Winnie Griggs (5 page)

Perhaps then he could get back to life as usual.

* * *

Daisy settled onto her makeshift bed, tired but pleased with the recent turn of events. It had been a long day, but she’d gotten a lot accomplished. This storeroom that still served as her bedchamber was now clean as a rain-washed wildflower. She’d crafted a broom of her own and rigged up some of the broken crates and furnishings to serve as temporary tables and chairs. She’d traded the telling of her tale for a satisfying meal, and she’d landed herself a job without having to look too hard.

All in all, a good day.

Daisy rolled over on her side. She was still having trouble figuring out Mr. Fulton. He could be so nice at times, and at others...

Even when he was being nice, he had that snippy, amused air about him that was just downright irritating.

The snooty tone he’d used when he asked if she intended to keep Kip still irked her. What she should have told him was that if given the choice between Kip’s company and his, she’d likely pick Kip's.

I know that’s not a very charitable thought, Lord, especially since I have him to thank for my meal and my job, but something about that man just riles me up. I can’t abide a person who’s constantly looking for warts rather than dimples.

She thought about that for a moment, then winced at her ungrateful attitude.

That was a poor excuse for an excuse, wasn’t it, Lord? You tell us to judge not, and here I go judging again. And we both know I’ve got a wagonload of faults myself, so I’ve got no call to go throwing stones. I promise to try to do better in that regard. Just be patient with me if I slip again. And I’ll add him to my prayers. He obviously has some kind of bee in his bonnet, and he could use some help to learn how to look for the good things around him. Maybe he just needs someone to show him the way.

Feeling better, she settled down more snugly on her bedroll. Starting tomorrow, Mr. Fulton was going to be a part of her daily life and she a part of his. If this was her purpose for being here, then she aimed to tackle it with all the enthusiasm at her disposal.

Mr. Fulton was going to learn how to shed some of that stiff-necked, snobbish air of his, or her name wasn’t Daisy Eglantine Johnson.

Chapter Five

“G
ood morning, Mr. Fulton. You got those papers ready for me?” Jack Barr, Adam and Reggie’s adopted son, stood in the doorway of Everett’s office. Ira Peavy, the Barrs’ live-in handyman and sometimes photography assistant to Reggie, stood behind him.

Everett smiled a greeting at the pair. “That, I do. Your stack is the one closest to the door.”

Jack pulled a red wooden wagon into the building and started loading papers into the bed.

When he’d first opened the newspaper office, Everett had hired Jack to take care of making household deliveries to his regular subscribers. Of course, Ira Peavy usually went along, too, ostensibly to provide Jack with some company.

Everett exchanged greetings with Ira, then looked past the man to see the faint hint of the approaching dawn. He prided himself on having the paper available when his patrons started their day.

“You’ll find one extra paper in your stack,” he told Jack. “Mr. Cummings over on Second Street started subscribing this week.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll add him to the list.”

As they loaded the last of the papers, Everett reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “Here’s this week’s pay.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Thanks!”

Ira placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’d best be on our way if you want to get these deliveries done before school starts.”

As soon as they departed, Everett grabbed the other three bundles of papers waiting by the door. In addition to the copies he printed for his subscribers, he always printed a number of extras. Those who chose not to subscribe often purchased copies when they were out running errands.

He kept some of those copies here at his office, of course, but he’d also made arrangements with the proprietors at the mercantile, hotel and railroad depot to sell copies in exchange for a small portion of the purchase price.

He stepped out on the sidewalk and exchanged greetings with Tim Hill, the town’s lamplighter. Tim was in the process of turning off the streetlight outside the newspaper office, which meant Everett was right on schedule. Punctuality was a virtue he considered an indication of character.

As he walked through town delivering the bundles of papers to the appropriate locations, he took time to visit the merchants where Daisy would need to make purchases for her role as his cook. As he’d promised her, he instructed them to bill her purchases to him.

That request raised questions, naturally, but he offered up only the bare information that he had hired her to cook for him. Anything else they wanted to know about her, they’d have to ask her.

By the time he returned to his office, a light was shining in Daisy’s downstairs window. So she was already up and about. Was she looking forward to her first day working for him? Or dreading it?

At precisely ten minutes after nine, Daisy walked into his office. He supposed that was as close to punctual as he should expect from her.

“Good morning, Mr. Fulton,” she said by way of greeting.

Everett stood and moved around the desk as he returned her greeting. She carried a heavily laden basket on her arm, but didn’t seem unduly burdened by it.

