If You Choose Me (A Sugar Maple Novel)

by Ciara Knight

  “My apologies. Another time. Perhaps I could have you over another day.” Shirley made her way down the front steps, helping Beth on one side. Mr. Bishop grabbed her other hand and swung Beth up in the air and then down.

  “Again. Again,” Beth cried out, so Shirley went along with the game.

  “Tell me, what made you decide to take a job here instead of one in the city? I’d think you’d have more opportunity with all those rich uppity types and probably have staff to help you with the household chores.”

  She stiffened and tried to think of a valid reason. “I don’t need help, Mr. Bishop.”

  “Everyone needs help, Mrs. Stephens. Call me Wayne.”

  They reached the front door. “I assure you that I’m quite capable of caring for myself and my little girl, but thank you for walking us home, Mr. Bishop.” She flung open the door but stopped before she crossed the threshold.

  Beth screeched. “Bad smell. Ewww.”

  Mr. Bishop held his arm out, backing Shirley and Beth up while he went inside. “It smells like a skunk got in here. Wait out there.”

  Shirley didn’t like standing behind while a man promised to save her. All men were the same, with their protective promises they never delivered. She picked up Beth and marched inside, where she found Mr. Bishop in the kitchen removing her pot. “No, that’s dinner.”

  “I’m afraid not. You couldn’t feed this to the strays.” Mr. Bishop’s words left her stomach feeling like rabid dogs had attacked her insides and shredded her hope.

  Perhaps she was in over her head. “What am I going to tell the Besslers? I didn’t know that I had to cook.” Tears flooded her eyes, which only made her more angry. She swiped them away and turned in all directions, as if she’d find the answer from some nearby servant. But she was the servant. And if one of her cooks had prepared a dinner like that, her mother would fire them, march them off the property, and never welcome them back.

  Chapter Six

  At the sight of Beth’s eyes watering from the smell and Shirley looking like she was going to cry, Wayne knew he had to help even if she didn’t want it.

  Shirley left the kitchen.

  “Where’re you going?” he asked.

  “To pack. I won’t have a job after this,” she said in a desperate tone.

  He followed her into the dining room. “Why would you say that? It’s one meal. You made a mistake.” Wayne eyed the chicken that obviously either didn’t have enough water in it or it had boiled over.

  “Because I can’t cook.” She threw her arms up in the air and paced the kitchen. Beth copied her mother. “I thought I would be a nanny. There’s normally a cook and a housekeeper. I didn’t know I’d be all three. Not that it would be a hard job in such a small house, but they never told me there would be cooking.”

  “You don’t know how to cook? I thought all women knew how to…” At her narrowed gaze, he shut his mouth and thought about the options. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  “You know how to cook?” She grabbed hold of his arms, and for the first time in his life, he actually wished he did possess the skill. “I’ll pay you part of my wages this week if you can make dinner. Just for tonight. I know I can figure out how to make food once I have some time.”

  “I don’t know how to cook,” he said, a little disappointed that he couldn’t swoop in and make this better for her. He’d had the same issue with his sister-in-law. The pressure of having family was something he never wanted or felt worthy of accepting, but he had no choice but to try to step up to the challenge.

  She headed for the hallway.

  “Wait. I might not know how, but I know who does. Stay here.”

  Shirley eyed the clock. “But the kids will be home in an hour. There isn’t time. Is there?”

  Wayne grabbed the pot and headed for the front door. “Listen up. Keep your coats on and open up all the doors and windows to get some of the smell out of here. I’ll be right back.”

  “But…”

  “Just trust me.” Wayne paused long enough to see the doubt in her eyes. If he were good at reading people, which he was, he’d say she’d been wronged in some way and she had issues with trusting people. There wasn’t time to question her about it, so he raced outside and dumped the chicken in the trash. He abandoned the pot on the front steps and then raced up the street, flung open the door—startling poor Mrs. Slaughter—and rummaged through her kitchen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry.” Wayne turned in all directions. He wasn’t sure what he had planned, but he knew Mrs. Slaughter was an excellent cook. “Do you want to help someone who really needs it but keep the information to yourself?”

