The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (21 page)

Claire threw out her hands, scaring away the mockingbird that had just landed on the porch rail. “That’s just ridiculous, Tye. Magic is an extract, like vanilla. It’s a food additive, that’s all. Adding it to their tea did not make Lars run off with Loretta. That’s pure silliness.”

“The hell it is. Maybe it doesn’t affect everyone that way, but it damn sure does some of us. I know. Believe me, I know. And I’m telling you, good ol’ baker Lars got his buns warmed when he got a good dose of Magic.”

Claire wanted to scream. “If Lars’s buns were the least bit warm it was because Loretta Davis had been eyeing them for weeks. It had nothing to do with Magic.”

“It has everything to do with Magic. You said it yourself: They carried on at The Confectionary—the scene of the crime.”

“He worked there.”

“That’s obviously not all he did there, now is it?”

Now she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to punch him in the stomach like she used to do to her brothers when they all were young. “You are so hardheaded, Tye McBride.”

“Yeah? Well my head’s not the only thing that gets hard when your damned Magic is involved. Admit it, Claire. It’s an aphrodisiac. And you and your family are using it against the citizens of this good town. You should be in jail.”

“And you should be in a hospital for mental patients.
Aphrodisiac
,” she said scornfully, whirling away from him. “I thought you were an intelligent man, but obviously I was wrong. No wonder those Menaces have you wrapped around their little fingers. If you believe this, you’ll believe anything. I swear I’m beginning to think your brother made a huge mistake when he left you to care for his children.”

She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. All the fire seemed to drain from Tye’s body, replaced by an icy chill she recognized as infinitely more dangerous. Long seconds passed silently before he spoke again. “Don’t you think I know that? Only days ago the Blessings dodged a bullet on my watch.”

Fear of what might have been carved furrows in his brow, and icicles dripped from his tongue as he swore. “If your Magic had hurt them, I’d have made you pay.”

Claire started to shiver, but she knew she was innocent, so she didn’t back down. “Why are you doing this, Tye? You can’t truly believe…”

His mouth twisted into an ugly smile. “What I can’t believe is that I thought you were different I was wrong. Emma called it. She saw it. You’re just like her, like Constance.” He laughed then, and the sound was chilling. “Constance. Medusa. A Borgia bride. Eve from the Garden and Claire Donovan. I swear, you women are all alike.”

“Tye, listen to me.”

But he was beyond listening. Though he looked straight at her, he seemed to be lost in the past. He stepped forward, backing her up against the veranda’s railing. “Lying and luring to get what you want. It doesn’t matter if you destroy those who get in your way. It doesn’t matter if you tear families apart and turn brother against brother. As long as you get what you want. As long as you make your unholy dollar. It doesn’t matter if it’s twenty dollars or a damned fortune. God, I hate you all.”

What was going on here? Claire wondered. She made little sense of his irrational speech, but the venom in his voice rocked her. More was happening here than a misguided opinion about the power of Magic. She’d never seen Tye like this. She’d never imagined he had this…nastiness inside him.

Claire shivered at the raw, ugly emotion painting the face of the man she’d so admired. She took a step sideways, intending to scoot by him. “There is obviously no reasoning with you at the moment. I’m going home now. We can discuss this further once you’ve calmed down.”

“Oh, you’re not going home, Miss Donovan,” he drawled, reaching out and grabbing her arm as she attempted to walk past him. “Not until I’ve finished saying my piece.”

She waited, biting her tongue to keep from railing back at him and dragging this meanness out further. Instead, very quietly and with great control, she said, “All right. What do you want to say?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then he paused, faltering, a look of confusion darting across his face. He dropped her arm as though it had burned him. “Hell. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want” Looking over her shoulder, he grimaced. “That’s a lie. I do know what I want, and that’s the problem. It’s you. I want you. Even after all this.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Go on, get out of here. Go home and stay away from me and mine, Claire. You are the problem. You and your damned Magic. You are both dangerous as hell.”

