While Love Stirs (3 page)

Perhaps that hotel chef had a good reason to chase Miss Gregory out of his restaurant, brandishing a butcher knife. Joel stared at her as he considered doing the same with a scalpel. Who did she think she was, coming into his office, demanding changes in his hospital, insulting him and his staff, and moving things around on his desk?

Blood pumped in his ears. No one—not even a careless nurse—had made him so angry in such a short amount of time. Messy? What did she think a doctor did? If draining a boil didn’t count, then nothing did.

The corners of her lips curved in a solicitous smile, and she nodded. “Until later then, Dr. Brooks.”

“Until later.” Why did he say that? He had no intentions of seeing her again, but he had to get her out of his office. “And I promise I will see to your sister’s diet personally.”

“Thank you, but I’d feel better if you’d let me prescribe it myself.”

“I think we can manage without you, Miss Gregory.” He shook his head. Prescribe it? Did her nerve never end? “Good day.”

He watched her leave, surprised she’d let him have the last word, then dropped back into his chair and surveyed his desk. Sure, he liked items where they belonged. It made them easier to find when he needed them, but it didn’t mean he was rigid and uncaring. Quite the contrary. He cared too much. Over and over, the older doctors had told him he needed to separate himself from his patients, but how could he? He knew suffering all too well.

He opened the ledger on his desk and sighed at the tight figures neatly aligned in the last column.

Chipped dishes were the least of his concern.

Nurse Willard tapped on his door. “Dr. Brooks, Harvey Richmond is having trouble breathing again. I thought you’d want to know right away.”

What food would Miss Gregory prescribe to cure the inflamed heart of an eight-year-old? Would her soul ache as his did because every avenue had been exhausted?

Joel’s footfalls echoed in the nearly empty corridor of Harvey’s ward. His quickened his pace as he neared the boy’s bed. Harvey’s chest heaved as he fought for air. Joel knelt beside the boy, quickly administered codeia, and then took Harvey’s hand. He swallowed hard. All he could do was make the boy more comfortable. It wouldn’t be long now.

He prayed for the orphan who’d spent so much of his childhood without a parent’s love and asked the Lord to welcome the child into his arms. Then he added a prayer of thanks that the only thing Miss Gregory had to worry about was chipped dishes.

4

Charlotte took stock of the white enameled Jewel gas range in front of her. With six gas burners, teardrop-shaped handles, a bread warmer, a large oven, and a broiler, it was a work of art. Why would anyone want to go back to cooking on a woodstove after using one of these beauties?

When she’d signed up the other day, she’d been told each of the twenty contestants would bake a layer cake and present it to the judging panel. Today, as soon as they’d all arrived, the twenty women had been divided into two groups and then paired within their groups with another contestant. Each pair would have a gas range to share. Glad to be in the first group, Charlotte laid her recipe on the worktable’s surface and waited for the signal to begin.

“Don’t crowd me when we start to bake.” The young woman she’d been paired with plopped her basket on the worktable, then used her ample hips to nudge Charlotte to the right. The woman looked at the range and frowned. “It’s hard enough to use a gas stove when I prefer coal, but I can’t make a masterpiece if I don’t have enough room to work.”

Charlotte switched to the other side of the table. She needed room to work as well and didn’t plan for anyone, including this bossy girl, to ruin her chance at becoming a chef. Two years ago she’d allowed someone else to dictate her actions, and she’d made a vow to never let that happen again. Even when it didn’t feel natural
to her, she’d be the one in charge from here on out—but in a nice way, of course.

She smiled at the newcomer. “I’ll be sure not to interfere on your
half
of the table.”

“Do you know anything about”—her partner flicked her hand in the direction of the range—“these?”

“Some.” Charlotte picked up her own basket and set it on the table. “I’m Charlotte Gregory, and you are . . . ?”

“The one who is going to win.” The girl laughed at her witty comment. “My name is Kathleen O’Grady, and I meant that last part. I don’t do anything unless I can come out on top. Do you consider yourself a good cook?”

Charlotte smoothed her apron. “With God’s help and a little creativity, I manage.”

Kathleen filled her half of the table with ingredients from her basket. “I’m making a sunshine layer cake with orange cream frosting.”

“It sounds delicious. Good luck.” Charlotte picked up her recipe and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. No need to reveal her secrets too soon.

“And what are you making?”

“I’m making a layer cake.” One didn’t live with Tessa Gregory and not learn how to deal with prying questions. Excitement bubbled inside Charlotte, but she managed not to laugh.

After all, that would be rude.

A bespectacled man with a bulbous nose and a curling mustache stepped to the front of the room. “Welcome, ladies! My name is Stewart Johnson. I’m the vice president of the Greater Northern Natural Gas Company, and I’d like to personally thank each of you for entering our competition.”

Those gathered applauded. Charlotte smiled at Tessa and Aunt Sam, who were seated with several other spectators in wooden folding chairs off to the side.

