Putting on Mary’s well-worn apron, Rorie looped the long strands around her waist twice and set to work. Kate joined her mid-afternoon, carrying a large bag of ingredients for the dessert she was going to prepare.
“I’ve been cooking from the moment Mary left,” Rorie told Kate, pushing the damp hair from her forehead as she stirred wine into a simmering sauce. Rorie intended to dazzle Clay and Skip with her one speciality—seafood fettuccine. She hadn’t admitted to Mary how limited her repertoire of dishes was, although the housekeeper had repeatedly quizzed her about what she planned to make for dinner. Rorie had insisted it was a surprise. She’d decided that this rich and tasty dish stood a good chance of impressing the Franklin men.
“And I’m making Clay his favorite dessert—homemade lemon meringue pie.” Kate reached for the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and six bright yellow lemons rolled out.
Rorie was impressed. The one and only time she’d tried to bake a lemon pie, she’d used a pudding mix. Apparently, Kate took the homemade part seriously.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” Kate said, stepping over to the stove. Crab, large succulent shrimp and small bite-sized pieces of sole were waiting in the refrigerator, to be added to the sauce just before the dish was served.
Kate was busy whipping up a pie crust when the phone rang several minutes later. She glanced anxiously at the wall, her fingers sticky with flour and lard.
Rorie looked over at her. “Do you suppose I should answer that?”
“You’d better. Clay usually relies on Mary to catch the phone for him.”
Rorie lifted the receiver before the next peal. “Elk Run.”
“That Miss Campbell?”
Rorie immediately recognized the voice of the mechanic from Riversdale. “Yes, this is Rorie Campbell.”
“Remember I promised I’d call you when the part arrived? Well, it’s here, all safe and sound, so you can stop fretting. Just came in a few minutes ago—haven’t even had a chance to take it out of the box. Thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s the right one this time?”
“Here, I’ll check it now... Yup, this is it.”
Rorie wasn’t sure what she felt. Relief, yes, but regret, too. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“It’s a little late for me to be starting the job this afternoon. My son’s playing a Little League game and I promised him I’d be there. I’ll get to this first thing in the morning and should be finished before noon. Give me a call before you head over here and I’ll make sure everything’s running the way it should.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks again.” Slowly Rorie replaced the receiver. She leaned against the wall sighing deeply. At Kate’s questioning gaze, she smiled weakly and explained, “That was the mechanic. The water pump for my car arrived and he’s going to be working on it first thing in the morning.”
“Rorie, that’s great.”
“I think so, too.” She did—and she didn’t. Part of her longed to flee Elk Run, and another part of her realized that no matter how far she traveled, no matter how many years passed, she’d never forget these days with Clay Franklin.
“Then tonight’s going to be your last evening here,” Kate murmured. “Selfish as it sounds, I really hate the thought of you leaving.”
“We can keep in touch.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that. I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”
That reminder was the last thing Rorie needed. But once she was on the road again, she could start forgetting, she told herself grimly.
“Since this is going to be your last night, we should make it special,” Kate announced brightly. “We’re going to use the best china and set out the crystal wineglasses.”
Rorie laughed, imagining Mary’s face when she heard about it.
Even as she spoke, Kate was walking toward the dining-room china cabinet. In a few minutes, she’d set the table, cooked the sauce for the pie and poured it into the cooling pie shell that sat on the counter. The woman was a marvel!
Rorie was busy adding the final touches to the fettuccine when Clay and Skip came in through the back door.
“When’s dinner?” Skip wanted to know. “I’m starved.”
“Soon.” Rorie tested the boiling noodles to be sure they’d cooked all the way through but weren’t overdone.
“Upstairs with the both of you,” Kate said, shooing them out of the kitchen. “I want you to change into something nice.”
“We’re supposed to dress up for dinner?” Skip complained. He’d obviously recovered from any need to impress her with his sartorial elegance, Rorie noted, remembering that he’d worn his Sunday best that first night. “We already washed—what more do you want?”
“For you to change your clothes. We’re having a celebration tonight.”
“We are?” The boy looked from Kate to Rorie and then back again.
“That’s right,” Kate continued, undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm. “And when we’re through with dinner, there’s going to be a farewell party for Rorie. We’re going to send her off country-style.”