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“We can discuss it when you’re finished,” he added. “We’ll set aside an evening when you and your mother can come to the house for supper.”
It sounded almost like a date, with Ma as chaperone.
She clutched the book tightly. “I’d like that. Maybe next week?”
His smile faded. “Perhaps. If the store’s ready. Speaking of which, I’d best get back so you can work.” Without further comment, he nodded farewell and departed into the wintry day.
Disappointed, she fingered the book. What had she said? One moment he wanted to talk over supper. The next he couldn’t make time.
She turned toward the desolate house and the hard work that awaited her. Only then did the realization hit. He only saw her as a housekeeper. The offer to talk was meant to appease her and nothing more.
Anger flushed through her. He didn’t care what she thought about the Egyptian excavations. If she wanted to gain his respect, she needed to make something of herself.
Tomorrow she’d take the train to Belvidere and apply at the cannery.
Chapter Five
Anna never took the train to Belvidere. Ma insisted they decorate the apartment for Christmas instead. Since her mother could barely walk, that left the work to Anna. She gathered pinecones and evergreen boughs, while Ma strung corn she’d popped over the fire. Branches of money plant added pearly white disks to the display. She stuck cloves into apples and hung them from old ribbons. Considering the decorations cost so little, Anna thought it looked pretty good.
“It’s not as nice as home, though,” she mused.
Ma looked up from her needlework. “This is home now.”
“Are you sure no one will mind that I cut off some pine branches?” No one of course referred to Brandon, on whose property they’d gathered the boughs and cones and dried flowers.
“Mr. Brandon gave his permission. He even unlocked the garage doors so you could get a saw.”
No matter how many times Ma reassured her, Anna still felt like a thief. They might live here, but only as guests.
Just walking into the garage portion of the carriage house had felt like an invasion of his privacy. As a child she’d often wondered what lay inside the thick stone walls. How disappointing to discover it contained the same things as every other outbuilding. In former days carriages must have been parked where he now kept his automobile. Along one wall stood a tool bench with dozens of old tools hanging from nails that had been pounded into a board attached to the plastered stone wall.
The plaster had been a surprise. It was to be expected in the apartment, but why would anyone plaster a garage? Yet someone in the past had done just that. Judging by the dingy film of dirt, dust and cobwebs, the plastering had been done years ago.
Anna had found a rusty old handsaw that managed to cut through thick boughs after jerking the teeth back and forth against the wood.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t cut a tree for us,” she apologized again to her mother.
“We don’t need a big old tree in this little room. We’d never be able to walk around it. If you ask me, the branches are perfect. Smell the pine.”
Anna inhaled deeply. The warmth of the fireplace had released the piney scent from the needles.
“It’s wonderful,” Ma said from her perch before the fireplace, her head back and eyes closed. “That smell always makes me think of Christmas.” She chuckled, eyes still shut. “Remember when your father cut down that ten-foot-tall tree? He insisted on stuffing the thing into the living room. We had needles everywhere. I was still finding them in August.”
“That must have been before I was born.”
“I’m sure you were there, but maybe you were too little to remember.” Ma sighed. “Such good memories.”
Anna hoped her mother didn’t get misty-eyed. “We’ll start new memories.”
“Yes, we will. And keep some of the old. That reminds me. I promised we’d bring plum duff for dinner tomorrow.”
“Plum duff?” Anna couldn’t hide her surprise. She loved the traditional steamed Christmas pudding, but Ma spent days preparing it. “There’s not enough time. The fruit has to be ripened.”
Ma waved a hand. “Mariah mixed the fruit and nuts with the suet a week ago. She dropped it off this afternoon.”
Anna looked around and saw nothing.
“I had her take it to the kitchen. You’ll have plenty of time to mix the ingredients and steam it.”
“Me?” Anna tried not to panic. “You want me to make it?”
“It’s not that difficult. I wrote down the recipe. It’s on the table.”
Anna glanced over to see that indeed Ma had jotted down her recipe. But knowing which ingredients to use wouldn’t ensure it turned out. Ma always said plum duff was temperamental.
“It’s Saturday afternoon,” she pleaded, “and Brandon probably doesn’t have the ingredients.”
Ma smiled sleepily. “I had him call in an order this morning. The mercantile should have delivered everything by now.”
Anna’s jaw dropped. Ma had not only ordered items they couldn’t afford, she’d somehow managed to suck Brandon into her scheme. “How will we pay for this?”
“Don’t fret. Mr. Brandon put it on his account.”
“He did?” Anna choked. “Why would he do that? We’ll pay him back.”
“Now don’t you go doing that. He insisted, wished us a merry Christmas. What a fine gentleman. He stopped by while you were cutting the boughs. He wanted to make sure you found everything you needed.”
Anna struggled to piece together this very different picture of Brandon Landers. “He always seems so...gruff, like he’s angry with me.”
Ma smiled softly. “The Lord puts people in our lives for a reason.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why he put Brandon in ours.”
“I’m sure you’ll find out one day. He’s such a nice man...” She yawned.
Anna glanced outdoors. It must be nearly four o’clock. If they weren’t going to be up all night, they had to start the plum duff soon.
“Ma, don’t fall asleep. I need your help.”
Ma answered with a soft snore.
Oh, dear. Baking had never been Anna’s strong suit. Making the plum duff without Ma’s help would be difficult. What if she burned it? Or got it too dry? What if... Her mind bounced through a hundred calamities. Worst of all, Brandon would come home in two hours and expect supper.
“I can’t do it myself,” she pleaded. “Why did you tell everyone we’d bring plum duff?”
Ma just snored.