“I enjoyed doing the marketing today. There are some fine shops here, and most of the shopkeepers seem willing to negotiate a bit. And don’t worry, I was very frugal with your money, but I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”

The woman did like to chatter. “As long as you stay within the budget we discussed, I won’t have any complaints on that score.”

She patted the basket. “I got a good deal on a couple of rabbits at the butcher shop. I hope you like rabbit stew. It’s one of my specialties.”

Was she looking for some kind of approval or praise? That wasn’t really his way of doing business. “As I said, the meal planning is in your hands. I’m sure whatever you cook will be an improvement over what I’ve been preparing for myself.”

She grinned. “Not the most enthusiastic response, but I hope to win you over with my cooking.”

Surely no one could be this cheerful all the time? “I look forward to your attempts.”

She spotted the small stack of newspapers near the door. “Are those your papers?”

“Of course.” What else would they be? “It’s this morning’s edition of the
Turnabout Gazette.
”

She eyed them as if not sure she wanted to get any closer. “Is that interview of me in there?”

Was she worried about how he’d portrayed her? “Yes, it is.” He crossed over and picked one up. “Would you like to have one so you can read it?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any extra money to—”

“Consider a copy of the paper part of your pay.” He always had a few copies left over at the end of the day.

“Why, thank you.”

This talk of extra funds brought something else to mind. He cleared his throat. “I daresay there are other things you might need to get settled in properly, so when you are done for the day I will give you your first week’s pay in advance.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I—”

He held up a hand. “No argument. I won’t have my cook distracted by thoughts of how she’ll make it through the week. And use this money wisely, because I’ll do this only for the first week.”

She smiled. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

He brushed that aside. “Now, let me show you to the kitchen.” Everett took the basket from her, then waved her ahead of him up the stairs.

She stepped aside when she topped the stairs, pausing to look around. The stairway emptied into an open space that served multiple functions. To the left was the kitchen and dining area, and to the right was what passed for a sitting room or visitor area. Not that he ever had visitors up here. Beyond the sitting room were the two bedchambers, one of which currently served as more of a storage room. It did have a small bed—more of a cot, really—but he didn’t expect to be hosting overnight guests anytime soon.

Everett placed her basket on the table and she moved past him, her gaze sweeping the room.

“This kitchen is nice,” she said. “A bit spare but clean and neat. It gives me hope for what my place might look like once I get it fixed up.”

How bad was it over there? If what he’d seen of the ground floor was any indication, she really had her work cut out for her.

Daisy ran a hand lightly over the edge of the stove. “Yes, sir, a fine kitchen, indeed. This is a good stove. And you already have the fire stoked. Thanks!”

Everett waved his hand in an inclusive gesture. “The dishes are in the top cupboard, the pots and pans are over there, and the cooking implements are in that drawer. This door opens to the pantry. Feel free to use anything you find there.”

She nodded as she peered inside.

He straightened. “I should warn you, the stove is a bit temperamental.” Something he knew from his own less-than-successful attempts at making biscuits.

She closed the pantry door and smiled. “Most stoves take some getting used to. I’m just happy to have a real stove to cook on instead of a campfire.”

That statement gave him pause. “But you
do
have experience with a household stove, don’t you?”

“Of course. When I lived with my grandmother I spent a lot of my time in the kitchen, and I pestered the cook until she gave in and taught me all about cooking.”

“So you haven’t used one since you were twelve years old?”

“Not so. During the worst of winter each year, my father would find a town where we could rent rooms for about six weeks, rather than live in the wagon. To help pay for our lodging, and replenish our wares, he would find odd jobs and I’d find work in a kitchen somewhere.”

That admission caught him by surprise. “So this isn’t your first time to hire on as a cook?”

“Goodness, no. I told you, I know what I’m doing.”

That remained to be seen. But he’d had enough of idle talk—time to return to his work. “I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s extra kindling and firewood for the stove in that corner. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

He descended the stairs, accompanied by the sound of her cheerful humming. Was he going to have to put up with that all morning?

He supposed there were worse distractions he could be presented with.

Still, it didn’t seem quite normal for someone to be so relentlessly cheerful all the time, especially someone with her less-than-ideal circumstances.

Before he’d made it back to his desk, his door opened and Alma Franklin walked in, looking for a paper. She glanced toward the stairway at the sound of Daisy’s humming, and mentioned that she’d heard he’d hired a cook and asked how that was working out for him. Right on her heels, Stanley Landers came in, also looking for a paper, and he also commented on his new cook.

