Sweet Expectations (27 page)

He cocked his head. “I wasn't adopted. But I was an orphan. Spent my first sixteen years in a home.”

Behind the faint smile, I saw sadness. “What happened to your parents?”

“Died, from what I was told. Both caught the fever. Died when I was one or so.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. The home wasn't so bad. And I got along fine. Then when I had enough, I lied about my age and joined the Marines. I'm guessing that's why Walter and I got on so well. We had each other and the Marines.”

He'd not been protecting the cherished items of old friends but of his family. “They were lucky to have you in their lives.”

For a moment he pursed his lips as if he struggled with emotion. He cleared his throat. “Naw. I was the lucky one.”

Fresh tears welled in my eyes.

He cleared his throat. “And don't you cry, because I don't like a woman's tears. Upsets my day.”

I sniffed. “Sorry. It's the baby's doing. I'm not much of a crier.”

He looked at me with such tenderness I almost cried. “Now, you really do have to beat it.”

I rose, leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll see you soon.”

He patted my shoulder with his bent hand. “Sooner's always better than later with me.”

* * *

The bakery was quiet when I returned. The front end of the shop was clean and ready to receive guests, and the front display case sparkled waiting for Rachel and Jean Paul to fill it again. I pushed through the saloon doors and dropped my purse on the counter. As I crossed to go upstairs there was a fresh loaf of bread. The handwritten note on it read,
Daisy, this is for the baby. Eat. JP
.

I smiled as I tore a piece of bread and bit into it. The crust was crunchy and the interior soft. A touch of salt brought out the qualities of the wheat, creating a magical blend.

The box of letters tucked under my arm, I headed to my new basement office and flipped on the lights. I wouldn't miss running up and down these stairs every day with baked goods. Carrying up bottles of wine was far more preferable than lugging one-hundred-pound sacks of flour and sugar or heavy trays of baked goods. No, I would not miss the old arrangement.

In my new basement office, I stared at the receipts piled on my desk. Good to have the paperwork—it meant the bakery was coming back to life. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already after eight, but I could squeeze out a little time working.

Sitting at the desk, I reviewed receipts that showed we'd had a good day. A good day. Laying the slips of paper down, I leaned back in my chair. Was today good enough?

I thought about my earlier conversation with Rachel. She had said she needed a change. That she could no longer keep the pace she'd maintained for the last couple of years. And I also feared with a baby on the way I might not be able to balance the life this place required.

When I'd first come back to the bakery, I'd been thinking in temporary terms. I thought I'd have this place shipshape by now and be on my way to the next high-powered job. And then the bakery had wormed its way under my skin, proving it was indeed a jealous and selfish master. But I'd expected I could handle the bakery's demands as I had handled so many difficult clients in the financial world. And then Gordon had come waltzing into the bakery, and I'd thought maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be such a bad life. No huge paychecks but satisfaction.

Now with no Gordon and a baby on the way I wasn't so sure a handful of receipts and satisfaction were going to cut it. I needed more time and money.

Suddenly, too tired to work on the accounts, I shut off the lights, leaving the paperwork until tomorrow. Holding the letters close, I climbed the stairs to my room, where I flounced back on my bed and kicked off my shoes and lay very still. My body pulsed with fatigue. Glancing at my feet, I could have sworn they'd grown two sizes since yesterday and my belly, no longer a letting-yourself-go pouch, was now a full-fledged baby bump.

“Jenna, how did you do it?” I muttered. “How did you bury the man you loved and find the strength to bring your baby into the world?”

By all rights I should have fallen asleep, but thoughts of Jenna's letters to Walter had unwanted energy surging. I didn't need to read letters. I needed to sleep. I needed to block out the world and the worries so I could recharge and find a way to set my sights on tomorrow.

But as I glanced at the letters, overwhelming curiosity struck. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for the box of letters. “Just one. I'll read just one.”

I thumbed through them and realized Joey had kept them in chronological order, leaving me with the decision of where to begin.

I'm one of those people who reads the last page of a book before I buy it. Annoying, I know. Blame it on abandonment and adoption but I like to know where the path trails before I take it.

And so I reached for the last letter. The envelope was yellowed and the paper brittle. Unlike the other envelopes, this one was sealed and had never been opened. I studied the postmark over the stamp. It was dated July 2, 1944. July. When his letter had been stamped by the post office, Walter lay critically injured, his body badly mangled. Jenna's pregnancy would have been evident, and she'd have been so afraid.

Carefully, I ran my thumbnail under the flap that hadn't been opened in seventy years and pushed it back. The faint scent of cinnamon rose up and greeted me as I peeled back the flap. Joey had said Jenna had always smelled of cinnamon.

