Anne Eames - A Marriage Made In Joeville

“See you two ladies at supper.” The boots clomped to the back door, and the screen slammed shut behind him.

Essie breathed a sigh of relief. Supper was enough to manage without the likes of Ryder Malone lurking around. She eyed the last potato in her hands and forced herself to forget him, at least for now. Later she’d analyze the thudding in her ears and the irregular beat of her heart. Right now she had a job to do.

The next step was slicing, but beyond that she hadn’t a clue. She needed to run upstairs and look at her cookbook. If she didn’t get Hannah out of here soon, she’d be in a world of trouble.

“Hannah,” she started tentatively, then rushed on before the woman could stop her. “Why don’t you let me finish up here. I know you have other work.” Behind her she heard balls of meat being pounded into submission inside baking pans.

“There. Them are ready.”

Essie braved a backward glance. Hannah was untying her apron. A good sign.

“Okay, girl. It’s all yers.” She stopped and looked at her squarely, as if estimating the risk she was taking if she left the task in the rookie’s hands. Then she turned and waddled toward the hallway. “The men like ta eat at six sharp.”

The second she was out of sight, Essie dried her hands and ran up the back stairs to her room. A few minutes later, with instructions scribbled on a scrap of paper, she tucked it in the pocket of her jeans and darted back to the kitchen, grateful it was still empty. Breathing heavily, she reread the directions, cursed Jenny under her breath and went to work.

At suppertime the four men sat around the table in stony silence, their forks moving from their plates to their mouths slowly, heads bent. Essie moved around the table refilling iced tea glasses, wishing someone would say something. Everything looked pretty good, if she did say so herself. She’d found enough leftover rolls to warm in the microwave. The peas had been easy enough. There were a few lumps of flour in the scalloped potatoes, but beyond that, she thought she’d fared well for her first performance. Max glanced at her over his tea, and she smiled at him, feeling proud. He set his glass down and smiled back, but didn’t speak.

She returned to the kitchen and dropped onto one of the chairs at the square little table in the corner facing a cozy bay window and a perfect view of the MoJoes. She stared at the mountains a moment, then down at the two plates she’d set out for Hannah and herself, debating whether she should wait for her companion. Before she had time to decide, Hannah ambled in, looking older and more stooped than before. For a moment Essie forgot the woman’s gruffness and felt a pang of empathy. She was too old for all this work. Her eyelids drooped as heavily as her shoulders.

Without benefit of a single word, Hannah scooped potatoes and peas onto her plate, sliced off some meat loaf and dropped a roll in the only clean spot left. Silently she bowed her head a moment, then began to shovel it in like there was no tomorrow.

Essie watched and waited from the opposite side of the table, but Hannah never slowed her pace or lifted her eyes. Maybe this was how they ate out here, Essie thought. All the fresh air and hard work made for a healthy appetite. Words could wait. She went about filling her own plate, eager to taste the fruits of her labor. She blew on a forkful of potatoes and then slid it into her mouth, closing her eyes, ready to savor her masterpiece.

Her teeth, which refused to meet in the middle, discovered the first problem. The potatoes were as hard as granite, almost raw. She persevered, chewed hard and swallowed.

Next was the meat loaf. Hannah had made it; at least it had to be good. Except when she cut into the center it almost mooed at her. She ate around the edges and reached for a roll and a dab of butter. The knife sawed back and forth but wouldn’t penetrate the crust. The blade must be dull, she concluded. She bit into it, instead. With her lips attached to one side of it, she eyed Hannah’s abandoned roll at the edge of her plate and saw teeth marks. Now how could this be? She’d tasted a cold one before warming them. They seemed fine. She’d even left them in the microwave a couple of extra minutes to be sure they were heated through.

Essie ate some peas, not sure if they’d passed the test, either. Canned tasted so much different, she wasn’t sure. They were hot and not too hard and Hannah had finished all of hers and was reaching for a second helping.

“Them peas are just right,” she said, making fleeting eye contact. “Taters are tasty. Jes need another half hour or so in the oven. Spect there’ll be plenty a’ leftovers. Be jes right next time.”

Essie could feel the moisture on her bottom lashes. She blinked furiously, feeling an enormous gratitude. She’d blown it. Hannah knew it, but didn’t issue the tonguelashing she deserved. Essie’s appraisal of this woman this morning had already proven true. There was a marshmallow under all those dimples and rolls...and a degree of sensitivity that surprised and touched her.

“Did ya make dessert?” Hannah ate the edges around another slice of meat loaf and Essie dropped her fork on her plate.

She sighed in defeat. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Hannah’s hand stop midair and felt the woman’s weary stare.

“Ice cream’s in the freezer on the porch. Got some berries in the fridge...if ya wanna pour some over.”

Essie looked up, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill and she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. But Hannah was tackling another mouthful of potatoes, head down.

“Thank you,” Essie said, and went to the freezer.

When she entered the dining room with her tray of four bowls, the men were busily engaged in a discussion about quarter horses and didn’t stop when she took their unfinished plates and replaced them with the ice cream.

As she pushed her back against the door to the kitchen, Ryder’s gaze locked on her face and she felt the color drain from it.

“Pick you up at the kitchen door in the morning. How’s eight o’clock?”

“F-fine.” She averted her eyes and carried her load to the kitchen. Behind her she heard a burst of laughter and could only imagine what was being said about supper and the new cook. She started rinsing and stacking dirty dishes, glad her back was to Hannah and whomever else might walk through.

Oh, Jenny. How I wish you were here.

She paused and looked out the window. The sun was low in the sky, casting a reddish glow over the mountains. Even though it was early June, snow still blanketed the upper ridges, while fields of wildflowers stretched the distance between here and there, a cool evening breeze tilting their colorful heads eastward. A modicum of the peace she felt earlier returned. Montana was a sight to behold. There was no doubt she’d remain in this paradise, but how long would she survive under this roof? Already they knew her credentials were shaky. When would they ask her to leave?

But of more immediate concern was how she would handle tomorrow with Ryder...alone in the close confines of his truck.

Three

“Jes as I spected! She don’t know squat ‘bout cookin’.”

Max crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Last night was her first night. Maybe she was just nervous. It’s not like we have dozens of applicants to choose from, Hannah. You can’t continue doing it all yourself—”

“So that’s why I decided I’d have ta teach her,” she said, interrupting him.

Max’s chin dropped. Before he could recover, Essie walked down the back stairs, her eyes bloodshot and red rimmed.

When she spotted the pair, she stopped on the last step and took in their smiling faces. Smiles? They were the last things she expected to find this morning. And why was Hannah in the kitchen instead of doing her housework?