She nodded. “I’m quite good with numbers. If you want to put me on a household budget, I’m happy to be on one.”
“There’s no need. I own the store, after all.” He studied her for a moment, thinking about just how different she was from his Grace. “Would you like to go down and see the store?”
“That would be very nice. I’d like to see where I’ll be working. Tell me, is there a day the store is less busy? When you won’t need me in the afternoons?”
Mortimer shrugged. “You could take off any afternoon you wanted. I’d like if you’d help out in the store on occasion to give my son or me a day off, but I don’t need you consistently. It’ll only be once in a while.”
“I see. Well, Beatrice asked that I come over one afternoon a week to share tea and cookies with her. I think she just wants some female companionship. Would that be a problem for you?” She would need to do something with her time if he didn’t need her in the store. She’d expected at least a week of scrubbing the house to her liking, but it looked as if that had already been done. She’d be sitting with idle hands in no time.
“Not at all. Your main duties will be housework. I had Hannah, one of the woman who was abducted, come in and get the house cleaned for you. There shouldn’t be a great deal to do except cook meals. Please tell me you know how to cook.” So far, everything about her had been different from his Grace. He hoped they had this one thing in common.
“Yes, of course. I enjoy cooking a great deal. I know in your letter you mentioned your love of fresh baked bread, and I will make sure to always have fresh bread on hand. And if you want me to bake extra for the store on top of what Beatrice bakes, you just let me know. I would be happy to help.”
His Grace had been able to cook, but she was a loss at baking. Maybe this woman would be suited for him after all. He pushed open the door to the mercantile, walking in to show her the space. “I put Beatrice’s baked goods over here, and as you can see, we’re already out for the day. She made four dozen cookies, six loaves of bread and two pies today. If you feel like you can bake anything to add to what she brings in, it will be greatly appreciated.”
“I’ll do my best, then. Is there food in the kitchen now? Or should I make some selections for supper?” She saw that he had a cabinet that was kept cold with blocks of ice like they’d had in Beckham. She could easily choose anything necessary for a good meal there.
“There are only a couple of hours until supper time. Just choose something to cook, if you will.” Mortimer looked over at John. “Come over here and meet Toria.” He’d started to call her John’s new stepmother, but he knew his son would take exception to that.
John came over, his arms crossed over his chest and an unhappy look on his face. “I don’t know how she’s going to be half as good at anything as Ma.”
Toria looked him in the eye and smiled. “Don’t think of me as your mother’s replacement, John. Think of me as Toria, a new person altogether. It’s nice to meet you.”
John said nothing in return, merely nodded and walking back to his post behind the cash register.
Toria decided to ignore his rudeness. Instead she walked over and chose some chicken for supper. She assumed everything else she’d need would be in the house. It was only the perishable items she’d have to purchase often. She carried the chicken back to Mortimer. “I’ll turn this into supper, if that works for you.”
Mortimer was still frowning at John. He wasn’t any happier about having someone other than Grace there than his son was, but at least he wasn’t being rude about it. “That’s fine.” He went to the cash register and rang up her purchase as he watched her leave.
Toria carried the chicken up the stairs she’d gone down with Mortimer just minutes before. As soon as she got upstairs, she put a pan with some oil in it on the stove, heating the oil. Then she rolled the chicken in flour before dropping it into the oil. She found a supply of potatoes, and she carefully peeled enough to feed a small army. There was no time to make fresh bread that day, but she’d make some biscuits. She knew it would please him.
As soon as everything was cooking and she had a break, she sank into a chair at the kitchen table, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Her husband was disappointed in her, and he barely knew her. Her new stepson showed only derision. What had she done to deserve this?
She only gave herself five minutes to give in to self-pity, believing that no one should whine about their lives for more than five minutes a day. If you spent more time complaining than that, you were giving into your life as it was, and not working to make things better.
She carefully flipped the chicken before going into her room and changing into a day dress and pulling an apron on over it. She should have done that before starting to cook, but she’d worried that supper wouldn’t be finished in time. Thankfully she’d not made a mess of herself.
Hurrying back into the kitchen, she searched through exactly what ingredients he had, and she found she had everything she needed to make a cake. There was nothing to frost it, but she could use brown sugar and butter and make a caramelized topping that should suit her husband just as well.
Chapter Three
By the time Mortimer had finished scolding John for the way he’d treated Toria, it was time for him to go upstairs for supper. He knew he was being a bit hypocritical, because he didn’t have strong positive feelings for his new wife either, but he still wasn’t about to allow his son to disrespect her.
When he stepped into the kitchen, his nose was pleased by all of the different smells competing for his attention. “This smells delicious.” Whether she was exactly what he was looking for in a wife or not, she could cook. That was one of the main reasons he’d felt he needed a wife. “I’m going to go change out of my Sunday best for supper. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he’d disappeared, Toria had let her face fall. He’d said nothing about anything but the food she was cooking. Maybe he wasn’t looking for a companion after all. His comment in the letter about liking to take long walks had made her think that he wanted a wife to love, not just someone to do the chores.
She had supper on the table before he returned from his bedroom, wearing just some casual slacks, suspenders, and a white shirt. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Vic—I mean Toria.”
“You were thinking of me as Vicki before my arrival, weren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft and husky as if she’d been crying.