Removing the letter, the deeply lined folds cracked as I opened the one-page letter to find Jenna's neat script. Without reading a word, I knew she'd taken great care when she'd written this letter.

Dearest Walter,

It's after two in the morning, and I can't sleep a wink. I've been dreaming about you—about us—that last night you were in town. Remember how we'd walked along the banks of the Potomac, hand in hand, and you'd told me that when you came home we'd marry? I cherish that moment and I hang on to it. I live for the day you return.

I've a beautiful secret to share with you. I'd hoped you'd return in time but now realize I must take this moment to tell you that I am pregnant with our child. Now, please do not worry because I know how you worry. We are fine. Mr. and Mrs. McCrae have been so kind to me and tell me the baby and I will always have a place here.

The baby grows and kicks often. The doctor says the child will arrive in late December or early January. That's a mere six months away but I confess I cannot wait. I ache to hold my child, our son.

Yes, I said son. I am now certain I'm going to have a boy. Perhaps I simply want a little version of you for I've often imagined lately you as a little boy. I dare say you were cute.

Despite the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. McCrae, I've written to my sister Kate and told her about the baby. This is a time for family. She's already promised to smooth the waters between my father and me. She tells me not to worry, and I will take her advice and keep good thoughts.

I'm hoping you'll be home by spring so you and I and our child can enjoy the apple blossoms. There is no lovelier place than the Shenandoah Valley in the spring.

Do not worry about us. We will be fine. When you write again, don't send your letter care of the bakery but to my sister's farm. Kate Davis, Rural Route 10, Winchester, Virginia.

I send you all my love and wish you a speedy, safe return,

With all my love,

Jenna

I sat back on the bed, staring at her neat, clear handwriting. Had she felt his life seeping away on that far-off island as she'd written a letter no one opened?

Two o'clock in the morning would have been nine o'clock Pacific time. The fighting remained constant in July on Saipan, and Walter, wherever he lay, would have heard it.

I traced Jenna's name with my fingertip.

Find him.

The feeling rose up in me and I sensed this wasn't a trick of my mind. It was Jenna. She wanted me to find her son. And now I had an address for her sister Kate.

I opened my laptop and typed in Kate Davis, Winchester, and hit Enter. The chance of Kate being in the same location after all these years was slim but not out of the question. Farms, like bakeries, could stay in families for generations.

Several hits popped up.

Mrs. Kate Davis Simmons of the First Presbyterian Church of Winchester was honored for her service to the church.

Mrs. Kate Simmons pays tribute to veterans on Memorial Day.

Mrs. Kate Simmons and her oldest son, Walt.

Walter . . . Walt.

Chapter Twenty-one

Sunday, 8:00
A.M.

One day after grand reopening

Income Lost: $5,000

W
hen I pushed out of bed, the sun shone bright in the room. The baby rested heavily on my bladder and despite the bed's comfort and warmth, I quickly made my way to the bathroom, took care of business, and then jumped into the shower.

As I stood under the hot spray, savoring the water beating against my skin, I realized I still wasn't sick to my stomach. I'd become so accustomed to feeling bad, a day or two of feeling good hadn't been enough for me to fully trust I'd turned a corner. The fact that I might really be rejoining the ranks of the living had me feeling hopeful. Opening my eyes, I smoothed my hand over my stomach. It seemed as quickly as the nausea had come it left.

Score one for the home team.

Feeling freshened and actually hungry, I toweled off and dressed in my maternity fat pants and a larger size bakery T-shirt. A side profile in the mirror had me wincing. I wouldn't be making the best-dressed list anywhere today.

In the kitchen I found a coffeepot gurgling and it smelled surprisingly good. I poured a cup as Rachel pushed through the doors.

“Morning,” she said. Her face glowed with a pink hue, and her smile looked bright and natural.

“You look chipper.” I pulled out the flour, sugar, and maple syrup and lined them up on the counter.

“The girls and I are headed to the park. It's an all-girl day of fun. Want to join us?”

“No, you enjoy your girls all by yourself. You three deserve a fun day.”

She beamed. “I can't wait.”

I poured a cup for her and I sweetened it with sugar and milk. When I'd lived in Washington I'd given up sugar and milk in my coffee in lieu of counting calories, but seeing I was officially in fat pants I decided to treat myself with milk and sugar. The coffee tasted smooth, and after weeks of not being able to stomach it, it tasted really, really good.

“So what are you going to do today? And please don't say work,” she said. “Baking?”

“Jenna's maple cookies.”

“Why?”

