Chapter 14

Elise stirred the butter and molasses together with firm strokes. She already had a pot of chicken soup bubbling on the range and biscuits in the oven. The aroma of the chicken and thyme and parsley radiated throughout the kitchen, making her almost giddy.

All morning she’d been tempted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming that she was in the kitchen, the place she loved most in the world, doing what she loved best. She dipped her finger into the gooey mixture in the bowl, lifted it to her lips, and tasted its sweetness. If she was dreaming, then she didn’t want to awake.

She looked around the kitchen to prove to herself once again that she was really here. A large cast-iron stove stood near the rear entrance, the coal bin next to it heaped to the brim. A sturdy indoor washbasin rested on thin legs against another wall with a drain that released to the outdoors. While they still had to haul well water inside, at least they didn’t have to carry the dirty water back out.

A hutch contained plates, cutlery, crockery, and an assortment of other supplies needed for the dining room. The worktable in the middle was adequate to do most of her chopping and rolling and mixing. It wasn’t nearly as large as the table that had been in her father’s bakery, but she couldn’t complain. She was working in a kitchen and that alone would have been enough, even if she’d had to do her mixing on the floor. She grazed the pots and pans and utensils hanging overhead. Their metallic clinking together was beautiful music to her ears.

The sound brought back the happy memories of the times she’d spent with her father in the kitchen, the low rumble of his laughter, the scrape of his spatula, the tantalizing aromas in his pots and pans. He’d introduced her to all of his spices as if they’d been dear little friends he called out to play.

“What else can I do, dear?” Mrs. Gray asked, coming into the kitchen with her uneven step, the limp having grown more pronounced throughout the morning. The woman’s narrow face was pale and pinched. Though she tried hard to hide her discomfort, she was clearly in pain.

“You can go and rest your feet,” Elise said as she beat the cake batter faster. “You’ve been running around here all morning and you deserve a break.”

Mrs. Gray laughed. “You’re a sweetie. But I’m much sturdier than I appear.”

Chagrined, Elise stopped stirring. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you can’t handle the work—”

“I know you didn’t.” Mrs. Gray patted Elise’s arm. “You’re a good girl and so considerate. No one has ever looked out for my well-being before—except of course, Mr. Gray.”

Mrs. Gray had maple-syrup-brown hair that was pulled back into a bun, revealing her sharp, angular face. Her features were somewhat severe, yet her eyes were soft and kind. She didn’t have any silver in her hair, and her skin was unwrinkled from age, though there was definitely something old and wise about the woman, as if she’d already lived a long life. Whatever the case, Elise was relieved Mrs. Gray hadn’t been resentful yesterday when Thornton introduced her as the new manager of the kitchen and dining room. In fact, Mrs. Gray had breathed out a long sigh and whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.”

They’d worked together to cook something for dinner last night. Due to the limited amount of time, Elise was only able to prepare a simple fare of fried salt pork, boiled carrots and cauliflower, and corn bread. Even so, Mrs. Gray had come back into the kitchen relaying compliments from everyone, including one from Thornton.

Elise had lingered in the kitchen late last night, long after they’d washed and put away the last of the dishes. She’d taken stock of the supplies in the pantry, planned a menu for the coming week, and then put together a list of ingredients she would need in the near future. Although Mrs. Gray had informed her they purchased some of the food from local farmers, most of the supplies had to be ordered and shipped from Chicago.

She’d awoken well before dawn. While it was still dark, she walked the short distance from the hotel to the dining room, breathing deeply of the cool autumn air. In the quiet of the deserted Main Street, she’d almost whispered a prayer of gratefulness for how swiftly her situation had changed from one of complete and total despair to delight.

Not only did she have employment again, but it was her dream job. Was it another miracle, like the one she’d experienced when God had brought Miss Pendleton into her life to rescue her from being homeless?

When she’d arrived at the dining room, Mrs. Gray had already been awake at the early hour, and together they’d prepared eggs, bacon, and thick griddle cakes for the few construction crew supervisors and other men who lodged at the hotel and relied upon the dining room for their sustenance.

Once she and Mrs. Gray had cleaned up breakfast, they started right away preparing for the noon meal. There was no doubt Mrs. Gray was a hard worker. But after watching the woman burn nearly everything she touched—and after having eaten her less-than-digestible meals for the past week—Elise understood Thornton’s desire to have someone new take over the meal preparation.

