The Christmas Bargain (30 page)

“Oh, Mother Granger,” Filly said, not hearing Dora come into the room. “I’m just making some treats for Christmas.”

“What sort of treats?” Dora said, setting the book she was reading on the table and coming over to the counter.

“Caramels and fruit bread.”

“Caramels?” Dora asked with interest. Luke hadn’t inherited his sweet tooth from his father. She was the one who craved sugary treats.

“Would you like one?” Filly offered, holding out a plate of the sticky candy.

Taking a bite, Dora couldn’t help from closing her eyes and enjoying the sweet. “That is acceptable.”

Filly hid a grin and went back to her preparations for lunch.

“Is your mother a good cook?” Dora finally asked, when she finished her second caramel. At this rate, she might have to pay Abby to let the seams out of her gowns before they returned home.

“She was,” Filly said, not wanting to reveal too much of her past. “My mother died when I was fourteen.”

Dora looked at her a moment and compassion filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. That must have been dreadful. That is the age when a girl most needs her mother.”

“It was dreadful,” Filly gave the chicken stew a vigorous stir, knowing she couldn’t ever share with Dora just exactly how awful the ensuing years had been until Luke came to her rescue.

“Is your father still alive?” Dora asked, eyeing the caramels and trying to avoid eating a third.

“My Papa is gone, too,” Filly said, realizing that is how she really thought about her past. She lost her entire family in one day because the man her father became was certainly not the gentle papa she had loved as a child.

“That is tragic. Simply tragic,” Dora said, feeling the softest stirrings of sympathy for her daughter-in-law. For someone left an orphan so young, Filly exhibited a certain air and grace that spoke of refinement and manners. “Your mother must have taught you well when you were young.”

“That she did, Mother Granger,” Filly said, rolling out pie crust. Lining a pie plate with the crust, she pulled a bubbling pan of hot raspberry filling off the stove and spooned it in, adding a top layer of crust and crimping the edges. Popping it into the oven, she rolled out the leftover dough and sprinkled grated cheese on top, along with a bit of salt. Cutting the dough into strips, she placed the pieces on a baking sheet and waited for the pie to come out of the oven.

“What are those,” Dora asked, watching Filly work, amazed by how much the girl accomplished in such a short time in the kitchen.

“Cheese straws,” Filly said. “Abby, Mrs. Dodd, shared the recipe with me. They are quite good.”

“Hmm,” Dora said, surprised at the variety of talents Filly seemed to possess. She sensed, though, there was something the girl was not telling her. Determined to find out what, Dora would bide her time.

When the pie was finished, Filly slid the cheese straws in the oven then punched down the sweet bread she set to rise, dividing it into thirds. She formed it into braids and added candied fruits, chopped nuts and cinnamon before placing the dough on a large baking sheet to rise.

Seeing Dora eyeing the bread, Filly nodded toward the pan. “Those are sweet fruit breads. My mother always made them during the holidays.”

“They look like they would be tasty,” Dora said, overwhelmed by how many things Filly seemed to be working on at once. Realizing she could be useful, Dora finally asked, “May I help with something?”

Filly looked at her in surprise before nodding her head. “If you wouldn’t mind setting the table, I expect the men will be home for lunch soon.”

Dora placed the dishes at each place setting perfectly, standing back to admire her handiwork. “I haven’t done that for years.”

Turning she studied Filly as she bustled around the kitchen. “Is there some reason you and Luke don’t have any domestic help, dear?”

“No reason in particular,” Filly said, wishing Luke was there to provide an answer. “I enjoy cooking and overseeing the house, and I certainly don’t need a lady’s maid. Mrs. Kellogg, she is the sweetest lady, comes in three days a week to help with the laundry and whatever else needs done.”

“Oh, so you do have some help,” Dora said in relief. She couldn’t imagine going back to her New York friends and telling them Luke was doing so poorly he couldn’t even afford to hire a housekeeper.

“Yes, we do,”  Filly said, hoping she’d satisfied Dora’s curiosity for the moment.

Dora was mentally preparing her next round of questions when the kitchen door opened and the two Granger men came in, bringing both cold air and warm laughter with them.

“Hello, fair ladies of Granger House,” Greg greeted them jovially as he hung up his coat and hat. When he was free of his outerwear, he put his arms around Dora and waltzed her in a circle around the kitchen table.

Nearly as tall as Luke, Greg swept his wife around the kitchen in a lively dance. Filly tried not to giggle as she watched Dora, who was barely five-feet tall, keep up with Greg’s long strides.

“My gracious! Have you been down at the saloon, Mr. Granger?” Dora asked, astounded by her husband’s behavior. “Are you inebriated?”

Greg laughed, turning Dora loose, but not before pecking her cheek. “Drunk on fresh air, fine friends, and the anticipation of more good food.”

Smiling at his father’s antics, Luke washed up at the sink then walked over to where Filly ladled the chicken and dumplings into a serving bowl. “How did it go this morning?”

“Fine, I think,” she whispered, casting a glance to where Dora fussed with her hair and smoothed down the waist of her dress.

“Good,” Luke said, putting a warm hand on Filly’s shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze.

