“I wasn’t suggestin’ ya shouldn’t celebrate the day. I just find it appallin’ that ya’d make a cake that looks like the flag. Have ya no respect, lass?”
Margaret drew a deep breath and planted her hands on her hips. “This is my kitchen and what I say—goes!”
Two of the kitchen maids scurried from the room. Given the fights that had taken place over the last week, Margaret couldn’t blame them. She would’ve liked to have run too, but she wasn’t about to give satisfaction to this irritating, ignorant, foolish, stubborn . . . oh, there weren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe this man.
Just then Mr. Bradley appeared. He looked hesitant but gave a nod in Mrs. Johnson’s direction. “I hope all is going well. The food . . . well . . . it’s been wonderful.”
“No thanks to him.” She pointed to where Daniel stood. He wore a white chef’s coat and hat and a broad smile that she wanted to slap off his face.
“I’m glad the folks are enjoyin’ the fare.” Ferguson nodded to the manager.
“Is everything in order for the celebration tonight?” Mr. Bradley looked to her for an answer.
“It is, if this . . . this . . . Scotsman will follow orders. He doesn’t feel our American flag cake is appropriate.”
Mr. Bradley smiled and glanced over at the big Scottish . . . oaf. “Well, now, I wouldn’t worry overmuch about it.”
Margaret wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the oaf. “No one’s going to worry about it, because it’s already settled. Now get back to work making icing, Daniel.” The name dripped with every bit of the contempt she felt. “I must speak to Mr. Bradley.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and headed for the empty downstairs dining room, knowing the hotel manager would follow.
“Do you have an order list for me, Mrs. Johnson?”
“I do, but that’s not the reason I needed to talk to you.”
His expression took on a look of disappointment. “No, I presumed it wasn’t, but had hoped.”
“Well, I wake up every morning hoping to find that Scottish barbarian gone. But instead, I find him there trying to take over my kitchen.”
“Mrs. Johnson, we’ve discussed all of this before. When Cassidy is able to return to work, we’ll have no need of him and he will return to Seattle. He’s only here because we cannot function otherwise. You’ll wear yourself into the grave, and then how will you be able to help Cassidy with the baby?”
This caused her to consider the matter a moment. He was right. Having Daniel would free her up to at least make occasional visits upstairs to visit her precious girl.
“I can see you are perhaps understanding the sense of it, Mrs. Johnson.”
She crossed her arms. “I can see the sense of it, but I don’t like it any better. That man is impossible.”
“Is he unwilling to do his job?”
“No. But he’s always questioning my way of doing things.”
Mr. Bradley nodded. “It’s been my experience that everyone has something to learn and something to teach. Perhaps you can benefit each other.”
Margaret held her tongue. Mr. Bradley was only trying to help—even if he was a touch out of his mind. The train whistle blew from somewhere down the tracks, alerting them that new guests would be arriving.
“I’m needed upstairs.” Mr. Bradley smiled.
She knew he was delighted to have an excuse to leave.
“I don’t suppose you have your list ready for me?”
Margaret reached into her apron pocket. “Don’t I always?” She handed him the papers, then stormed back to the kitchen. People relied on her to put together a beautiful outdoor buffet for the evening celebration, and she wasn’t going to let them down. Who knew—perhaps a bear would come and take Mr. Ferguson out of her sight.
She smiled at the thought for a moment. Not because she wanted to see the man hurt, but because no doubt Daniel Ferguson would simply wrestle the bear into submission, then serve him up for dinner.
“Well, he might be able to manage a bear—but he’s not managing me.”
17
JULY 4
The celebration was unlike anything Thomas had seen before. And he’d been at the Curry for three years. Every Fourth of July was better than the last. Mrs. Johnson had outdone herself this year with a huge supper buffet that sported everything from a large selection of delightful appetizers to desserts.
This year, the American flag cake was her crowning glory, measuring five feet by three feet. Everyone agreed that the white cake was so moist it might have floated away but for the heavenly buttercream frosting and berry jam slathered between layers. Thomas had three pieces.
