Colorado Courtship Page 3

“Tessa, it might be nice if you joined Miss Bennett.”

  His sister quirked an eyebrow. “To buy food?”

  He’d had this sort of thing in mind when he’d hired Violet, and he might as well start pushing his plan now. “Maybe there’s something else you need. You might introduce her to the seamstress. You two can look at fabric and buttons or whatever it is ladies do.”

  Tessa and Violet exchanged a glance. “Yes, of course,” Tessa replied.

  “Do you live here, too?” Violet asked Henry.

  “No, I have a place at the south end of town. Sometimes I bunk here if the weather’s bad, but not often.” He helped himself to another heaping serving of the potatoes and ham. “You’re a fine cook, Miss Bennett.”

  A quick smile lit her features, bringing a new sparkle to her eyes.

  Her smile was gone too soon. Ben Charles considered how to elicit one himself, and then realized what he’d been thinking. He used the opportunity sitting across from her to enjoy an assessing look. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny, and she wore it loosely contained on the back of her head, with practical tortoiseshell combs holding it away from her face behind each ear.

  Her narrow brows arched gracefully above expressive dark eyes fringed with black lashes. Her ivory skin was a becoming contrast. Her appearance might easily lead one to think she was delicate, but the air of confidence and strength with which she handled herself hinted otherwise. He admired the courage she’d shown by coming to a place she’d never been to work for people she’d never met.

  She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t have time to prepare a dessert. But there are jars of peaches, and I hoped one of those might do.”

  “Sounds perfect,” he replied. “We can get to know each other better over coffee.” He glanced at Tessa. “And tea.”

  Tessa gave him an affectionate smile that said she appreciated his attention to her preference for hot sweet tea. She spent too much time by herself, and he hoped Violet’s presence was going to change that. Though she’d kept much of her unhappiness to herself, she’d been teased and shunned in school, due to living beside the funeral parlor. Once he’d learned the extent of the cruel treatment, he’d removed her immediately and sent her to a boarding school out East.

  She’d been painfully homesick and begged him to let her come home—and so of course he had. A tutor came four days a week to guide his sister with her studies.

  Violet served the peaches, steaming cups of coffee, and placed a Wedgwood teapot filled with steeping tea within Tessa’s reach.

  Ben Charles sweetened his coffee and turned his attention to Violet. “You must be tired after digging right in as soon as you arrived.”

  “I’m thankful to have this job.”

  “You said the bakery where you worked closed?”

  She stood and refilled Henry’s cup, then glanced at Ben Charles’s, which was still full. “The tea should be done.”

  Tessa filled her cup. “It smells good.”

  Violet had changed the subject, and he surmised that closing what had once been her father’s business was an uncomfortable topic. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Is there anything you want to ask us? I want you to feel at ease.”

  Her cheeks were flushed, probably from her chores and the tension of serving her first meal. At last she lifted her gaze to his. There was deep vulnerability in the dark abyss of her eyes, an uncertainty that touched his heart. The same bone-deep protectiveness he felt toward his sister reached its possessive arms toward her.

  She wanted to say something, so he waited.

  At last she parted her lips to speak. “What time would you like breakfast served?”

  He drew on inner reserves to find a shred of detachment, which had never been his strength. “Henry and I will eat in the kitchen at six. Tessa usually wakes later, so keep a plate warm for her.”

  This relationship wouldn’t work if he couldn’t keep his objectivity. He could already see the flaw in that plan.

  Everything about Violet intrigued him.

  Chapter Three

  A night’s sleep stretched out on the comfortable bed in sublime relaxation did wonders. Violet was rested and had breakfast on the table at six. She sat to share the meal with the men, and had finished eating when a loud chime rang from the front hallway.

  Ben Charles pushed back his chair and stood. “That’s the bell next door. I’ll get it.”

  He returned a few minutes later. “Guy Chapman passed on during the night.”

  A death.

