Cheryl St.John - Colorado Courtship

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 pleasure 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?”

“Tessa and I went shopping today, as you know.”

He nodded.

“She let me know you wanted me to have several dresses.”

“I hope you weren’t offended. You may already have enough clothing.”

“I don’t have appropriate clothing, and I’m not offended. I understand I have a place in your household now and I should look my best in public.”

“Were you able to select things you’ll like?”

“Yes, of course. My concern is the cost. I’ve only begun to earn my keep and wages. I shall be indebted to you for the cost until I’ve been here long enough to repay it.”

“I won’t hear any more talk of indebtedness,” he said. “Our terms of your employment included food, lodging and clothing.”

“I thought perhaps a few work dresses would be included, not such lovely—and expensive—things.”

“Do you need work dresses, as well?”

“No, I can wear my own.”

“All right. Your wages are your wages, Miss Bennett, to use any way you see fit. Food, a room and clothing are my concern. A position like this requires a sacrifice many women aren’t willing or able to make. You’ve already relocated in an unfamiliar place. Your schedule will revolve around ours for as long as you’re in my employ. You’ve made a big commitment to my family, and I don’t take that lightly.”

He made it sound as though she was doing him a favor, instead of the other way around. Of course he didn’t know she’d never lived anywhere so nice or had as many choices for meals or used such efficient appliances. There wasn’t a cook around who wouldn’t move lock, stock and barrel to work in this home.

Still, it was an extravagant expense. “Well, then I thank you.”

“Have you made yourself familiar with the rest of the house?” he asked.

She tried not to react, but a growing fear in the back of her mind wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d fought the panic earlier, but she didn’t dare get any closer to the place where he worked. If he wanted her to clean the rooms in the mortuary, she might have to leave.

Had she seen the entire house? “Not yet.”

“You’ve barely had time to get settled. Maybe tomorrow you’ll look around. We don’t get the place dirty, so a little dusting is all that’s needed most of the time. Tessa takes care of her own room, but I would appreciate it if you dusted mine and changed sheets on the beds. You may send out bedding and clothing to be laundered. And, Violet?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please make yourself at home. Use any room you care to and help yourself to the books. There is sufficient lighting in the parlor if you do needlework.”

“Thank you, but...Mr. Hammond?”

He nodded to show he was listening.

Wind buffeted the panes of glass in the long window.

She took a deep breath. “Do my duties extend to cleaning next door at—at—where you work?”

“Goodness, no. Someone from town comes once a week to clean the mortuary—more often if we’re especially busy. I should have thought to tell you that. I wasn’t thinking.”

Relief washed over her at his reply. Once he’d said good-night and gone upstairs, she poured herself a pitcher of warm water and turned down the wick until the oil lamp snuffed out. She felt as though she’d escaped the guillotine. She didn’t think there was enough money in the Carson Springs bank to get her to clean the funeral home.