Elise reached for the raisins and dumped them into the batter. “I’m well on track for getting this plum cake into the oven and will probably have time to rest my own feet before the noon meal. So I don’t see why you can’t do so.”

Mrs. Gray chuckled. “Well, if you put it that way, dear, I guess you leave me little choice but to sit down for a spell.”

“You deserve a break.” Elise folded the raisins into the batter. “I don’t know how you managed to run this dining room all by yourself up until now.”

“In the beginning, there were only a few of us needing to eat,” Mrs. Gray replied, flexing her shoulders and wincing in the process. “But as more people arrived in Quincy, it’s been getting harder to keep up. Mr. Gray has helped when he can, but he’s been busier too.”

Elise had met the stationmaster, a tall man with a long mustache and full beard who appeared to take his position very seriously, always busy cleaning the depot, greeting the arriving trains, helping with the refueling and unloading, and bustling about at Thornton’s beck and call.

“Now go and rest,” Elise said again to Mrs. Gray.

The relief in the woman’s eyes told Elise she’d been right to insist. “Maybe for a few minutes.”

“We won’t be serving lunch for another hour. Why don’t you take a cup of coffee and sit outside in the sun.”

Through the window that was dusty with coal soot, Elise could see the late September morning was still gloriously sunny. When she’d gone outside earlier to fetch more water, the coolness of the morning had been giving way to a pleasant warmth. The sky overhead was bluer than Elise had ever seen before, and when she peered across the train tracks to the prairie with its tall yellowing grass fluttering in the breeze, she was filled with a sense of awe at the amount of space, all untouched and unblemished, the way it had been probably since the first days of creation.

With a cup of coffee in hand, Mrs. Gray paused by the door. “You’ll join me when you’re finished, won’t you, dear?”

“I might,” Elise said. But the truth was she didn’t want to leave the kitchen. Perhaps a tiny part of her feared that if she left, she might wake up and lose this beautiful dream she was in.

She added the final ingredients to the cake mixture and ended by scooping in the flour. She stirred and tested it until it reached the right consistency, then poured it into the greased pan. The leftover cake batter in the bowl was too hard to resist. She slid her finger across it until she had a glob and then stuck it in her mouth.

“Mmmm,” she murmured.

“Are you planning to share?” came a voice from the doorway leading to the dining room.

She spun to find Thornton leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her. How long had he been standing there? She’d wanted to stay mad at him for leading her on during the train ride here. She’d wanted to hate him for being a Quincy. She’d wanted to blame him for the awful working conditions the women had to suffer through.

But at the moment, with her shirtsleeves rolled up and her hands coated in cake batter, her heart was too full of gratefulness to have room for bitterness. She held out the spoon. “Would you like to lick the spoon?”

His brow lifted, widening his rich brown eyes. “Lick it?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never licked batter off a spoon. It’s one of those sacred childhood milestones right up there with building a snowman.”

“It would appear I’ve had a very deprived childhood because I’ve done neither.”

She thrust the spoon into his hand. “Then we need to remedy that right now.”

He raised the spoon and inspected the thick coating of creamy batter skeptically.

“Go on,” she urged.

He stuck the spoon in his mouth and worked it clean.

She watched him, suddenly tense with the need to know what he thought of the taste. It was an old family recipe her father had made often in Hamburg, and she’d been thrilled to find all the ingredients to make it for herself.

“Hmm, that wasn’t quite enough for me to get the flavor.” He handed the spoon back to her. “I think I need a little more.”

She scraped the spoon in the bowl until it was covered with a sizable amount of batter before handing it back to him.

He shoved it into his mouth, cleaned off the spoon, and smacked his lips together as though testing the flavor. Finally he held the spoon out to her. “I’m still not catching it. One more taste ought to do it. Maybe.”

She took the utensil and held it above the bowl. At the spark of humor in his eyes, she hesitated. When he gave her a lopsided, sheepish grin, she put the spoon down on the counter and swiped her finger over the batter until she had a large dollop. “Don’t you know that one person gets to lick the spoon and the other the bowl?” She lifted it to her mouth and made a slow show of savoring each grain.

“That’s not fair.” He gave a pretend pout. “The person with the bowl gets more.”