  Violet strove to keep her composure, but panic rose in her chest. A myriad of sensory images—memories—curled around her heart like a squeezing fist. She forced her body to relax and she took several slow deep breaths.

  Ben Charles resumed his seat. “That was his son. I’ll need you to assist me in bringing him back this morning,” he said to Henry. He glanced at Violet. “We won’t be but an hour. Henry will return and drive you to town.”

  He spoke of their chore in a matter-of-fact manner, not at all as though they were headed out to do something unpleasant. This was his work. She had to get used to it. After the men had gone, Violet did her best not to think about their task, but she happened to glance out the back window as a pair of the magnificent horses pulled a long black hearse from the carriage house. After that she avoided the windows, in case she might glimpse their return.

  Tessa arrived to nibble at the bacon and a piece of toast while they waited. “Who passed on?” she asked.

  It was only a conversation. She was in a warm kitchen, safe and sound. “Someone by the name of Guy Chapman.”

  She nodded. “I went to school with his granddaughter.”

  “Were you friends?”

  Tessa poured tea into a cup. “I can’t say we were. She was one of the girls who made a show out of avoiding me as though I had a disease.”

  Violet studied her with surprise. “Why did they avoid you?”

  “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  Taken aback by her reply, Violet considered the girl’s words for a moment. “Because of your brother’s occupation?”

  “And the fact that we live here. Some people think it’s morbid.”

  “I suppose they do.” Violet thought of Tessa as a child, and tried to imagine what she’d experienced.

  “They taunted us and called my father and Ben Charles hatchet men and body snatchers, things like that.”

  “That’s cruel. So you don’t attend school any longer?”

  Tessa shook her head. “Ben Charles removed me. He sent me to a boarding school, but I was homesick and begged him to let me come back. He rode the train all the way to Pennsylvania to get me.”

  “He loves you very much.”

  Tessa looked up from her cup, thoughtfully. “Yes, he does.” She shrugged. “I don’t really care what others think of us. Ben Charles is happy doing what he does, and I’m happy living here with my books.”

  The connecting door opened, and Violet jumped a foot from the seat of her chair.

  “The wagon’s ready,” Henry called.

  “We’ll be out front in a moment,” Tessa replied.

  Violet took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and stacked their cups beside the enamel dishpan. “I forgot to ask. How do I pay for the purchases?”

  “We have accounts at the stores,” Tessa replied.

  “I’ll just get my coat and boots.”

  The sky was blustery, and the wagon offered no protection from the bitter-cold wind. Even though they huddled behind the seat, Violet tied a wool scarf over her face and Tessa held her rabbit fur muffler to her nose and mouth the entire way.

  Their first stop was the mercantile, where Violet handed her list to the man who greeted them. “Ben Charles told me he’d hired a new cook,” the bald man said. “I expected you’d be older.”

  Amused, she smiled. “I’m Miss Bennett. Pleased to meet you. Henry will load our items.”

  She and Tessa browsed the aisles, adding a few things
to their purchases. A group of white-haired men sat around a potbellied stove. “That you, Tessa Hammond?” one of them called.

  Tessa introduced Violet to the gathering.

  “Heard old Guy went to glory durin’ the night,” Frank Turner said with a shake of his head. “Is he out at your place?”

  “Ben Charles is attending Mr. Chapman now,” Tessa told the elderly man in a comforting voice.

  The old man nodded. “Yeah. Old Guy never liked the cold weather much. His bones was achin’ something fierce this winter. Think he’d a had the sense to die durin’ the summer.”

  Tessa didn’t respond to that, but she nodded and said her goodbyes.

  “Tell Ben Charles to take real good care of Guy now.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Tessa and Violet stood near the door, pulling on their gloves and scarves. “They seem to like you just fine,” Violet whispered.

  Tessa met her eyes. “They’re older. They’ve had more experience getting to know our family. And no doubt they see the inevitability of needing an undertaker sooner than later.”

  Violet blinked, but after her initial surprise Tessa’s deduction made sense. “Where to now?”