He’d given the head chef his best compliments along with the rest of the crowd. But the poor woman had been miserable ever since Mr. Bradley had brought in Chef Ferguson to help. Thomas heard them fighting at all hours of the day, and even though he was relieved that her harsh words were no longer aimed at him, he did feel a bit sorry for the burly newcomer.
“Well, Thomas, it looks like there’s still enough food to feed a small army.” Allan walked up beside him.
“Mrs. Johnson always says it’s better to have too much than not enough when it comes to seeing folks fed at the Curry Hotel.”
“I doubt anyone has ever gone away from here hungry, unless they wanted to.” Allan laughed.
“What is the term you Americans use?” Jean-Michel rubbed his stomach as he joined them. “I’m stuffed?”
Allan laughed again. “Good evening, Mr. Langelier. Yes, that’s the word. I’m feeling quite stuffed myself. Are you having a good time?”
“Oui. It has been very nice.” The Frenchman gave a hint of a smile. “I am afraid, however, I have eaten too much cake.”
Thomas joined in. “I’ve had three pieces. But don’t tell Mrs. Johnson.”
Mr. Langelier held up four fingers.
Allan patted both men on the shoulder. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have a cake-eating contest. You two would’ve cleaned it up.”
“How is your wife, Mr. Brennan?” Jean-Michel placed his cane in front of him.
“She’s doing quite well, thank you for asking.” Allan’s smile grew. “She’s excited, as am I. How have you managed to adjust to the long hours of light? I heard your sister say you were having trouble sleeping.”
Jean-Michel shrugged. “Travel is sometimes difficult and sleeping in a bed that is not your own can be hard. I do, however, appreciate the heavy drapes to block out the light.”
“You’ve certainly come a long way since you first arrived.” Allan motioned to Jean-Michel’s leg. “I believe soon you won’t even need that cane.”
“I would like that to be so.” Jean-Michel glanced back to where his sister laughed with the Powell family.
“Are we still going to have fireworks?” Thomas knew there had been some discussion about whether the weather would hold. John told them a bank of clouds coming off of the mountain was sure to bring rain.
“That’s the plan.” Allan glanced at the skies, then back to Thomas. “Cassidy even made me move our bed to the window, hoping she might see some of the sights.”
Thomas swatted a mosquito and smiled. “I’m surprised she didn’t try to get you to bring her out here.”
“Oh, she did. She nagged, then sweet-talked, then cried.” Allan shook his head. “The woman really should take to the stage.”
Thomas noticed that Jean-Michel looked a little pale. “Are you feeling all right, sir?”
“Oui. I hadn’t known about the fireworks.”
“Do you ever have them in France?” Thomas couldn’t help asking.
“Oui. You have your Independence Day and we have our Bastille Day. It’s the fourteenth of this month. There are usually fireworks and military parades. We often have marvelous outdoor orchestras playing well into the night.”
“That sounds pretty amazing. We ought to have us an outdoor orchestra.” Thomas looked to Allan. “Maybe next year.”
“Could be. Although ours would most likely consist of little more than a few harmonicas and some native drums.” He grinned.
Thomas laughed and glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock but still light. The fireworks wouldn’t be nearly as pretty as they were in blackened skies, but it was still a celebration and one he truly loved.
“Looks like it’s time to get the show started.” Allan handed Thomas his plate. “Would you mind getting Cassidy a big piece of cake and taking it up to her? I took her supper earlier, but you know how she loves Mrs. Johnson’s cake.”
“Sure. I’d be happy to.”
Allan started toward the river, then looked back. “You’re welcome to come with me, Jean-Michel. You might as well have a front row seat.”
Jean-Michel shook his head. “Non, I believe I’ve been on my leg too much as it is. I’m just going to go upstairs and rest.”
“But you’ll miss the fireworks.” Thomas didn’t want anyone to miss his favorite part. “Maybe I could get you a better chair?”
Jean-Michel shook his head. “Non. I know I will miss the fireworks. But thank you for offering your assistance.”
