Gabrielle Meyer - A Family Arrangement

He’d never seen someone clean the way she had. No wonder she’d gone to bed early. There was not a nook or cranny of the main floor that had not been touched. She had even taken Susanne’s books off the shelves and hand-dusted each one. The place practically glowed. While he had sat next to the fireplace the evening before, after Charlotte had gone to bed and the men had left for Crow Wing, he had admired the way the firelight danced on the shiny windows again. She had outdone herself—and he sensed it was to prove him wrong.

But that didn’t bother him one bit.

The kitchen door was outlined with light and Abram could smell the first hint of coffee on the cold morning air.

Charlotte?

He pushed open the door and found her standing in front of the cookstove in a fresh yellow dress, snug against her slender waist and belled out around the bottom. She wore a large apron and had her hair done up in a fancy knot. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other flipping a flapjack in a frying pan. Her right foot was tapping and he heard the soft sound of her humming “Oh! Susanna.”

A smile teased his lips as he paused over the threshold, surprised at how nice it felt to have a lady in the house again. The breakfast table was already set with a butter dish, a pitcher of cream and a little bowl of white sugar. Six plates were set with a fork and a mug beside each.

Everything looked homey and snug. Warmth curled inside his chest—but then a pang of guilt rocked him back on his heels, stealing the smile from his face. What was he thinking? This was Susanne’s kitchen. How could he feel good about another woman in her place?

Charlotte grabbed the plate of flapjacks and turned to put them on the table. She glanced up and her brown eyes registered surprise at his appearance. “Good morning.”

He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Morning.”

She turned back to the stove and flipped another flapjack, glancing over her shoulder. “Eat up while they’re hot.”

He took his place at the head of the table, his mouth watering at the smell of fresh coffee and the sight of steam rising off the flapjacks.

“Will the others be down shortly?” she asked.

“They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours. I don’t think we’ll see them anytime soon.”

She brought the coffeepot from the stove and set it on the table. “They’re not going to the mission with us today?”

He shook his head and reached for the flapjacks. “No.”

She put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Where were they all night?”

It felt strange to have her hand on his arm, so he pulled out of her grasp. “They went to Crow Wing. It’s a trading center north of here.”

“What do they do there?”

“I don’t ask and they don’t tell.” Crow Wing had a reputation for being lawless. It was a mecca for transient fur traders, trappers and Indians. At any time, there were usually about two hundred people living there and very few things were off-limits. He was sure his men had enjoyed themselves.

Charlotte crossed her arms and looked at him with disappointment. “You let them do this?”

“They’re grown men. What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell them to stop.”

He took a flapjack off the top of the stack and put it on his plate, his stomach growling. He almost closed his eyes to inhale the warm scent but refrained—only because she was watching. “I can’t tell them what to do.”

Her foot began to tap again but this time she wasn’t humming. “Well, I can.” She marched around the table and out of the kitchen, her skirts swaying.

Abram scrambled up from the table. “Charlotte!” He raced out of the kitchen and through the dark room just as she opened the front door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m reforming your employees.” She reached for the triangle dinner bell.

His eyes grew wide. “They’ll skin you alive! They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours and this is their one morning to sleep in.”

She closed the door and marched across the room to the stairs. “This is the Lord’s Day and I won’t live in a house with four men who don’t honor Him.”

He reached for the dinner bell but she pulled away. Instead of grab the bell he grabbed her wrist. “I’m warning you, Charlotte. I don’t know what they’re capable of if woken up right now. They won’t be happy.”

She pulled her arm away and raced up the steps. He chased after her, but before he could stop her, she charged into the room and began to clang the bell.

“Everyone up! Wake up!” The bell drowned out her words and echoed in Abram’s ears. “Breakfast is on the table. Get dressed and ready for church.”

Caleb jumped out of his bed as if there was a fire, his eyes enormous. He stood in his red long johns and stocking cap. “What’s wrong?”

Josiah groaned and threw his pillow across the room. It hit Charlotte right in the head. Her eyes registered surprise—and then anger. The bell stopped clanging for a moment and Abram thought for a split second that Charlotte would throw the heavy dinner bell at Josiah’s head in return.

“Wake up!” Charlotte said instead, this time with more force. “I’m surprised at you men. Is this how you spend your hard-earned money?”

Harry sat up, a scowl on his weathered face, while Milt looked at Charlotte through the hair hanging in his eyes.

Caleb sank back to his bed, holding his head between his hands and moaning.

Charlotte crossed her arms and glared at the men. “I made breakfast and it’s still hot. If any of you ever expect to eat a warm meal at my table again, I’d advise you to get dressed and come down immediately.”

Harry stood and fisted his hands. “Last I heard, you were an employee of Abram’s, same as us. Seems to me that he should be the one making the rules around here.”

Charlotte turned and faced Abram. “You said it’s my kitchen for now. Therefore, I make the rules. I say they eat now or I don’t serve them again.”

Panic swelled in Abram’s gut. If he wanted Harry to stay, he couldn’t take Charlotte’s side—yet, if he wanted Charlotte to stay, he had to give her power over her domain.

“I say we show the lady some respect,” Caleb said, grimacing as he reached for his shirt and pants off the floor. “If she went to the trouble of making us breakfast, the least we can do is come to the table on time.”

Abram sighed in relief.

Caleb nudged Josiah. “Get out of bed and come eat Miss Charlotte’s breakfast.”

Josiah’s black curls were in a mess on his head. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. The look he cast Charlotte suggested she had lost all appeal in his eyes.

Milt didn’t say anything but he also started to fumble for his clothing.

It was Harry who narrowed his eyes and glared at Charlotte. “I won’t let no woman tell me what to do.” He flopped back into his bed and pulled the covers over his red hair.

Caleb, Josiah and Milt all looked at him—and then at Charlotte—but none of them went back to bed.

Charlotte turned from the room, the dinner bell firmly in hand.

Abram was thankful a disaster had been averted—though for how long, he wasn’t sure.

He followed Charlotte down the stairs, admiring and disliking her backbone all at the same time.

When the men were assembled around the table, and Abram had said grace, Charlotte poured each of them a cup of coffee. Their eyes were bloodshot and they didn’t bother to hide their yawns. No one said a thing as Charlotte picked up Harry’s plate, cup and fork and put them back in the cupboard.

“I’ll expect each of you to join us at church today, too,” Charlotte said, taking her place at the table.

Josiah’s black eyes filled with horror. “Now, look here, Miss Charlotte—”