Cheryl St.John - Colorado Courtship

“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.