***

ANGER FUELED Claire’s footsteps all the way from Willow Hill to the bakery. Outside the building she paused and stared above her at the sign that read DONOVAN’S CONFECTIONARY. Then she started to laugh. Softly, hollowly. The repainted sign symbolized so much. None of it was particularly good.

Inside the shop, she found her mother at the corner table sharing a cup of tea with her father as was their habit during the midmorning lull. So it had been for as long as Claire could remember. Her mother would drop whatever business she’d been doing at home and rush to have tea with John Donovan, always at his convenience. This morning, the midmorning lull suited Claire’s purposes just fine.

As she approached the table, John Donovan scowled. “What mischief are you up to now, Daughter? Didn’t you throw a fuss about not coming to work today? What are you doing in my bakery?”

It was, she thought, a singularly poor choice of words. Her temper fizzed like vinegar and soda. “Your bakery, Da? Is it really? Did you start this bakery from nothing? Did your hard work make it the viable business it is today? Or was it my efforts that built this shop?”

Her father leaned back in his chair, his chin dropping in shock. “She’s doing it again, Peg,” he said, his voice perplexed. “What’s gotten into the girl?”

Her mother asked, “What is the matter, Claire?”

“What is the matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter. I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting all the time. Tired of losing. My bakery, my friends, my freedom. The curtains I sewed for this shop. Lars eloped with Loretta Davis, did you know that? I didn’t even know she was the one for him. I’ve hardly talked with him since the Donovans came to town.”

“Lars eloped?” John said, his eyes rounding with surprise. “I don’t believe it. Why, he hasn’t—”

“See?” Claire interrupted, glaring at her mother while pointing toward her father. “He’s doing it again. I’m in the process of telling you my deepest feelings, and he glosses right over them and zeroes in on the man in my conversation.”

Tears stung her eyes and she furiously blinked them away. “Why don’t I matter as much as your sons, Da? Why do you value them so much more than me? I have hopes and wishes and dreams just like Patrick and Brian. Why do theirs count and mine not?”

“Catherine Claire.” His mouth hung open and he shook his head. “How can you say these things?”

“It’s easy. It’s been this way all my life. I’ve just never understood it. Why should the boys be allowed to marry the women they love, but I must marry according to your decree? Why shouldn’t I get the same choices and opportunities as they? I’m as talented, as intelligent. I know I’m better at figures than both of them put together.”

“But you’re a girl,” John Donovan declared. “Girls aren’t equal to boys. That’s not the way the world works.”

“I’m not talking about the world, Da. I’m talking about our family. Whether I like it or not, men run the world and that’s not about to change anytime soon. I can live with that. But I can’t live with my place in this family. You should love me as much as you love your sons.”

“I do, pumpkin. You know I do.” John Donovan looked helplessly at his wife.

“Apparently not, John.” Peggy Donovan patted her lips with her napkin, then set it on the table. Rising from her chair, she stood beside her daughter. “Claire is right. You do treat her like a second-class citizen.”

“I don’t treat her any differently than I treat you.”

Peggy turned to Claire. “I never knew you, Daughter, and it shames me. I should have realized what lay at the source of your rebellion. You are so like your father.” She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Claire’s ear. “Do you know that? I see so much more of him in you, than of myself.”

“Mama, I—”

Peggy lay her finger against Claire’s lips. “My turn. You are right. We have never listened to you. You were the little girl your father and I wanted so desperately. Our princess. We wanted to cosset you and protect you and provide for you. I never realized that your fairy tale might be different from mine.”

“Peggy,” John broke in.

“Hush,” she told him, never looking away from her daughter. “For once, my daughter has my attention at the moment.”

Her mother was actually standing up for her. Suddenly it was too much for Claire, and the tears she’d fought back since leaving Willow Hill spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

“Oh.” Peggy clicked her tongue and wiped her daughter’s tears with her husband’s napkins. “Come along, water pot. We need to talk, and I know just the way we should go about it.” She extended her hand, palm out, toward her husband. “Give me money, John. Your daughter and I are going shopping.”