“It depends upon the baker and how much she decides to leave. And I was in a generous mood today.”

“For yourself.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

He chuckled. She couldn’t keep from smiling as she plunged another finger of batter into her mouth. She’d missed the fun banter with him. How was it that he could make her smile so easily, even though she was supposed to still be angry at him?

She placed the bowl back on the worktable and picked up the cake pan filled with batter. For several minutes, she ignored him and busied herself putting the cake into the oven and adding a few more coals to the firebox.

When she straightened, she realized he hadn’t budged from the doorway but had leaned against the frame again and was watching her. What was the look in his eyes? Admiration?

She returned to the worktable with a wet rag and began to wipe up the sticky smudges of molasses. She could feel his gaze following her every move, and her pulse tripped in an unsteady rhythm. She didn’t want him to affect her. Last night when she’d gone back to the dormer and informed the other women Thornton had hired her to operate the depot dining room, Fanny was the first to warn her, just as she had at the Chicago train depot. The others readily agreed that Thornton was just trying to win her affection again. They warned her to be careful or she’d end up his mistress.

“Elise?” he said quietly, all humor gone from his voice. “I’m sorry.”

The sincerity and plea in his tone beckoned her to forgive him. She stopped her wiping but didn’t turn.

“I know I should have been honest with you on the train about my real identity, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

She wanted to tell him he was right, she didn’t like him anymore. But that wasn’t completely true. After all, he’d been kind enough to give her work and a pay raise. And he’d hired Reinhold.

He released a sigh that contained his frustration. “I’m also sorry for overstepping the limits of friendship. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

At his confession, she spun. Did he regret kissing her? A strange sense of disappointment rushed through her. Maybe the kiss hadn’t affected him the same way it had her. Maybe he was so used to kissing women that it hadn’t meant anything to him.

Stop it, she reprimanded herself. It didn’t matter whether he’d liked it or not. What mattered was that he was sorry for overstepping the bounds of propriety. Surely that was good news and meant he wasn’t attempting to take advantage of her the way Fanny suspected. At least she hoped so.

He straightened. “I promise I won’t do something like that again. I’ll maintain a proper distance from you at all times.”

“Then you’re not attempting to win me over so you can make me your mistress?” Once the words were out, heat rose in her neck at the boldness of her question. At his muttered exclamation of denial, she ducked her head and wiped at a streak of egg on the edge of the table.

“Blast it all, Elise. After getting to know me, do you really think I’m capable of such devious behavior?” Hurt radiated from his expression.

She hesitated, which only caused him to shake his head and mutter again under his breath. “The other women warned me that it happens.”

“Well, rest assured, it won’t happen with me.” His reply was terse, his posture stiff. And from the way he fisted his hands, she could see she’d offended him. Perhaps deeply.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t get angry enough to dismiss her from her new job. It wasn’t a bakery, but it was a kitchen, which was the next best thing. He was also paying her more than she could make working anywhere else. If she ruined things this time, she didn’t know what she’d do. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just I didn’t know what to think with you being so nice to me and singling me out.”

He jammed his fingers through his hair. “Believe me, Elise, I had no intention of using you. I’m deeply sorry if I gave you that impression.”

She wanted to believe him. She really did. But nothing changed who he was, how much wealth he had, and the fact that he was here building this town and mistreating poor people in the process. Maybe he’d given her a new job and a raise, but what about all the others, like Fanny and the Engle sisters who were still stuck working for him like slaves?

His pained eyes held hers, waiting for her response. She didn’t know what to tell him.

“What can I do to reassure you I mean what I said?”

“Do the work,” she said somewhat impulsively. But once spoken, she realized it was what she wanted—for him to see what life was like for people like her. If the wealthy class understood how hard the poor labored, perhaps they’d have more compassion. “Maybe if you go out and do the work you require of your employees, you’ll see that their labor is more valuable than you think.”

“I do value it. Immensely.”

“You can’t value what you don’t understand.”

He studied her for a moment. “And if I do the work, that will prove to you I’m not a cad?”

“It will be a start.”

“Then I’ll do it.” With that, he spun and walked away, his footsteps echoing with an ominous finality. Maybe she’d won this small battle with Thornton, but for a reason she couldn’t explain, she felt like she’d lost.