“She asked about servants and my family, so I tried to keep the answers brief,” Filly said, looking at her husband hopefully.

“I’m sure whatever you said was fine,” Luke said, patting her shoulder before he took the bowl from her to set on the table. She followed with a basket filled with the cheese straws and, after giving thanks, they enjoyed the meal.

Greg ate so many cheese straws, Filly thought he might founder, but he was ready for a plate of cookies and coffee when she cleared away their lunch dishes.

“I bet I gain five pounds before we leave for home,” Greg joked, patting his full stomach.

“Probably more like ten,” Dora commented, giving him a critical eye as she helped herself to another cookie.

Having been married for a long time, Greg wisely kept his thoughts about her waistline expanding to himself.

Chapter Seventeen

Greg and Luke returned to the bank for the afternoon and left Filly to deal with Dora. Luke felt a bit guilty, but not guilty enough to spend the afternoon listening to his mother’s endless prattle. It always gave him a roaring headache.

After finishing his perusal of the bank books and declaring Luke a smashing success at his work, Greg wanted to stroll through town visiting with old friends. They were walking past the Red Lantern on their way to the blacksmith shop when a drunk came out the door and bumped into Luke.

Holding the man’s arms to keep him from tipping over, the drunk turned watery eyes on Luke which, amazingly, quickly gained in focus.

“Luke Granger,” slurred Alford Booth, yanking his arms away from Luke, nearly falling into the street. “Ya stole my girl, stole my dog, and stole everything. I ought to riddle yer worthless hide full of  bullet holes.”

“Now, Alford, just calm down,” Luke said, guiding him to a nearby bench and easing the drunken man down. “Looks to me like you need to sober up. Can I take you home or buy you a coffee?”

Alford waved his hand at Luke dismissively. “Leave me alone, ya no-good thief. And tell my daughter I’m glad she’s gone. Nothing but trouble, that sassy-mouthed snit.”

Alford continued to mutter, but Luke was already hurrying his father on down the sidewalk. Greg, however, stopped and looked back at the pathetic drunk.

“Is that old Alford Booth?” Greg asked, recognition floating through his mind. “Didn’t his wife die shortly before we moved back to New York.”

“Yes, she did. She died in childbirth,” Luke said, wishing his father would move on down the sidewalk.

“What was that he said about his daughter? I remember he had a girl, just a year or two younger than you, wasn’t she?” Realization clicked and Greg turned wide eyes to his son. “Filly is his daughter?”

“Yes, Dad. Filly is his daughter, but please don’t tell mother. I can’t imagine how she’d treat Filly if she knew,” Luke would beg if necessary to keep Filly’s secret. “Most people don’t know Filly and Alford are related and for her own protection, I want to keep it that way. Will you keep her secret?”

“Certainly, son. I don’t see any need for your mother to know,” Greg said, knowing how harshly his wife would react to Filly if she knew the girl’s father was the town drunk. “What’s he saying about you being a thief?”

“I have no idea what dog he’s talking about,” Luke said, watching the drunken man. “But I accepted Filly as payment for a long overdue loan. It was either that or he was going to sell her to the Red Lantern and pay the debt that way. I just couldn’t let him do it.”

Greg uttered a few words Luke was sure Chauncy wouldn’t be pleased to hear and shook his head.

“So you married to settle a debt, a bargain of sorts, I suppose,” Greg said, looking at Luke oddly. “For all appearances, you and Filly seem to be quite in love.”

“We are, at least I am,” Luke said, fiddling with his gloves.

“I see,” Greg said, with a grin, seeing much more than Luke knew. “You’re secret is safe with me, son.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, placing a hand on his father’s arm. “Filly says both her parents died the same day, because the father she loved and knew disappeared, to be replaced by him.”

“We won’t speak of it again,” Greg said, turning toward the blacksmith shop, putting a comforting hand on Luke’s back. “Now, let’s go see my old friend Douglas. It’s been ages since I’ve had a visit with him. Do you know you can’t find a good blacksmith shop these days in the city…”

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While Filly washed the lunch dishes and put the sweet bread in the oven to bake, Dora went to rest in her room. Filly breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to get dinner preparations started. She planned to spend time with Abby and didn’t want to be rushed to put together dinner when she got back.

Pulling the delicious-smelling bread from the oven, she poured a sugary-glaze over the top and set it aside to cool. Taking a large basket from the pantry, she put in a bottle of milk and a small jar filled with chunks of tender meat she picked out of a leftover stew. She also added a handful of the caramels, knowing Chauncy would enjoy them, then wrapped up a loaf of the still warm sweet bread.

Trying to decide if she should wake Dora and see if she wanted to go along or leave her a note, the woman appeared in the kitchen, looking well rested.

“Did you have a pleasant rest, Mother Granger?” Filly asked, tidying the already clean kitchen.

“Yes, I did. Although I would prefer to be in our old bedroom,” Dora said, taking in the fact that it looked as though Filly was ready to go somewhere. “Are you going out?”

“I usually stop in at the parsonage to visit Abby and give her a little break from the baby,” Filly said, putting on her coat and scarf. “Would you like to come along?”

Dora knew if she stayed at the house, she’d be bored to tears before dinner-time arrived and eat half her weight in sweets.