asked God for patience or even a spirit of kindness. She threw a quick glance upward.
I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask, but I’d be glad if You’d help me.
There wasn’t time for anything more.
“Chef Johnson, I’d like you to meet Chef Ferguson.”
Margaret found herself face-to-face with a big burly man. He had hair redder than hers had ever been and a beard that matched. His piercing blue eyes looked her up and down as if he were assessing the quality of tomatoes. Finally, he broke into a broad smile and gave a nod.
“Aye, ya’ll do just fine, lass.”
She stiffened. “The name is Mrs. Johnson. And I will be doing the judging of whether or not you will do.”
“A widow, Mrs. Johnson, I’m told.” He had the audacity to wink. “And a fine figure of a woman. Ya won’t be widowed for long, I’m thinkin’.”
Margaret felt her neck grow hot and then her face. She knew she must be the color of a beet. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be doing much of your own thinking. You’re here to cook, not tell fortunes.”
The man roared with laughter and it filled every corner of the room. No doubt people upstairs could hear it. It was worse than a donkey’s bray.
She looked at Mr. Bradley, certain he could read her thoughts, because he quickly turned away and looked at the papers on his desk.
“Chef Johnson will show you to the kitchen, Chef Ferguson. I’m sure there’s work that needs your immediate attention.”
“Then I’ll be sayin’ good day to ya, sir. And a right bonny day it is.” His brogue was thick.
Margaret held her tongue. She marched across the lobby and headed for the stairs that would take her to the kitchen. Her kitchen. Hers alone.
She reached the place where up until now she’d always felt her best. Looking around the large kitchen, Margaret knew it would never be big enough for the two of them.
“So, m’darlin’, what would ya have me do first?”
JUNE 28
The beauty of the Mount McKinley National Park around her couldn’t squelch the dread in Katherine’s stomach. They’d taken this little journey north to Fairbanks and now back south to the park because of her.
Because of her selfishness. Her insecurity.
She’d taken her grandmother off on another trip, knowing full well that the older woman was tired and worn out.
As she laid a hand on Grandmother’s forehead, she was thankful she didn’t feel a fever, but the beloved woman was pale and hadn’t been awake much for almost two days.
It’s all my fault, Lord. Please help her to wake up.
Standing to stretch, Katherine wondered what other options she had. The inn here at the park was rustic to say the least, not anything like the lavish Curry Hotel. They should’ve never left. But she couldn’t change the past.
If she could, she’d erase the years of her marriage. Maybe even go back and defy her father and stay in France with Jean-Michel. But where would that leave her today? Would it have changed so much?
One beautiful thing came out of the torment of the last few years.
She was redeemed.
And that changed her life forever.
No matter what, she couldn’t allow herself to listen to the lies of the enemy any longer. Grandmother had warned her, but Katherine didn’t understand until now. Until she’d seen what her fear and hesitancy caused.
A huge fact remained.
Randall was gone.
That meant his words were gone. His actions were gone. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. That meant she needed to grab on to her faith and step forward in it. Embrace it.
“Katherine?” A slight moan from the bed.
She raced back over to Grandmother’s side. “I’m here.”
“What happened?”
“You collapsed at dinner the other night and have been asleep ever since.” She bit her lip. “I’ve been so worried.”
Grandmother attempted to sit up.
Katherine hurried to help her.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to worry you. I think it was just my exhaustion catching up with me.”
“Don’t apologize for anything. It’s all my doing. I’m so sorry.” Tears filled Katherine’s eyes. “If I hadn’t . . .”
“Oh, hush, child. Yes, maybe we shouldn’t have left the Curry, but remember that I had you traveling all over the country before we even came to Alaska. I’m sure I just overdid it.”
“It’s still my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed to leave like I did. If I hadn’t been so afraid to face Jean-Michel with the truth, you might be at the hotel now.”
Grandmother patted the bed beside her. “Come sit, my dear. Maybe it’s time you tell me what’s really going on. What is this truth you can’t bear to tell?”
JULY 3
The ache in his leg made Jean-Michel want to quit the regimen of exercises, but he refused. At least he knew that Katherine would return at some point, and when she did, he wanted to be stronger. To show her that he was able to help her with whatever she needed to heal. Not only that, but strangely enough, he found the exercises seemed to help his spirits as well. It might have only been that he had to concentrate on something other than the past, but at least it was a step in the right direction.
It also helped that John had allowed him to go on a few more hikes with the groups visiting the area. For the most part, Jean-Michel had been able to keep up. The fresh air and scenery also acted as a balm, so much in fact that when he’d come back from yesterday’s walk, he’d actually napped without nightmares.
He’d increased the number of exercises he did daily, and would soon need to start the next section the doctor in France had recommended. But he’d need a training partner. Maybe there was a way for young Thomas to help. He could offer to pay the young man—he’d seen how diligent the worker was around the hotel.
Even though the pain was lessening, Jean-Michel wished his strength would return faster. He shook his head. If only he’d listened to the doctor when he first returned from Syria. Maybe he could have bypassed all this misery.
He heard the door to Collette’s room open, and she soon appeared at the door between their rooms with a smile on her face. “Where have you been, mon cher?”
“With little Davey.” Collette smiled and sighed. “He’s such a précieux petit garçon.”
“Precious little boy or not, are you sure you’re not being an interruption to his family?” He grunted. Two more sets on this leg and he’d be done.
“Non. They have invited me to spend time with them every day if I wish. His mother said she is most appreciative. Besides, they won’t be here but another week.”
“What do you do with him—when you go to visit?”
She hesitated and twisted her mouth in an expression he couldn’t decipher. “Well . . . we talk . . . mostly about God.”
Jean-Michel stood up straight and wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel. �
��You are conversing with a six-year-old about God?” The idea sounded ludicrous.
“Oui.” She nodded and laughed. “I am.” She came over and kissed his cheek and then walked toward her room. “I’ll be ready for dinner in a little bit; besides, you need time to get cleaned up yourself. You smell like a porc en sueur.”
A sweaty pig? That was it. End of discussion. As she closed the door, Jean-Michel had the urge to throw something.
Since their father died, Collette had come to him for advice, guidance . . . everything. Granted, most of what she needed were words of affirmation about the color of her gown or the style of her hair. On occasion, she even asked him about some piece of news she’d heard from a friend—but that was rare.
Still, why hadn’t she come to him if she wanted to talk about God? Wasn’t that their father’s request to them both? And now she was sharing it with a little boy. A child. Who hadn’t seen the ugliness of war or death. Who hadn’t been there for his sister and held her as she mourned their father’s passing.
What was Jean-Michel lacking that he had been trumped by this little boy?
Was it the same reason Katherine turned to God as well?
Thoughts tumbled all over his mind. His father’s words came rushing back, but he pushed them aside. He wasn’t ready to look for God yet.
But he needed to figure out why he wasn’t good enough to save the two women he loved the most.
“You redheaded ignoramus!” Margaret had all she was going to take. “It’s to celebrate America becoming a nation. The Fourth of July has always been a huge celebration in this country, and we won’t forsake it just because we’re a territory and not a state.” She looked at her nemesis, Daniel Ferguson. The man was just as impossible as she’d predicted. He had his way of doing everything from making sauces to pastries—and, of course, thought his ways were the best. Well, he wasn’t the head chef, now was he? She’d show him who was boss.
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