The wagon approached the house with a jangle of harnesses. The driver parked beside the porch. “Guten Nachmittag. Ve haf Lachs.” The stocky older man reached in a pail and pulled out a fish large enough to feed Mr. Abbott, his children, Mrs. Carter and Tess with some left over. “Ve haf much. You must some take.”
“See what I mean?” Mrs. Carter muttered.
Tess smiled. “I believe he said ‘good afternoon.’ It appears he’s sharing his catch with us.” She knew just what to make for supper. The Lord had evidently heard her prayers.
The driver’s son, a young man about eighteen, jumped to the ground. He took the fish from his father, wrapped it in a cloth and held it out to her. “We didn’t catch them. They came up on the train. When Vati saw them, he got this one for Mr. Abbott. A gift. Vati knows how difficult it is for a man to lose his wife and be left with children to raise on his own. He wanted to do something to help.”
Tess took the fish and nodded at the older man. “That’s kind of you, Herr...”
“Mueller,” the young man offered. “He’s Wolfgang—” he jabbed a thumb at his father “—and I’m Frank.”
“Well, thank you both. This is a godsend.”
“I’ve met Mrs. Carter—” Frank nodded in the widow’s direction and shifted his attention to Tess “—and you must be Miss Grimsby.”
“Yes, I am. I hope to become Mr. Abbott’s housekeeper. How did you hear about me?”
“Mr. Flynn over at the railway station told us about you. It seems you stood out. There aren’t too many women in Shingle Springs as tall as a Hopfenpfosten—a hop pole.” He grinned. “I wish you well. I know from helping Vati build the large pen beyond Mr. Abbott’s barn that he can be an exacting boss, but he’s a fair one.”
Mrs. Carter huffed. “If he’s to be her boss, she’d best not spend her day yammerin’ with the likes of you. She’s got a supper to fix.”
Tess chuckled. “As much as I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Mrs. Carter has a point.” She bid the Muellers farewell and headed for the kitchen, eager to fillet the fish.
Some time later Mrs. Carter and the children joined Tess.
“That supper of yours is smellin’ mighty good, young lady. What’re you fixin’?”
“We’ll start with julienne soup. Then we’ll have the salmon sprinkled with black butter, served with herbed potatoes and tomato slices. I found fresh peaches in the pantry, so I was able to whip up a pie for dessert.”
Lila, who sat on a blanket in the corner, squealed.
Mrs. Carter smiled, proving she had a kind heart beneath her brusque manner. “Sounds like she’s happy. Let’s hope her papa is, too. I’m more’n ready to leave this place in your hands and get back to mine.”
Tess stirred the soup. If Mr. Abbott didn’t arrive soon, the vegetables would be mush.
As if on cue, a wagon pulled in.
“Papa!” Luke took off.
Mrs. Carter lifted Lila into her arms. “We’ll go meet him, wash up and give you time to get the last of your supper rustled up. You’ll find us waitin’ in the dinin’ room.”
The next ten minutes flew by in a blur as Tess grilled the salmon and browned the butter. She removed her apron and said a silent prayer of thanks. Everything had turned out fine, after all. Savoring the sense of accomplishment, she poured the soup into the tureen, grabbed a ladle and headed to the dining room.
Mr. Abbott’s deep voice carried, sending a shiver of excitement shimmying up her spine. “It certainly smells better in here. Do you know what we’re having, son?”
Luke made a horrid sound like a cat trying to rid itself of a hairball. “I don’t want any of it ’cept for the pie. She ruined the soup and burned the fish.”
Tess came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, the soup she carried sloshing precariously. Luke’s uncomplimentary proclamation was to be expected, but the welcome hint of merriment in Mr. Abbott’s eyes had faded all too rapidly, leaving him looking as formidable as ever.
Well, he could frown all he liked. She was an excellent cook and would impress him with her culinary skills, or her name wasn’t Tess Grimsby.
She marched into the room with her head held high.
Spencer didn’t know which amused him more, Luke’s antics or Miss Grimsby’s show of pique. He hid his twitching lips behind his napkin. “Luke, that’s unkind. We must be grateful for what we’re served.”
She set a large bowl of soup on the table, performed an about-face and left the room without a word.
He cast a glance at Mrs. Carter, seated to his left on the other side of Luke with Lila in her lap. The widow appeared to be concealing a smile, too. “You got nothin’ to fear, Mr. Abbott. I slurped a spoonful of the soup earlier, and it’s delicious.”
“I look forward to tasting it myself.”
“But she said the soup was ruined, Papa. I heard her.”
“I said no such thing.” Miss Grimsby placed a platter of fish in front of Spencer that smelled so good his mouth watered. “It’s julienne soup. Not ruined soup. I gather you’ve never had it before.”
Luke shook his head so soundly his long hair flapped from side to side. “Mama didn’t fix things with funny names. She made what Papa likes. Steak and baked potatoes. Not smelly old burned fish.”
“I didn’t burn the fish, Luke. What makes you think that?” Miss Grimsby gazed at the ceiling for several moments.
All of a sudden she nodded. “I understand. You heard me tell Mrs. Carter I was going to make black butter to drizzle over the fish. The butter’s not really black, though. It’s just browned, and it tastes good. I’ll bring in the rest of the food, and you can see for yourself.”
She returned with a dish of small potatoes cut into chunks and sprinkled with herbs, along with a plate of artistically arranged tomato slices. Rather fancy fare for a family supper. Not that Spencer was complaining. Steak and baked potatoes were fine, but a man could do with a change on occasion.
And fresh fish? How had she managed that? This looked to be salmon. His favorite. Trudy couldn’t stomach seafood, so he’d not had any in years.
His gut tightened. Trudy. He’d eat steak and potatoes every day for the rest of his life if that would give him one more hour with her. One more opportunity to take her in his arms, pull her to his chest and feel the silkiness of her hair against his chin. One more chance to tell her how sorry he was for—
“Mr. Abbott?”
“Hmm?”
Miss Grimsby sat at the opposite end of the rectangular table with Lila in her lap. “Did you want to say grace?”
“Yes. Of course.”
She took Lila’s hands in hers, pressed the baby’s palms together and covered them with her own.
Spencer swallowed the boulder that lodged in his throat at the site of his little girl in another woman’s arms, a capable and caring woman as different from Trudy as California was from Texas. A comely woman who’d filled his thoughts far too often since their trackside meeting. “Thank You, Father, for the meal and for...the h-hands that prepared it.”
He cast a furtive glance around the table to see if anyone had noticed his hesitation.