“I'm taking them as a treat.”

“I've several dozen wrapped up in a bin from yesterday.”

“I know. I wanted to bake these.”

“Why do you need the cookies?”

“Joey gave me the letters Jenna had written to Walter.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Letters?”

“Love letters.”

“Have you read them?”

“Only the last.”

She smiled. “You always did like knowing the ending.”

I went to the refrigerator and loaded up on butter. “What can I say?”

She picked up her cup, cradled it close, and then took a sip. “So give me the punch line.”

“She told Walter about the baby and said she was going to stay with her sister until the baby was born.”

“And do we have sister's name?”

“We do. Kate Davis of Winchester. I searched her on the Internet. I found a Kate Davis Simmons of Winchester. She has a son named Walt. The reference is two years old.”

Rachel's brows rose. “If this Walt is Walter's son then he'd be about sixty-nine now.”

“I know.”

“That's assuming they are still alive.”

“I've thought about that.” But I wasn't worried. Jenna wouldn't have gone to the trouble if he were gone. “I need to try.”

A knock at the front door startled me. With a shrug I moved through the saloon doors and glanced toward the front door. It was Gordon. He wore jeans, a dark shirt skimming his flat belly, and his blond hair brushed back and still damp from a shower. He looked so fine I could have melted.

Very aware of my fat pants and an oversized T-shirt, hair pulled back tight, the sight of him tugged at locks around my heart as caged feelings struggled to break free.

I unlocked the door. “Gordon.”

His slid a hand in his pocket. He met my gaze and for the first time since we'd talked about the baby, I saw no hint of anger. “Daisy.”

I wondered if we could hold the armistice or if we'd end up fighting within minutes. Rachel pushed through the saloon doors and stood inches behind me. “Hey, Gordon.”

Gordon shifted his attention from me to Rachel and grinned. “How's it going, Rachel? Grand reopening go well?”

“Went great. The new kids Daisy hired saved the day.”

His grin was warm. “She's always had a knack for finding talent.”

Rachel nodded. “I'd say so.”

“Rachel,” I said. “You and the girls have an outing today.”

She laid her steady hands on my shoulders. “It's no rush.”

I appreciated her acting as my wingman, but Gordon was my issue. I patted her hand. “It is. Go and have fun.”

“Sure?” Rachel straightened in her mama-bear mode.

“Yes. Very sure.”

Gordon smiled at Rachel as if to assure her he'd behave. “I just want a word with Daisy.”

Her hands slid from my shoulders but she hovered close. “Everybody be nice.”

I smiled. “I'll do the best I can.”

Gordon shrugged as if to say trouble wouldn't start on his end.

“Fine. But I'll be close.” After Rachel vanished upstairs, I tried to pretend the air didn't snap and crackle between us. “Why don't you come through the kitchen?”

“Great.” He followed me to the new kitchen, taking a moment to survey the newly relocated and designed layout. “You've been busy.”

“It's been pretty crazy the last week and a half. But we made it. Even installed the wine shop in the basement.”

“I'd heard you'd bought out Gus's wines.”

Alexandria was a big small town. “Seemed a good way to grow the business.” I shoved open the back door to the alley, knowing out there we'd have real privacy. I waited until Gordon followed before letting the door close.

The day's growing heat warmed the sudden chill in my bones. Not sure what to do, I folded my arms and then unfolded them, thinking I should look casual and not tense. I was tense, but it didn't hurt to hide it or the fact I had no idea what to say to Gordon. None. I'd apologized. Explained my position. And still my stomach fluttered as if I weren't much older than a teenager.

His gaze darted over my body, taking in my growing belly that could no longer be hidden. “I bet you haven't eaten.”

“I did manage coffee this morning. A milestone. No morning, or rather, all-day sickness for me right now.”

His face tensed a little but he seemed to recover. “Good. That's good. So you and the baby are doing well?”

The
baby. Not our baby. One day, I supposed, it wouldn't be awkward when we talked about this child. “We are hanging tough. Little McCrae is as hardy as her old lady.”

An awkward silence settled between us. We were both trying to be adult and mature. We were trying. But it still felt so weird between us. To fill the silence, I said, “I e-mailed Terry and she did get back to me. She said she had morning sickness midway through her pregnancy, not with me but with her last boy. Stands to reason, I guess. She would have been about my age when her last child was born.”

His gaze bore into me. “She got back to you. That's good.”

“Yeah, not a gushing motherly note, but I've the sense she was trying to help. And I appreciated that.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good. I know you've wanted a connection with her.”

“I thought I was fine without it but her e-mail really meant a lot. I've read it. She's not Mom, but she is my birth mother and we should be friends, don't you think?”

