“I don’t know. I guess I just feel like I could never possibly be good enough with the way your memory still plagues both of them.”
“I chose you to be Mortimer’s bride. I appeared to Bernard back in Beckham and told him you were in trouble down that alley. He didn’t hear you scream. I wanted you to be in the right place to be the one to marry Mortimer, because I know you’re the right woman for him.” Grace got to her feet and paced, surprising Toria a bit. Could ghosts really pace? Was she a ghost?
“How did you know I was right for him?” Toria asked softly.
“Are you kidding me? You are able to balance the books in a way even Mortimer can’t. You can cook and bake like no one I’ve ever seen. Your work ethic is unparalleled. You are truly a special woman, and Mortimer is lucky to have you.”
“You wanted him to marry again?”
Grace nodded emphatically. “Of course I did. I wanted him to move on and be happy. I wanted the same for John, but that’s harder. I hope that pretty little Patience from church will be good for him. Millie’s not for him. She’s a good woman, but she’s not the right person for my John.”
“I really liked Patience. I like Millie too, but I agree. She’s wrong for John.”
“I thought about Millie for Mortimer for a short while, but she’s still too young. You…you’re definitely the right woman for him. You just have to get past your insecurities about me. I never would have done half the work you do. I liked to sit around and have tea with other ladies and just soak up the gossip.”
“You did?” That pronouncement was hard for her to merge with what she knew about Grace. “I thought you were perfect.”
Grace laughed aloud. “I was far from perfect. I did love them both with everything inside me, but I had so many flaws. You put me to shame, Toria. I’m glad you’re here taking care of the two men I love more than any others.”
“Tell me what I need to do to make Mortimer love me?”
Grace shook her head. “There’s no way to make a man love you. You have to keep on as you’re going.” She turned her head. “He’s coming.” And she faded away.
Toria thought for a moment about telling Mortimer what she’d seen, but she couldn’t do that. “I had a quick lull between customers so I locked the door for a moment. I wanted to make sure you remembered to bring me down lunch at eleven, so I can eat before your shifts of men start.”
“I would never forget to feed you!”
“John will come up and get his when he gets back. And Willie.”
“I’ll make sure I set some aside for both of them.”
Mortimer walked to her and took her into his arms, kissing her quickly. “I didn’t feel right kissing you goodbye this morning with John right there. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for him to move in after all.”
“I don’t think he’ll be with us long,” Toria told him. “He’ll find a good woman and settle down soon. I can feel it.” And your dead wife was just sitting in my kitchen talking about it.
“I hope you’re right. I like having you all to myself.” He kissed her once more before heading for the stairs. “Your cookies are all gone, by the way. After the new restaurant opens, I think you should devote your time to baking.”
“Baking and working in the store. I’m so excited to be able to work with you every day. It seems that’s the way a marriage should be—two people working together for a common goal. Don’t you think?”
Mortimer nodded, his face confused. “I’ll see you later.”
As he walked down the stairs away from her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was right. Should he and Grace have worked together more? She’d loved her social time, and he hadn’t thought he should interfere with it. She’d known enough to manage the store when he was sick, but other than that, she’d rarely set foot in it. It had been his store, and not theirs.
Maybe Toria was right. Maybe it was something they should do together.
Chapter Eight
The lunch went well for Toria. The men were all well-mannered and seemed to love the food she served them. They had seconds and sometimes thirds, but she’d prepared for an army, and they enjoyed what she made.
After the third round of meals, John and Willie came up the stairs to have their lunches. Willie’s eyes widened at the small feast in front of him. It was obvious he’d been hungry for a while. “I should take this home to my family, not eat it all myself.”
Toria shook her head. “You need your energy for the work you’re doing. I’ll send home anything that we’ve got left with you at the end of the day.” She’d planned to serve more dumplings for supper so she wouldn’t have to make another meal, but it didn’t matter. If he was willing to skip his lunch to take food home to his family, then his family needed it more than she needed to not cook another meal.
“We can’t take charity, ma’am.” Willie sat down, still eyeing his food as if he wondered if it was really all right to eat it.
“It’s not charity. My husband and John won’t eat the same meal twice like that. I need someone to take it. I shouldn’t have made so much.” Toria hated lying, but she knew it was important that his family eat.
John’s eyes were dancing at her story. “It’s true. I’ll take you home and take the pot with me. I arranged it so my last delivery would be in Bachelor, so it’s no problem driving you home.”
“I’d like that a lot.” Willie looked at his food, and then at Toria. “Is there enough for you?”
Toria nodded, grabbing a bowl for herself. She’d eaten earlier, but if it made him feel better to see her eat, she could eat a little more to satisfy him. Sitting down at the table, she looked at John. “Would you be willing to pray for us?”
After the prayer, Willie began shoveling his food into his mouth, obviously very excited that there was food for him to enjoy. When he’d finished—which took mere moments—he leaned back and looked at Toria. “It was a wonderful meal, Mrs. Jackson.”
“Thank you, Willie. Would you like more?”
The boy seemed to fight an internal debate, but in the end, he shook his head. “No, ma’am, but thank you for offering.”
Toria understood. If he ate more, he’d be taking it from his mother and siblings. She’d been raised poor, but never as poor as his family obviously was. She wished there was a way she could help more, but she couldn’t let the boy know that she was giving him “charity.”
After John and the boy had left, she worked to scrub up the last round of dishes. She’d done a good job of keeping them up while the men took turns eating. Then she realized that she had nothing to cook for supper, because she’d promised the chicken and dumplings to Willie, so she went down the stairs to the store.
Mortimer smiled, happy that his wife was there to help him. When she walked over and whispered softly why she needed new food, he nodded to her. “Just show me what you take.”