Hands shaking, Anna picked up the recipe. She’d have to try or there’d be no plum duff for Christmas Eve dinner.
* * *
Brandon heard the clatter the moment he stepped into the house. Something metal, he guessed. Pots and pans, most likely, considering the racket came from the direction of the kitchen.
“Get out of there,” commanded a very tired and very upset female voice. Anna’s voice. “Get out!”
His pulse quickened. Someone had broken into the house and was threatening her. Brandon raised his ebony cane to use as a weapon and headed for the kitchen. The room had a swinging door to assist with dinner service. He now realized this could be used to advantage. He pushed it open a crack to get the bearings of the intruder and prepared to whack the man over the head.
He pressed his face close to the opening and peered into the well-lit room. From this vantage point, he could see only cupboards.
Bang!
“You horrible, stupid thing,” Anna exclaimed. “Why won’t you come out?”
Come out? That didn’t sound like an intruder. Brandon let the door close and lowered the cane. Maybe she’d found a mouse. It was entirely possible, given the age and dilapidation of the house. At least she wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs. He admired that in a woman. It would be more difficult to play the hero, though, since a mouse could easily outmaneuver a man with a bad foot.
A thundering crash came from inside the kitchen, followed by Anna’s cry of despair. “I give up.”
He thought he heard a sob. He definitely smelled something acrid. Smoke wafted out of the kitchen. That had better not be supper, or he’d be eating crackers tonight. Annoyed, he pushed on the door, intending to have a word with her, but before he got it halfway open, Anna gave out a little sob.
“Why do I have to ruin everything?”
Her plea wrenched his heart. Poor girl. The oil stove must have overheated. It hadn’t been used regularly in years. The oil lines might have gummed up or the valves stuck. He could do without supper for one night.
He opened the door to see what could only be described as an explosion. Flour and bits of dark brown goo covered the stove and worktable. Anna sat at the table, dejected, head buried in her hands.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her head jerked up, and she stumbled to her feet. “Bran—Mr. Landers. I, uh, I—I—I’m sorry for the mess.” She swiped at her cheeks.
Not tears. Nothing made him feel more inept than a woman in tears. Should he try to comfort her, or would she only lash out at him? He’d never chosen correctly in the past. Moreover, an employer shouldn’t comfort a young female employee. Except Anna wasn’t exactly an employee. She was a vibrant young woman who lived on his property.
He flexed his hands, unsure what to do. Deep down he longed to take her in his arms, but he shouldn’t. In fact, they shouldn’t be alone together in his house. Youth might be ignoring convention these days, but he would not. Yet he couldn’t turn her out in this state. Where was Mrs. Simmons when he needed her? It was after six o’clock. Anna wasn’t supposed to be here.
What should he do? He couldn’t stand to hear her sob.
He absently picked up a glob of the brown gooey stuff. It smelled rather good as a matter of fact, rich with cloves and spices. He tasted it. The moist cakelike substance melted on his tongue.
“Whatever this is, it’s delicious.” He tasted another bit and then another. “Quite excellent,” he mumbled, mouth full.
She hiccuped and lifted her head. “It is?”
“It is,” he said between bites. “What is it?”
“Plum duff,” she sniffled, wiping her red swollen eyes on her dress sleeve.
Didn’t she even have a handkerchief? Brandon pulled out his and handed it to her.
She promptly wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you.” She then offered back the handkerchief.
He grimaced. “You keep it.”
She withdrew her hand and tucked his handkerchief into her apron pocket, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”
He hated to see her spirit crushed. She had stood up to the Neideckers. Why would a little cooking disaster set her spirits so low?
“No problem.” He cleared his throat. “None at all.”
That didn’t appear to appease her, for she continued to stare at the black-and-white linoleum floor.
“Well, then,” he tried again, “whenever I’m faced with a problem, I assess the situation, figure out what went wrong and determine a new course of action.”
At last she lifted her gaze. Though her lashes were dewy, her expression had narrowed in puzzlement. “Even if I understood what you just said, what does it have to do with my problem?”
He’d done it again. Without thinking, he’d taken charge as if he was still in the army.
“Pardon me,” he apologized with a flourish. “I meant, let’s figure out how to solve the problem.”
“Oh.” Her full pink lips made him want to think of something much more interesting than cooking. “I don’t suppose you know how to make plum duff in a few hours rather than a week.”
He had to acknowledge he didn’t.
“Or how to get it out of the mold.”
Again his knowledge fell short.
“Then you must know how to clean burned sugar out of an oven.”
It wasn’t a question, and he hated to admit he had no idea. “Hot water?”
Her hands went to her hips. “Just what I suspected. All thought and no action. If you can’t cook or clean, how exactly did you plan to help me?”
That was the Anna Simmons he’d liked so much that day at the mercantile, though he had to admit he wasn’t quite as keen that she’d directed her biting comments at him.
“I could help you clean if you tell me what to do,” he offered weakly.
She rolled her eyes. “In your business suit and coat?”
He looked down at his fine attire. Father would have been shocked to hear what Brandon had just offered. No Landers had ever done servants’ work. When Brandon was no more than five, he’d made the mistake of helping the housekeeper wipe down walls. After shaking him violently, Father had made Brandon say over and over that he would never do that again.
Brandon eyed the cobwebs in the corners of the old kitchen. Look where that thinking had got Father.
“I’ll change,” he said.
She filled a pail with hot water and grabbed the bicarbonate of soda from the cupboard. After hefting the pail from the sink, she set it on the floor in front of the oven with a heavy clunk.
“You’ll leave me alone,” she said, hands back on those lovely hips. “I have work to do.”
That was a command. A wise man would obey. Brandon had always thought himself wise. Until now.