“Yeah.”

More silence. The elephant in the alley lumbered around us and finally, I drew in a ragged breath. “I also e-mailed Roger. Haven't heard back yet.”

Gordon's lips flattened into a grim line. “That guy is an ass.”

“I
know
. But there's no changing the past no matter how much I want to. I really wish I could but I can't. I wished with all my heart that this baby was yours. But it's not.”

He glanced at his hands and then tucked them in his pocket. “I'm sorry.”

I cocked my head. “For what? You haven't done anything wrong, Gordon. You are a saint for putting up with me for this long. I get that I'm not easy.”

The lines in his forehead furrowed deeper. “I've not been very helpful. All the changes you made to the bakery, being sick and the news of the baby, you really didn't need me heaping onto the pile.”

“I'm a tough bird, Gordon. And I get that I hurt you. I know if I could turn back the clock I would.” I reached out and took his hand, wondering if he'd flinch and pull away. When he didn't I rubbed my calloused fingers against his. “It's okay. I can do this alone. I will figure it out.”

He tightened his fingers around mine. “That's what's digging at me, Daisy. I hate the idea of you having to do it all alone.”

“I'm not the first woman to raise a baby alone, and I won't be the last. It's okay.” And I meant it. I loved Gordon enough not to saddle him with guilt because he couldn't accept my mistake.

He tipped his head back as if weighing words he might later regret. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” I cleared my throat. “None of this changes my feelings for you. I do love you, Gordon. I do.”

He met my gaze. “I love you, too. You drive me crazy, but I love you.”

The words sounded so sweet. Stepping away from the loneliness that had dogged me, I leaned and kissed him gently on the lips. He tasted so good and it took all my energy not to lean into the kiss.

He closed his eyes and he leaned into me. He rubbed my palm with his thumb. Shots of desire pinged around in me.

Sexual desire was a welcome feeling. Couple that with the love I had for Gordon and this could be very beautiful and explosive. But as much as I dearly wanted to give in to these feelings, I resisted. It wasn't about me anymore.

With a great effort I pulled back. “It's not the two of us anymore, Gordon. There is the kid, and we are officially a package deal.”

He didn't pull back as he met my gaze. His voice sounded rough when he spoke. “I know. And I'm still struggling. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. This is one of those problems that doesn't have an easy fix.”

He raised his hand as if to touch me and then hesitated. “How about we spend the day together? If you can break away from this place.”

Smiling, I nodded. “I'd like that. But I need to visit this person in Winchester.”

“Winchester? Is he a supplier?”

“Not exactly. He would be in his late sixties.”

The first hints of amusement danced in his gaze.

I explained about Jenna's recipe box and my visit with Joey. “So I'm trying to locate this kid.”

“Who is now in his late sixties.”

“Exactly.”

He shrugged. “I've bikes to fix this morning but I'm free after eleven.”

He was offering an olive branch. He wasn't saying we'd be together forever, but he was trying to be my friend. I wanted his friendship and his love but to expect both right now was greedy. “I can pick you up.”

Now amusement did spark. “In the bakery van?”

“It works. For the most part.”

“I'll pick you up, Daisy.”

There'd been a time when I would have challenged his need to take the lead. I always had to be first. Always had to drive. But I liked this. For the first time in my life, I liked not feeling as if I had to control every detail.

“Sounds good. See you at eleven.”

He leaned forward, hesitated a split second as if he'd kiss me. Instead he smiled and promised to return.

* * *

The rest of the morning was spent baking Jenna's maple cookies. I knew Rachel had leftovers but I'd wanted these cookies to be fresh and to be made by me. Rachel always believed we put our energy into the food we made, and though I'd often scoffed and teased her, I had to agree. If Jenna's son ate these cookies today, I wanted him to feel his mother's love.

After I'd boxed up the cookies and tied a yellow ribbon around it, I saw I had minutes before Gordon arrived. I dashed up to my room, ran a brush through my hair, and put on lipstick. I practiced smiling in front of the mirror because I wanted to have fun with Gordon today. No sour faces.

Hurrying to the main floor, I grabbed my cookie box and stood by the front window. I thought about playing it cool and making Gordon knock for me, but then laughed at the thought. “Jeez, Daisy, aren't you a little past making the poor man work?”

When Gordon and I dated the first time around in Washington our relationship had its share of problems. He worked long, long hours and often left me waiting, annoyed, and feeling very alone. I didn't handle his lack of attention well, and instead of talking to him about it like an adult, I'd sulked and eventually left him because I'd so convinced myself he didn't love me.