  Mrs. Slaughter quirked a brow at him.

  “It’s not illegal or anything. Promise.” Wayne found himself pleading for a woman he barely knew, but she needed help beyond what he could offer alone.

  “I suppose if it’s not anything bad and it’ll be to help someone, sure.”

  “Mrs. Stephens burned dinner and needs your help.”

  Mrs. Slaughter laughed heartily. “Is that all? Rosie won’t mind. Certainly Mrs. Stephens can whip something else up for dinner.”

  “That’s the part you need to keep secret. She can’t cook.”

  “What?” Mrs. Slaughter’s eyes went wide. “How can she not know how to cook?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t ask.” Not because he wasn’t curious but because in all his years of journalism, he knew that a person who was hiding something would never answer a direct question, and Wayne knew Shirley Stephens had secrets. And somehow, some way, he’d uncover them.

  Mrs. Slaughter wiped her hands on her apron and then hung it on a hook. “Well, let’s get down there and see what we can do to help.”

  “I knew you would be her guardian angel.” Wayne held up her coat for her at the door.

  “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?” She shook her head.

  Wayne opened the door and offered his arm to escort her down the street. “Only to women who deserve my attention.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl and smiled all the way down the hill to the Besslers’. Inside, she held her knuckles to her nose. “Oh, honey.”

  Mrs. Stephens rushed from the kitchen with a wild expression and pursed lips. “I know, it’s horrible. There’s only an hour until the kids get home. I’m such a failure. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I didn’t know I’d be serving as a cook, too.”

  Mrs. Slaughter unbuttoned her coat, handed it to Wayne, and then put her arms around Mrs. Stephens. “There, there, child. It’s all going to be fine. Cooking isn’t that difficult. I’ll get you ready for tonight, and tomorrow you’ll come up to my place and start learning the basics. We’ll just plan simple meals until you gain some confidence. That’s all you need for cooking—a little bit of lessons and some confidence. Now come on. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

  Wayne tossed his coat and hat on the rack and raced in after them. The kitchen was a disaster, with what appeared to be every ingredient out on the table and countertops. Mrs. Slaughter didn’t even grumble. She only looked around and then said, “No worries. We’ll make some meatloaf, greens, and mashed potatoes for tonight.”

  She removed an apron from the wall and handed it to Mrs. Stephens. “Time to learn how to make your first meal. Tell me something, though. How did a beautiful young woman like you learn how to watch children, obviously clean a house, but not learn how to cook? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to cook?”

  “No.” Mrs. Stephens eyed Wayne, as if she weren’t about to share any personal information while he was in the room.

  Wayne stepped back from the kitchen. “Tell you what. I’m going to play with Beth while you ladies get to work. That way you don’t have to worry about her while you focus on learning.”

  “No, I can’t ask you to do that.” She looked reluctant yet hopeful.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been watching my niece and nephew while my sister-in
-law tried to find work for herself. I’m great with kids. They love me.” Wayne snagged the wooden car Beth pointed at and rolled it around the living room. Perhaps if he gave Mrs. Stephens the opportunity to work with Mrs. Slaughter, she’d open up and share a little about herself and the Besslers.

  Beth was a bundle of energy until she toddled over to him, cuddled up, and fell asleep. It wasn’t until sometime later when the front door flew open, kids rushed in, and tossed books and lunch pails to the floor, that Wayne jolted awake. Beth was no longer in his arms, so he scrambled to find her.

  “Whatcha doin’ on the floor, mister?” Davey scratched his head, looking down at him.

  Mrs. Slaughter came out holding Beth in her arms. “I see you’ve been working hard out here while we’ve been cooking,” the woman teased.

  Mrs. Stephens entered the room with a new, calm demeaner. She was glowing, a little disheveled, but with a hint of pride. “You kids get to your homework. I’ll come help in a minute.”

  Davey slapped his palms to his thighs. “Aww, seriously? We just spent all day learnin’. How about we get some time to play?”