Jean-Michel sat in his room with the drapes pulled. With the first boom of exploding fireworks he felt his skin grow clammy. He gripped the arms of the chair. This wasn’t Syria. It was America. This wasn’t war, but a celebration of victory.
Another loud boom and this time applause from the crowd outside the hotel. Jean-Michel forced himself to take a deep breath. He could endure this. It was just one night.
His entire body quaked as the explosions continued. Cries of oohs and aahs filled the air. But even as he fought against the memories, those happy cries soon turned into ones of desperation and the explosions became deadly.
Jean-Michel put his hands over his ears and bent forward so low his head was on his knees. The images of that day so long ago flashed before his eyes. He didn’t know if God truly offered heaven for His people, but one thing was sure to Jean-Michel.
This was hell.
“Brother?” Collette’s voice was only a whisper against the cacophony of war.
He felt a gentle hand on his head and glanced up. Collette looked down on him in obvious concern.
Jean-Michel lowered his hands. “I’m sorry.”
She knelt beside him and he straightened. Collette took hold of his hand. “Is this how it was?”
He shook his head. “Non, it was so much worse.”
She nodded. “And you were all alone.”
Jean-Michel considered it a moment. “Oui. I was all alone.” At least it had felt that way.
She smiled up at him in her innocent way. “Well, you aren’t alone now. I won’t leave you.”
Her kindness touched him. A tiny glimpse of maturity. Collette was beginning to care more for others than for herself. Jean-Michel leaned back in the chair and drew a deep breath.
“Shall I tell you a story?”
“A story about what?” He thought of her love for fairy tales.
“One that Cassidy told me about these terrified men in a boat on a stormy sea.”
JULY 10
“Cassidy Faith, you do beat all.” Another lecture from Mrs. Johnson was not what Cassidy had hoped for today, but here she was, in the middle of another one.
“Mrs. Johnson, please, I know the doctor said I couldn’t go back to work in the kitchen, but don’t you think it would be worth asking if I could at least go sit down there and visit with people?”
“No. No, I do not think it ‘would be worth asking’ because we’re not. You’re not. Bed rest means that you are confined to your bed. It does not mean that you are allowed to take a jaunt up and down the stairs to go sit in a chair in the busiest room of this hotel.”
Mrs. Johnson’s reddened face assured Cassidy she should let the matter drop. But how could she? She was half out of her mind with boredom. “Well, I need to do something. It’s been a month and I’ve knitted plenty of booties, made an entire wardrobe for this child, and have stitched up four dozen diapers.”
The older woman placed her hands on her hips. “Did you copy all those recipes I gave you?”
“Yes.” Cassidy sighed. She supposed she should be a tad grateful. “I appreciate you bringing those to me.” More than just a tad. Why was she complaining? Because she was bored? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I guess I’m just restless, even though I have so much to be thankful for.”
“I know, dear.” The older woman sat on the edge of the bed. “But you gave us all quite a scare. The doctor is being cautious, and rightly so. The most important thing is that you and the baby stay healthy and safe. Sometimes things like this require sacrifice.”
Cassidy nodded. This dear sweet woman was the closest thing she had to a mother figure. She was also her best friend other than Allan. “It was scary. Especially when there was blood. I know it’s a delicate conversation, but I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it. The doctor said that might happen quite a bit after a fall like that. Just as long as it was only a spot or two here and there, we should be okay.”
Mrs. Johnson patted Cassidy’s hand. “Oh, my sweet girl, you can always talk to me about whatever you need to.” Her soft expression faded back into commander mode. “And this is exactly why you won’t be going anywhere. Understood?”
It made Cassidy laugh. She couldn’t help it. “Yes, ma’am.” A new thought came to mind. “You know, Miss Langelier has come by a couple times to visit. She’s quite a handful, but I bet you’d love to talk to her too.”
“Me? Speak to that wealthy French girl? No, no, no. She’s all frippery and finery and I’m all rough edges and orders. You can just keep those visits to yourself. I’m having enough trouble with that loathsome Scotsman.”
