Brides of Iowa by Connie; Stevens Read Free Book Online Page A

no latch. Tomorrow she’d find a stout stick to brace the door closed.
    She stretched out on one side of the quilt and pulled the other half over her. Her eyelids grew heavy as she listened for the skitter of tiny feet.

    A cacophony of laughter accosted her ears. Faces of men loomed before her, their leering eyes hungry as they reached out to grab her.
    She pulled away from one only to bump against another. She gasped and whirled in the opposite direction where another man closed in. Her breath caught in her throat, strangling her screams. The men laughed as she pushed against them.
    In the middle of the encroaching sea of intimidating faces was Mr. Kilgore. His stubby cigar waggled up and down as he repeated his declaration of the wages she’d earn working at the Blue Goose.
    She strained for breath as panic filled her. “No, I won’t! Leave me alone!”
    Kilgore guffawed. “The friendlier you are, the more they buy, and if they like you, they might stick around … stick around….”
    “A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly.”
Gideon’s smiling face came into view. “I thought we were friends. You can only have a friend if you be a friend.”
    She almost took a step toward him but halted abruptly when another face in the crowd pushed forward.
    “You ain’t worth nothin’.” The hateful accusation spewed from Papa’s lips. “It’s your fault. You ain’t worth nothin’….”
    Tessa lurched awake with a cry. Sweat dripped from her temples and slid down her cheek. Or was that a tear?
    She consciously slowed her breathing and lay back down on the quilt. Without a clock, her only means to gauge the time was the level of noise coming from the saloon. The earlier fever pitch was now silent. She didn’t know what time the establishment closed, probably the wee hours. If she allowed herself to go back to sleep, she might rise too late to help Flossie with the baking.
    She rose and shook the quilt, hoping her unwelcome visitors found someplace else to spend the night. The door squeaked as she pushed it open. No illumination from the street lanterns reached the shed. Blackness enveloped the alley.
    Her hands groped along the brick wall as she made her way toward the side door that opened to the hotel kitchen. Once inside, she struck a match and found the lamp hanging over the worktable. The wick caught easily, and she slid the glass globe back into place. After she fed the banked coals in the cookstove, she crossed to the cavernous pantry.
    From the shelves she gathered spices, sugar, and a crock of lard. Three large baskets of apples sat beside the flour barrel.
    By the time Flossie came in the side door with her hand wrapped in a clean rag, three apple pies wafted their cinnamon fragrance through the kitchen, while Tessa crimped the crust of three more on the worktable.
    “Good morning, Flossie. How is your hand feeling today?”
    The cook looked down at the makeshift bandage and shrugged. “Don’t help to complain. I just hope it don’t get no fever in it.”
    Tessa started to suggest Flossie have the doctor take a look at the burn but held her tongue. Doctors cost money. She bit her lip and returned to her task.

    A week after taking over the baking, Tessa’s apple pies and chocolate cakes earned numerous compliments. Working the dough with her fingers gave her satisfaction, and pulling fragrant pastries from the oven brought a measure of contentment she’d not known for a long time.
    Tillie stuck her head in the door. “Tessa, there’s a girl out here who wants to know if you can make a wedding cake.”
    Tessa looked up from the chocolate cake she was frosting and thought for a moment. “Sure.” She considered the cost of the supplies and the extra time involved. “Tell her … two dollars and a half.”
    Flossie smirked as Tillie left to deliver the message. “Don’t reckon Mr. Kilgore knows about our arrangement yet, but if folks keep asking for special orders, he might wonder