caps. The hissing sound surprised her as much as the mist that rose from inside the bottles.
Ben Charles filled both glasses halfway and foam rose on the surfaces of the liquid. After waiting a moment he filled them the rest of the way and handed her a glass.
She met his gray-green gaze for a moment, before taking the drink. Her fingertips brushed his, warm against the cold glass.
The bubbles tickled her nose before she could get her lips to edge of the glass. Startled, she drew back.
Her employer lifted his glass and took a long swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his white shirt.
Violet took a dainty sip, blinked at the carbonation and then drank a swallow. The overpowering bite and syrupy sweetness took her by surprise. Her eyes watered. “Oh, my.”
Ben Charles grinned, his full mouth inching into a smile that revealed his teeth and an appealing dimple in his cheek. “Is this your first cola?”
“You must think me very unsophisticated.”
“Your reaction is charming.” He nodded toward the pantry. “Did you find the supplies adequate?”
“I’ll need a few things, but for the most part the pantry is well stocked.”
“Good. The iceman comes by every other day, and the dairy truck stops early each morning. Set the empty bottles outside the back door the night before. When you need wood replenished, leave Henry a message on the chalkboard.”
Violet noted the wood-framed chalkboard near the door. “Everything seems quite efficient.”
“Things run smoothly when they’re organized. Having you here is going to take a big load from my shoulders. I’m not much of a cook.” He finished his drink. “Can you manage supper with what’s here?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll shop tomorrow. I was wondering...”
“What were you wondering?”
“If it might be possible to keep a few chickens.”
He appeared to think for only a moment. “I don’t see why not. If you want to take care of them.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I need eggs to make good coffee.”
He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Coffee?”
“Äggkaffe,” she explained. “I learned from my Swedish father how to make coffee.”
“All right. As weather permits I’ll see about constructing a coop out of the wind.”
“What time would you prefer to have your supper?” she asked.
“We’re used to eating at six.”
She gave a nod to confirm. “Six it shall be.”
“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said. “If you need anything, Tessa is no doubt still upstairs reading and I’ll be right next door.” He set his glass in the basin, and pointed to a door she’d assumed led to a cellar. “Through there.”
He strode to the door and opened it. Violet imagined cold dank air seeping from the other side, but all she saw was a chalkboard just like the one in this room before he closed the door and was gone from sight.
A shiver ran up her spine.
A connecting door.
Everything about her new job had seemed so perfect only moments ago. But now she knew there was a door connecting the place where she’d be spending the majority of her time to the funeral parlor.
Somehow she had to learn to ignore that door and do her job. It was her only choice. Back in Ohio there were people who believed she’d started a fire that had destroyed the bakery where she’d worked.
Her employer had made it clear a year ago that he wanted her to marry his son. Wade Finney had been in trouble so many times, Violet had lost count. He constantly caused an uproar at a local establishment or came to work reeking of alcohol and stale tobacco. Sometimes his friends showed up during work hours and enticed him away from his job. Wade was trouble and she’d held no intentions of marrying him, but his father had constantly pressured her to give Wade a chance. All he needed was a good woman to settle him down, he’d say.
Wade was an only child and Mr. Finney had reminded her often that the bakery would go to his son and whomever he married. While Violet wanted nothing more than to own her own bakery, a life with Wade wasn’t an incentive.
And Wade hadn’t wanted any part of her either. He despised the bakery and everything related to it including her. On that fateful night only weeks ago he’d climbed the side of the boarding house where she’d been staying, broken her window and burst into her room.
Violet had been terrified that he’d come to hurt her. He’d been drinking, and his threats had held a tone she’d never heard before. He’d grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the window. In the moonlight thick smoke had curled into the night sky above the bakery two blocks away. “You soaked your apron with kerosene and used the matches you keep in your bin. You hate me enough to burn down the bakery.”
“I didn’t! I’ve been right here.”
“There are witnesses who saw you near the building only moments ago. My father will believe you set the fire.”
Violet’s heart had pounded in terror and confusion. “Why?”
“Get dressed,” he hissed. “Do you have a bag? I’ll send the rest of your things to the station in Pittsburgh. Send for them using the name Tom Robbins.”
Trembling, she’d taken the dress she’d pressed from a hook. “Turn around. Why are you doing this?”
While she’d dressed he had taken her clothing from the bureau drawers and had shoved it into the valise, then had held up the bag and swept the surfaces with his arm, dumping her belongings into a jumble on top.
She’d perched on the chair and hurriedly pulled on her stockings and boots.
He’d grabbed her hand and roughly shoved something into it. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be stuck in that bakery for the rest of my life.”
“I never had any intention of marrying you.”
“But you were too cowardly to tell my father that. He’d have convinced you eventually.”
“No. No, I—”
“Buy a ticket to somewhere far away. They put people who start fires in jail.”
Violet had stood in the alley behind her boardinghouse, tears streaming down her face. Lights had come on in the windows, and at first she’d thought other boarders had heard the commotion in her room and on the stairs, but as her head had cleared the sounds of people in the street had alerted her. The fire had been discovered.
And Wade was going to make sure everyone believed she was responsible. For a confused moment she’d considered staying and pleading her innocence. She hadn’t done it—surely the truth would come to light.
A window had opened overhead, and a voice had called down. “Violet? Is that you? What are you doing in the alley?”
She’d been standing in the dark with her bags packed for flight. Like a guilty person.
Violet had turned and run.
Now she had no choice but to make this work. Either make a go of it here or leave and hope for something else. She glanced around the Hammonds’ kitchen, her gaze touching on a glass-front cabinet filled with blue-and-white plates and platters. She took in the long uncovered window that let in the light, her aprons stacked on the table.
After starting the stove, she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat for dishwater, then found a drawer in the pantry and stored her aprons.
She could do this. She would do