  “The seamstress is down a few doors.” Tessa led the way out.

  Marcella Wright seemed surprised to see Tessa. “You bought a new wardrobe before you went off to school, so either you’ve grown or you’ve brought your friend for measurements.”

  She made introductions. “Violet needs a few dresses.”

  Violet’s cheeks warmed and her gaze skittered to Tessa’s.

  “My brother instructed me to make sure you ordered several.”

  “Let me have your coats.” Marcella asked Violet to step behind a screen and remove her dress, so she could measure her. Violet had purchased a few ready-made dresses, but she’d sewn the rest of her clothing, so this process was foreign.

  “It’s all right,” Tessa encouraged.

  Violet stood straight as the woman took measurements and recorded them in a slim journal. A fire crackled in a woodstove, keeping the little shop warm.

  “Now for fabrics and colors,” Marcella said, with an excited smile. “I have ideas for combinations that will go with your lovely dark hair and eyes. What is your ancestry, dear?”

  Violet touched the bolt of fabric the woman pulled out. “My father was Swedish.”

  “That explains the faint accent, but not your hair or skin.”

  “Well, my mother’s mother came from Ireland.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Tessa, I’m thinking of the dress we made you with the puffed sleeves and the gathered bodice. The skirt is chocolate sateen and the bodice a soft ivory. That style would look lovely on Miss Bennett, but with a spring-green skirt and a print blouse and sleeves. The tails of a faux demijacket nestled at her hips would be striking, don’t you think?”

  Violet agreed with a nod. “It sounds lovely.”

  “And you definitely need something in a rose-red,” she said to Violet. “I have the perfect princess pattern. The skirt would be a solid, the sleeves and yoke in embroidered sateen, with fitted forearms—and fur at the collar, I’d say. The front buttons up on one side, rather than down the center. I’d add a snip of fur on a matching hat, as well.”

  Marcella’s eyes shone with excitement as she described styles and fabrics. She showed Violet a pattern from an afternoon dress she’d been wanting to create, but she hadn’t known the appropriate lady to carry it off.

  Everything she mentioned sounded expensive, but Tessa didn’t blink an eye. When Marcella went to her stockroom for trim and buttons, Violet whispered, “I don’t know about the expense of all these dresses on your brother’s account. I’m only the cook, and I’ve just arrived. I haven’t earned my way yet. I don’t know that I’ll ever earn enough to pay for all this.”

  “Ben Charles said not to let you leave without ordering dresses for church and shopping and social events.”

  It seemed like a lot of fancy clothing for a cook.

  “You’re part of our household now,” Tessa told her, as though she knew Violet’s thoughts. “You represent the Hammonds.”

  Violet had never imagined the prestige of her new position. While part of her was uncomfortable with this treatment, another side of her was childishly thrilled with the attention and acceptance. She wanted to be worthy of the Hammonds’ faith in her.

  That afternoon Violet put away all the supplies and took another look at the pantry and each of the items it held. Delighted to discover three cookbooks, she pored over the recipes, making notes. She prepared the turkey she’d purchased from the butcher by brushing it with oil and rubbing it with thyme before roasting it in the oven. While the bird baked, she prepared stuffing with leeks and wild mushrooms, cooked corn pudding and made cranberry-walnut relish. Her rolls turned out perfectly, and she stored them until supper.

  The sideboard and cabinets in the dining room held tablecloths, heavy silver, ornate trays and enough dishes to serve a banquet. She set the table and trudged out in the cold to find evergreen boughs, graceful twigs and berries for the centerpiece. After adding candles, she stood back and admired her handiwork.

  She checked her timepiece, removed the turkey from the oven and ran upstairs to change.

  “There will be one more for supper,” Ben Charles said as he passed through the kitchen a few minutes later. “Hugh Senior is helping me today, and I’ve invited him to join us.” He stopped before he reached the stairs. “Something smells awfully good.”

  “Probably the turkey,” she replied.

