She could imagine Mr. Abbott in the wingback armchair by the fireplace, a child on each knee. A sewing basket sat on the table beside the settee. His wife’s favorite place to sit had likely been the end of it nearest him. The picture of domestic bliss.
A wistful sigh escaped, and Tess chided herself. Giving way to the longing for a family of her own would do no good. She mustn’t fuel futile dreams. How many times had Mr. Grimsby told her she’d best prepare for a lifetime of service?
His words uttered on her tenth birthday came back as sharp and piercing as ever. No man will look twice at you, Tess. You’re going to tower over most of them. And those who are tall won’t be interested in a woman who can look them in the eye. A man wants to feel superior in all respects. Take my word for it, and apply yourself to your studies, so you can earn a decent living.
And then came the nickname. Of course Charlie had been the one who’d overheard that dreadful conversation. Charlie, who taunted anyone and everyone, from the youngest children all the way to the orphanage director himself.
Too-Tall Tess.
That’s what Charlie had dubbed her, and nothing she could say or do would silence him. So, she’d done the only thing she could—pretended it didn’t matter.
From that day on she’d vowed never to let anyone see how much she detested being different. She’d stood tall, proud and unflinching as the other children singsonged the ditty Charlie had coined.
Oh, what a pity! Oh, what a mess!
When God said height, she shoulda asked for less.
She’s Too-Tall, Too-Tall, Too-Tall Tess.
It didn’t help that Tess wasn’t her real name. Mr. Grimsby had given it to her when her father left her at the orphanage, despite the fact that she’d told the domineering director her name was Faith. Although Tess was a fine name, his insistence on using it and offering no reason why had rankled.
After shaking herself from her reverie, Tess smoothed the crisp white cloth covering the pedestal table in the center of the room, repositioned the antimacassar on the back of Spencer’s armchair and pronounced the parlor ready for inspection.
Restoring the dining room to rights would take no time at all. The layer of dust coating everything gave evidence no one had eaten there since Mrs. Abbott’s passing. Perhaps Mr. Abbott felt her absence in that room more deeply than other places. Replacing old memories with new would help.
Tess gathered the soiled shirts draped over the chairs and picked up the toys. She removed the petrified bouquet serving as the centerpiece. She’d send Mrs. Carter and the children in search of fresh flowers, thus gaining the time needed to scour the kitchen and plan her supper menu.
Discovering the whereabouts of the widow and the little ones was easy. Mrs. Carter must have asked Luke to do something he didn’t want to do. His complaints coming from the backyard could be heard throughout the house. That boisterous boy would require a firm hand—and a full measure of compassion. He must miss his mama terribly.
Tess stepped through the back door onto the wraparound porch. She called to the older woman, who had the baby propped on one hip. They stood beneath a sprawling oak with a rope swing suspended from one of its sturdy branches. “I’d like a fresh bouquet on the table tonight, Mrs. Carter. Might I ask you to pick some flowers? I saw a nice selection in the beds out front.”
The widow appeared relieved by the request. Luke even ceased his whining. “The children and me would be happy to do that, wouldn’t we, Luke?” She gave him an over-bright smile.
“I don’t wanna, and I’m not gonna. I want her to push me on the swing. Right now!” He jabbed a stubby finger at Mrs. Carter.
Tess feigned indifference. “That’s all right. I don’t want your help, after all.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “You don’t?”
“No. This is a special job, and you’re still quite young. I don’t think you could pick flowers without breaking their stems or crushing their petals.”
He rammed his fists against his sides and scrunched his face in a sour-pickle expression. “I could, too.”
“What do you think, Mrs. Carter? Should we let him try or have him sit with Lila and watch while you pick the flowers?”
Luke snorted. “I’m not a baby. I’m a big boy. Papa says so, and he knows everything.”
The snowy-headed woman looked from him to Tess and back again, understanding dawning. “I reckon we could let him try...if he promises to be careful.”
“I won’t hurt them. I’ll show you.” He raced around the corner of the house. Lila bounced on Mrs. Carter’s ample hip as she hurried after him.
With the children occupied, Tess had the house to herself once again. She donned her apron and plunged her hands into a tub of hot water. Determined to get the mountain of dirty dishes washed quickly, she attacked an encrusted dinner plate with such fervor that soap bubbles formed on the water’s surface. Normally she didn’t relish the scent of lye soap, but today she welcomed anything strong enough to cut the lingering stench of the sulfur.
What could she prepare for supper that would overpower the horrid smell and fill the air with tantalizing aromas? When she was out back, she’d noticed a garden with a healthy crop of weeds mounting a takeover. Perhaps she could find some ripe vegetables among those that had rotted on the vines. That would be a start.
“Lord, You know how much I need this position, so please show me what You’d like me to prepare.” If He’d led her here, as she believed He had, surely He could provide her with inspiration.
She was eager to impress Mr. Abbott, so he’d hire her. Although he was a bit on the dour side, he struck her as a fair man. Working for the handsome stationmaster could prove to be a distraction, but she was more than willing to deal with that.
Twenty minutes later Tess dried the last bowl, put it in the cupboard and hung the damp dishtowel on its peg. She delivered lemonade to Mrs. Carter and Luke, who’d picked enough flowers to fill two vases.
He leaned back against the porch railing, his ankles and arms crossed, looking adorable despite his dirt-streaked face. “We picked whole bunches of flowers, and I didn’t hurt none of them.”
Tess smiled. “You did a fine job, Luke. I’ll have to tell your papa what a big help you’ve been.”
The little boy beamed, seemed to think better of it and assumed a stoic manner so like his father’s it was all she could do not to laugh. She shifted her attention to Mrs. Carter, who sat in a rocking chair with Lila in her lap. “If you’re content to enjoy the shade and the cool drink, I’ll get to work on the meal.”
“We’re fine, dearie. Chasin’ after these young’uns the past week plumb wore me out, so I’m happy to sit here and keep ’em out from under your petticoats.”
Normally Tess would welcome the children’s help. She had wonderful memories of working alongside Josette, the cook at the orphanage, when she was a girl. However, since this meal had to be exemplary in order for her to secure the position, she would leave Luke and Lila in Mrs. Carter’s care.
Wending her way between the rows of the garden with basket in hand, Tess found what she needed to prepare a light but tasty soup to start the meal.
Luke raced around the house and hollered. “A wagon’s coming, and it’s not Papa.”
She set her bounty by the back door and followed Luke to the front of the house. A wagon rumbled down the rutted road toward them. The young man