It was that way for the next hour—a steady stream of people either wanting to buy a paper or checking on notices that were already scheduled or purchasing advertisements. And all of them found a way to work Daisy’s presence into the conversation. At least the townsfolk’s curiosity had generated a few new sales. At this rate, he’d be sold out by noon.

Around ten-thirty, he caught the whiff of a mouthwatering aroma drifting down from his kitchen. Thirty minutes later, the aromas began to tease and tantalize his senses in earnest. Perhaps she really
was
as good a cook as she claimed to be.

When Everett finally got a break, just before noon, he considered heading upstairs to check on Daisy. She hadn’t left the kitchen all morning, and he wanted to assure himself she was handling things appropriately.

But his door opened once more and Hazel Andrews, the very prim woman who owned the dress shop, marched in with her usual brisk, no-nonsense air. “Good morning, Mr. Fulton.”

“Miss Andrews.” He waved her into a seat, then took his own. “What can I do for you?”

She sat poker straight in her chair, but her smile, while small, seemed genuine enough. “I was at the train station dropping off a package to ship to my sister,” she said, “when Lionel told me he had a letter for you. I offered to deliver it since I had business with you, anyway.”

Everett accepted the letter and placed it on his desk with barely a glance. “What kind of business?”

The seamstress looked pointedly at the letter. “I don’t mind waiting if you’d like to read your letter first.”

“I’ll read it later.” He could tell it was from his sister, and he’d prefer to save it for a time when he could read it alone to savor it.

Miss Andrews nodded. “On to business, then. I’m planning to run a sale on my dressmaking services next week. I’d like to buy an advertisement in the paper to announce it.”

Everett opened his notebook and reached for a pencil. He was always happy to sell advertisements. “I can certainly accommodate you. What size were you thinking of?”

Once they’d discussed the particulars of the advertisement, Miss Andrews sat back, apparently ready for some casual conversation. “I hear you’ve hired your new neighbor to cook for you.”

So even the straightlaced seamstress was interested in the town’s newest citizen. Everett closed his notebook and nodded. “That’s right. She needed the work, and I was tired of eating my own cooking.”

His visitor nodded approval. “Sounds like a practical arrangement.” Then she changed the subject. “It’ll be good to see that place next door all fixed up again. Any idea what Miss Johnson plans to do with the place?”

Everett repeated the same answer he’d given to everyone else this morning. “She mentioned plans to open a restaurant in the interview you’ll find in today’s newspaper. Other than that, you’ll have to ask her.”

She lifted her head and sniffed delicately. “I must say, if that aroma is from whatever Miss Johnson is preparing for you, she would likely do quite well as a restaurant cook.”

The pesky creak that signaled someone was on the stairs sounded, and they both turned toward it.

“Mr. Fulton, I—” Daisy looked toward his visitor and paused. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Everett and Miss Andrews both stood.

“Miss Johnson.” The dressmaker stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hazel Andrews, owner of the dress shop down the street.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’ve walked by your place a few times. From what I can see through your shop window, you do beautiful work.”

“Why, thank you.” The seamstress studied Daisy with a critical eye. “If you’d like to come in for a fitting, I’d be glad to set up an appointment for you.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Daisy said with an apologetic smile. “As tempting as it sounds, I’m afraid purchasing new clothes is going to have to wait until I’ve taken care of other, more pressing matters.”

The dressmaker tightened the strings to her handbag and nodded. “I understand.” She gave Daisy a head-to-toe look. “Just keep in mind that appearances set the tone for a business relationship as well as a personal one.”

Everett stiffened. Her tone had been friendly enough, but the words carried a barb. Had Daisy felt it?

Then Miss Andrews turned back to him. “I assume I can look for the advertisement to run in the next issue of the
Gazette.
”

“Of course.” Everett still had his mind on how her words might have affected Daisy as he gave her a short bow of dismissal. “And thank you for delivering the letter.”

Once the door closed behind the dressmaker, Everett turned to Daisy. He still didn’t detect any hint of distress or affront in her expression. Perhaps he’d overreacted. “Was there something you needed?”

She blinked, as if just remembering her errand. “Yes, of course. I wanted to tell you your meal is ready to be served. But there’s no need to rush upstairs if you’re busy. I’ll just keep it warm until you’re ready for it.”

“Thank you. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

He waited until she had started up the stairs to open his letter, smiling in anticipation. Abigail’s letters reflected her personality—they were chatty, exuberant and overly dramatic. He unfolded the missive and leaned back in his chair, prepared to be entertained.

* * *

Daisy set the table for the two of them and then ladled the stew into a serving bowl.