  “Tell you what. Snack is ready at the table, then you can go outside for a half hour, and then back in to do homework before dinner.”

  “Deal.” Davey offered his hand to Mrs. Stephens, and she shook it. And with that, as fast as the kids had entered, they fled the room once more.

  “I did it—I mean, with Mrs. Slaughter instructing me, but I made the meatloaf. All I have to do is slide it in the oven, but I’m not leaving the kitchen until it’s done. Mrs. Slaughter said she’d come back to check on it at five thirty before the Besslers get home.”

  “We best get back to my house if I’m going to get our supper ready,” Mrs. Slaughter said. “Remember what I said, Mrs. Stephens. You can do this job, no problem.”

  “Shirley. Please, both of you can call me Shirley. I think we’re on a first-name basis if you both just saved my job.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Wayne headed for the coat rack. “But I’ll call you Shirley if you promise to call me Wayne.”

  “Deal.”

  He and Mrs. Slaughter headed back up the street, but his mind remained in the Bessler house. The woman wasn’t anything like his sister-in-law. She was interested in learning more and working to make her own way, but still, there was something not right about what she’d told them and the fact that she’d never learned to cook.

  “Tell me. Did Shirley share why she hadn’t learned to cook? Was she an orphan?”

  “No, she wasn’t an orphan. I think her family all worked a lot. She probably got a job at a factory during the war and never had time to finish learning her domestic skills.”

  “But certainly she would’ve learned since she had Beth. She couldn’t possibly have worked since she had the baby.”

  “Why, Wayne Bishop. I knew you were sweet on Shirley.”

  “No. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here to scope out a place for my sister-in-law and her family. That’s all. Can’t a man help out a neighbor in trouble without someone making assumptions?”

  She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to, because the idea had been put in his head and there was no removing it now.

  Chapter Seven

  Shirley had thought she could kiss Wayne for what he’d done for her, but she had kept her mouth far from his cheek. The afternoon went smoothly, and the meatloaf even turned out thanks to all of Mrs. Slaughter’s help. She’d stopped in at 5:30 just before Rosie rolled up in the truck.

  Mrs. Slaughter was a doll. She’d even dropped off treats for the family for after dinner and never mentioned a word about helping out. When Shirley made the great escape from New York, she hadn’t any idea about how friendly people would be down here. They spoke differently, but from what she could tell, despite how her family had slandered southerners, they all sounded educated and capable.

  Of course, any kindness without judgment was a welcomed feeling. It would change if they knew the truth, though. She had to be careful and not relax too much, or something might slip.

  “Wow, this smells delicious. I see I shouldn’t need to plan meals for you since you come up with better ones.” Rosie tossed her coat on the rack and walked out of her shoes to sit on the couch, where she scooped her children into her arms.

  Shirley swallowed and thought about what to say about dinner. She didn’t like Rosie thinking she didn’t appreciate the chicken and dumplings meal she’d planned, but did she confess that she didn’t know how to cook? Her nerves stirred, and she decided on the truth but without explanation. Something her mother once told her years ago about society life, you say as close to the truth as possible so you don’t forget the lie but you never give anyone information that could be damaging to the family. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying close enough attention and took Beth out for a stroll and ruined dinner. My sincerest apologies. You can take the price of the ingredients out of my pay.”

  “Nonsense.” Rosie shook her head and then laughed as if Shirley had told her a joke. “At least you didn’t cause a kitchen fire. I’m afraid when I first married Victor, despite cooking while growing up, I wanted to do everything so perfectly that I ended up ruining all the food. I made the mistake of washing red socks with his white shirts and turning them pink, ruining dinner, and almost setting the house on fire, all in one day.”

  Gina hopped off the coach and lifted her chin in a theatrical way. “I’m not going to learn to cook. I’ve decided that I’m going to be a star, and I’ll have servants that do that for me.”

  Shirley had to bite her lip not to tell the child that would be the gravest mistake of her life, because being raised with no skills meant she could struggle on her own later. And as a woman, she’d learned that relying on a man could be dangerous.