***

THE RECEPTION honoring newlyweds Loretta and Lars Sundine was Maybelle Davis’s attempt to socially save face. Her housekeeper admitted to Peggy Donovan— who told Claire—that privately, Maybelle despaired at the thought of having a baker-accountant for a son-in-law rather than the titled gentleman she’d longed for. In other words, Tye McBride. Publicly, the doctor’s wife told a different story. When Maybelle Davis hired Claire to provide sweets for the party, she acted tickled to death with the husband her dear, darling Loretta had chosen.

Maybelle’s attitude didn’t make a bit of difference to Claire. She was too busy being thrilled with having been hired for the job. Maybelle had wanted her to make the cake. Not her father or any of her brothers. Her. She’d said she trusted the quality of Claire’s products after having purchased various items over the course of many weeks. She didn’t have that extended experience with the baked goods the male Donovans produced. She also acted surprised that Claire even asked, when she denied any input from Lars in making the decision.

The work came at an opportune time for Claire—on the heels of her confrontation with her father. It subtly proved her point.

Overall, Claire was pleased with the progress she was making with her family. Her mother had listened to her—truly listened—for the first time in forever, and Da no longer protested her presence at the bakery every morning. True, lasting change came in little steps, she knew, and she was encouraged with the strides made so far.

Now if only she knew how to step where the McBride family was concerned. She had not spoken with Tye since the scene at Willow Hill two weeks earlier. Every time she recalled his charges, her anger erupted all over again. Throwing all her energies into reception delicacies had proved to be a welcome distraction, and as she carried the last plate of cookies to the serving table in the Davises’ backyard, she smiled with satisfaction at a job well done.

The setting was everything a bride could hope for. The sun was shining and a light, airy breeze carried just a hint of chill. Splashes of yellow ribbon decorated the yawning branches of the giant pecan trees that shaded a space of open lawn a perfect size for dancing. Purple irises swimming in clear glass bowls served as centerpieces for linen-draped tables placed in friendly groupings around the yard. Near the house magnolia blossoms perfumed the air, while closer to the makeshift dance floor a string trio tuned their instruments in preparation for the party.

And, on a round table at the foot of the back steps, Claire applied the finishing touches to the pièce de résistance of her career, her first bride’s cake. Her first Magical Wedding Cake.

She wondered what Tye would think when he saw it.

“Not that I want to see him,” she muttered, touching up a swirl of Magical vanilla icing. She was determined to put the man completely out of her mind.

She wondered if he’d be here today.

“Come on, Claire,” she softly scolded herself. “Concentrate on business. You want this cake to be perfect.”

And it was. Finished with the last of her touch-ups, she stepped away and allowed herself a moment of admiration. It was beautiful. Her best work ever. Perhaps the love she felt for the groom had somehow made itself known during the creation of this cake. Whatever the reason, Claire knew—and the family would certainly recognize—that with this effort she had proven her talents equal to those of her brothers.

It was a delicious feeling.

At that moment Lars Sundine appeared with his blushing bride on the back steps. He took one long look at the cake, then dipped into a bow. Loretta clapped her hands and squealed with delight. “Everything looks so beautiful and perfect. Why, this is going to be the most successful party this town has ever seen.”

For the first two hours of the festivities, Claire was inclined to agree. Wilhemina’s bright and airy laughter set the mood, and guests ate and danced and drank with gay abandon. For a time she kept an anxious eye on the arrivals, wondering if Tye might show up, take a look at the wedding cake, and start yammering about aphrodisiacs.

Of course, it might be a good thing if he did. Look what the Magical Wedding Cake legend had done for the Donovan family business. Imagine what kind of a stir an Aphrodisiac Wedding Cake would cause.

Despite herself, she grinned and murmured, “It would be something to see.”

“What would be something to see?” asked the groom from behind her.

Claire turned with a smile. “Me on the dance floor. I love this tune.”

“Great minds think alike.” Lars extended his elbow to escort her toward the swirling crowd. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Claire.”

They danced two waltzes. It took that long for Lars to successfully tease her out of her pique over not being informed of the nuptials before the fact. “She’s a lovely young woman, Lars, and I’m very, very happy for the both of you. And now that you’re happy, I finally feel free to tell you, I never liked that Millicent Ayers.”