  Hugh Senior was a man several years older than Ben Charles, but his hair was still dark. Ben Charles explained simply that the man helped him on occasion. As each person entered the dining room, his or her face showed surprise and delight at the feast.

  Tessa stared until Ben Charles pulled out her chair and prompted her to sit, so the men could take their places.

  “I haven’t seen the table look like this since my mother used to set it,” Ben Charles told her. “These were her things.”

  “I hope it was all right to use them,” Violet said uncertainly.

  “It was more than all right,” he replied quickly. “What use are nice things if they’re not enjoyed? The china has been gathering dust.”

  “Oh, I washed everything,” Violet was quick to assure him.

  “I had no doubt.”

  Ben Charles sliced the turkey, and Violet spooned cranberry relish over each serving as the plates were distributed. They passed the other bowls and the basket of rolls before Ben Charles took Tessa’s hand and prayed. “We lift up Gus Chapman’s family to You, Lord,” he said. “I ask that you bestow peace and comfort on them this day and in the days to come. Give them strength to trust You and abide in Your love during this difficult time.”

  Violet had never heard anyone speak to God the way Ben Charles did, as though God was a real person, as though He was listening and truly cared. As though his prayer made a difference.

  Her employer’s genuine concern for the family of the deceased man unexplainably touched her. Peace and comfort had been elusive commodities in her experience. What if someone had prayed those words for her when her parents died? Would it have made a difference? Could Ben Charles make the same request for her all these years after her mother’s death or was there an expiration on petitioning God?

  She didn’t think about her mother often, yet she answered questions about her methodically, without letting memories invade the locked-off portion of her heart and mind where she kept pain and reality at bay. Ben Charles’s words and example were a steel chisel prying at the seams of her guarded sanity.

  She didn’t like the feeling. But she liked being here.

  Her supper was an enormous success, and she accepted praise for her efforts. “I don’t know that you should have set the bar so high this soon,” Ben Charles admonished with a grin. “Now we know what you’re capable of doing.”

  “It’s a pleasu
re to cook for someone who appreciates the effort,” she answered. “It’s no hardship to cook in your kitchen.”

  “You didn’t have to eat any of the meals we fixed before you got here,” Tessa said. “A fancy stove doesn’t cook a good meal itself.”

  “You can ask me to work anytime you need help,” Hugh Senior said to Ben Charles. “I ain’t had a meal like this since Rosie and I ate at the hotel in Denver on our honeymoon.” He set down his fork and ticked off numbers on his fingers. “Twenty-four years, it’s been.”

  Violet raised her brows in surprise. “Now, that is a compliment, Mr. Senior. But don’t let your wife hear you say that.”

  The men looked at each other with amusement. Finally Ben Charles said, “Hugh’s last name is Crabtree. Everyone calls him Hugh Senior because his son’s name is Hugh Junior.”

  “Pardon my mistake. Do you have other children?”

  “Goodness, yes. Three others, plus two sons-in-law and three grandchildren. Hugh Junior is the youngest and my only boy.”

  “Hugh Junior has a way with horses,” Henry said. “If ever there’s a problem with one of Mr. Hammond’s animals, Hugh Junior knows what to do.”

  They finished the meal and Violet served a warm cobbler she’d made from dried apples. Tessa declined her serving, but Henry raised his dessert plate for her portion.

  Tessa helped with cleanup and dishes while the men went next door. Violet was uncomfortable with the extravagant expenses of the clothing they’d ordered that day and hoped for a moment to speak about it with Ben Charles. She remained in the kitchen, her attention on the adjoining door, long after dark had enveloped the house. Using only an oil lamp on the table for light, her imagination took over with what lay beyond that door.

  Finally it opened and her employer stepped into the kitchen. “Violet. You’re still here.”

  “I was waiting to speak with you.”

  “You could have come found me.”

  Her gaze skittered to the door and back. “I preferred to wait. Did Mr. Crabtree go home?”

  “Yes, quite a while ago.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  He glanced at the cold stove. “I’m fine, thanks. What did you want to talk about?”