  Rosie didn’t seem bothered. She only touched a finger to the melodramatic child and said, “In my house, we all learn to cook and learn a trade.”

  Davey huffed. “I’m a man. I don’t need to have no cooking skills.”

  “Nice try. My children will know how to do everything for themselves before they leave my home.” Rosie stood and stretched. She looked worn out and dusty.

  “Why don’t you clean up while I finish dinner and set the table? You and Victor can relax this evening,” Shirley offered.

  “You must be tired, too. I’m sure Beth keeps you on your toes, not to mention the rest of these little monsters.” She tweaked Ava’s button nose, and the little girl giggled.

  “Hey…” Betty stuck out her pouty lip.

  “You’re supposed to be active. You’re children. That’s what you do.” Rosie eyed herself in the mirror, wiping under her eyes and pinching her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs…I mean, Rosie. The kids were easy. Actually, they kept Beth busy while I worked on dinner. They’re amazing children. It’s my pleasure to help care for them.”

  Rosie lifted her chin with obvious pride. “The best.” She headed down the hallway. “I’ll take you up on that offer, though. I know Vic would appreciate me in something besides my overalls and my hair tied up. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Shirley tended to dinner and set everything out in time for Mr. Bessler to arrive home to a new and improved Rosie in a fine dress, makeup, and hair styled. When he walked in the door, his grin was bigger than a Bing Crosby smile.

  Shirley longed for that moment with her husband coming through the door and her feeling like she was his world. The way Victor looked each time Rosie walked into a room despite her appearance.

  “Okay, kids. Go wash up. Dinner is served.” Shirley ushered them from the room.

  Victor took the opportunity to sweep Rosie into his arms, so Shirley retreated to the kitchen, allowing them some alone time.

  Before they could settle around the table together, there was a knock at the door. She hurried out to answer so as not to disturb the Besslers. When she opened it, Wayne stood with flowers in his hands.

/>   Her breath caught, and for the briefest of moments, she was excited, thinking the handsome man had arrived to court her.

  He looked down at the flowers and then at her. “Um, I came to formally introduce myself to the Besslers. These are for Mrs. Bessler.”

  Shirley straightened her apron and stepped aside. “Right. Of course.”

  Thank goodness Victor was already at her side with his hand out in greeting, allowing Shirley time to recover her wayward thoughts. “Hi. I’m Victor Bessler.”

  She retreated to the kitchen to clean some dishes. How could she have been so stupid, believing the man had brought her flowers? Had she not learned anything about how men could manipulate to get what they wanted?

  Memories of Harry holding her, telling her she was his everything and how he couldn’t leave for war, to die, without feeling her touch. She scrubbed the pan harder than necessary.

  “You can leave that for us to do after we eat. Come. Relax.” Rosie was so kind, but Shirley couldn’t take advantage of the woman. “I’m almost done, please. Beth and I should eat in the kitchen since we’re the help.”

  Rosie eyed the two plates on the counter. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re part of the family now.” She snagged them and carried them into the dining room.

  Shirley remained hidden in her dish washing for a few more minutes, but she couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the living room.

  “Victor, invite your friend to sit down and eat. There’s plenty here.”

  “I couldn’t intrude.” Wayne’s deep voice, with the charming roll of his Rs from his tongue, carried all the way to Shirley’s ears.

  “We insist.” Rosie raced back into the kitchen. “I’ll set the other place. Good thing I made such a big table.”

  Rosie had made that beautiful, large wooden table? The woman was beyond talented and capable. Shirley suddenly felt inferior. How to set a table, she could manage, but making one? Never.

  “Come sit, Shirley. The food’s getting cold,” Rosie called.

  Apparently, Shirley wouldn’t be able to remain in the safety of the kitchen. Funny, the kitchen never would’ve been a safe spot for her before and still probably wasn’t the best place for her, but anywhere that Wayne wasn’t was the safest room in the house. She wiped her hands on a towel, removed her apron, and joined them at the table.