“Mrs. Johnson, how can you consider him loathsome when you share his ancestry? You’re Scottish. You said so yourself.”
“I’m also Irish, and the combination of those makes me a formidable opponent, so it’s best not to cross me, Cassidy Faith.”
She smiled. Whenever Mrs. Johnson used her first and middle names, it made her heart swell. The woman cared for her. “Very well, let me get back to Miss Langelier. She’s really a sweet girl, but she’s searching for answers. I believe she could use some of your no-nonsense advice. Won’t you come more often?”
“I’ll come visit you more often, but I’ll leave Collette Langelier to you.” Mrs. Johnson lost her fierce look and chuckled. “Maybe you can teach her your favorite recipes.”
“I doubt she can even boil water.” The thought made her laugh. “How am I supposed to do that from my bed?”
“Well, that’s for you to figure out. You’re creative. You wouldn’t have to actually use the stove or oven, just teach her the recipes and techniques up here with a few bowls and such.”
“That will never work. But thank you for trying and for making me laugh. I’ll find something.”
“Good. Something to keep you both busy and out of trouble.”
As if speaking about the girl had summoned her, Collette Langelier peeked in through the open doorway. “Am I intruding?”
“No. Please come in.” Cassidy waved her forward. “Collette, this is Mrs. Johnson.”
“Oui. How are you, Mrs. Johnson? You are the chef, no?”
The older woman gave a nod. “I am, and much too busy to stand here chatting. Good day to you both, and, Cassidy—you stay put.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cassidy laughed and motioned to the chair.
Collette quickly took a seat. “Are you sure you don’t mind my visit?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m blessed by it. I cannot tell you how bored I get up here.” Cassidy stretched, then put her hands atop her stomach. “I can’t believe how big I am. It’s a wonder the bed hasn’t collapsed.”
Collette giggled. “Oh, Miss Cassidy, you are too funny. You are still a very small woman.”
“I certainly don’t feel like one. But hearing me complain is not why
you came today. How may I help you?” Cassidy couldn’t contain a laugh. “Perhaps they could just put my bed in the lobby and I could answer guests’ questions all day long.”
“I don’t know why not.” Collette played along. “You are much prettier than Mr. Bradley.”
Cassidy leaned in closer to Collette. “Personally, I don’t like his mustache. He goes back and forth growing it out, then cutting it off. I told him he looks much better without it, but apparently, he doesn’t take store in what I think.”
Collette shrugged and held up her hands. “Ah, men. They seldom listen to us, n’est-çe pas?” She shook her head. “Isn’t it so? I sometimes forget myself and speak French. My brother said coming to America was the perfect way to improve my English, but I’m afraid I tend to forget.”
“It’s such a beautiful language. I can speak Athabaskan—the tongue of the native peoples in this area, and of course English, but while I’ve heard quite a bit of French spoken from time to time—I don’t understand it.”
“I could teach you!” Collette’s voice betrayed girlish excitement.
Cassidy nodded. “That might be fun. It would at least give me something to ponder besides my expanding waist size. It could also come in handy when French guests come who don’t speak much English.”
Collette clapped her hands. “Oh, it will be great fun. You’ll see. And maybe you can help me with my English. There are still things I don’t understand.”
“Like what?”
Collette frowned. “Like when one of the ladies got upset the other night. She jumped up and said, ‘Great Caesar’s goats.’ I looked, but I did not see any goats. My brother said it must simply be something people say in America.”
Cassidy laughed. “Ghost. Great Caesar’s ghost.”
Collette shook her head, looking even more confused. “There were no ghosts or goats.”
This made Cassidy laugh all the more. “You’ll find we say a great many things, and many of them make no sense at all.”
18
JULY 12
Thomas watched the crew direct the placement of the last building. A bunkhouse had been moved all the way from the coal-mining town of Chickaloon to Curry, and one crew worked at rebuilding the large structure that could house dozens of people. Then the last of nine cottages was just set in place south of the hotel—also moved from Chickaloon and now rebuilt here for permanent staff at Curry. He’d never seen anything like it.
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