“As you’ve already been informed, you’ll have either three hours
this morning or three hours this afternoon, depending on the group you are in, to prepare a layer cake in one of our gas demonstration ovens. When your cake has been baked and frosted, you’ll present it to our judges.” Mr. Johnson motioned toward a separate table where two ladies were seated. Charlotte guessed the empty chair beside them belonged to Mr. Johnson himself since she’d seen him sitting there earlier. “Your cake will be scored on taste, texture, originality, and appearance.”

Originality was good. The spiced ribbon cake with opera caramel frosting that Charlotte planned to prepare would most likely be something the judges hadn’t tasted before. The apple jelly between the layers made it surprisingly delicious, and the nuts sprinkled on the top would make it even more attractive, but would that be enough? Maybe she should have gone with a more traditional cake and dressed it up with ornamental rosettes.

She shook her head. It was too late now. All of her ingredients sat packed in the basket, and Mr. Johnson would signal them to begin any minute.

“Please respect your partner’s work space and share the oven, and remember, the five contestants with the lowest scores will not advance to tomorrow’s pie round.” Mr. Johnson took out his pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s nine o’clock, ladies, and you may begin.”

Charlotte glanced at Kathleen. “Did you want me to light the oven?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to.” Kathleen broke an egg into her mixing bowl. “But I’ll need the oven first or my cake might fall.”

“That will be fine. I’ll start by making my frosting on the stove top.” Charlotte opened the oven doors, struck a match, and turned the pilot light lever. Once the flame caught, she closed the doors and turned the gas lever all the way to the left. A familiar whoosh from inside the oven let her know the gas flame had caught.

Charlotte gathered a pan and added the brown sugar, light cream, and butter she needed for the opera caramel frosting. Once
she set the flame beneath the pan, she stirred the mixture. Beating it until it reached a spreadable consistency made her arm ache. She noticed Kathleen wasted no time mixing the batter for her cake and pouring it into the pans she’d prepared. With so little time given to blending the ingredients, Charlotte feared Kathleen’s cake would be heavy.

Kathleen cleared her throat. “I need to get these in.”

Charlotte’s frosting began to form a ball. “You might try asking me nicely to step out of the way.”

“This is a contest.” Kathleen elbowed Charlotte’s side. “There’s no room for niceties.”

“But you haven’t even checked the oven’s temp—”

“Mind your own frosting.” Kathleen let the door slam hard, and Charlotte’s pot rattled. “Not that it will do you any good.”

Charlotte steadied the pot with a towel and began whipping the contents in her bowl. It would serve Kathleen right if her cake did burn. Foolish girl. She didn’t even take the time to put a teaspoon of flour in the oven to test the oven’s temperature. Without determining how hot it was, how would Kathleen know when to remove the cake?

Charlotte pushed the thought aside. That was Kathleen’s problem. When her frosting was spreadable, she nudged Kathleen’s supplies back into her half of the work area and set out her own ingredients so she could get started on the cake. She picked up the metal measuring cup Miss Farmer had given her and balanced it in her hand. Like a plane in the hand of a woodworker, this measuring cup felt at home. She spooned it half full of butter.

“What is that cup for?” Kathleen asked. “A good cook doesn’t have to measure. They know if they’ve put in enough by looking.”

“I disagree.” Charlotte emptied the cup into her bowl. “Measuring takes the guesswork out and ensures your food turns out well every time.” She measured the first of the two cups of sugar, but when she went to pour it in the bowl, Kathleen bumped her arm and sugar went flying.

“Oh no. How will you ensure your cake turns out now?”

Charlotte shot Kathleen a glare. What kind of a person sabotaged someone’s cake? Did she honestly think Charlotte couldn’t handle a little spilled sugar?

Resisting the urge to give Kathleen a good tongue-lashing, she finished adding the ingredients for her cake and wiped up the spilled sugar. As soon as she’d finished filling the layer cake pans, she glanced at the oven.

“Uh, Kathleen, have you checked on your cake lately?”

Kathleen threw open the door and smoke wafted out. She grabbed a towel and yanked the pan from the rack. “You did this on purpose! You set the oven too high! Mr. Johnson! Mr. Johnson!” When the gas company’s vice president arrived, Kathleen thrust a finger toward Charlotte. “She sabotaged my cake. She set the oven too high.”

His brow furled. “Did you do that, Miss Gregory?”

“No, sir.” Charlotte shook her head. “I started to tell her to check the temperature and she said to mind my own frosting.”

“That’s exactly what I heard as well.” He twisted the ends of his mustache. “But ladies, do consider yourselves warned. If there are any more problems, I’ll have no choice but to disqualify one of you.”

Behind his back, Kathleen flashed a smug grin. Charlotte’s blood came to a full boil, but she forced a lid on it. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best to help her in the future.”

He glanced at the cake on the work surface. “Your cake doesn’t appear ruined, Miss O’Grady. A little brown around the edges, maybe, but I think you can frost it and make it a fine entry.” He nodded to Charlotte. “Good luck to both of you.”

Charlotte set a pie tin with a teaspoon of flour on the middle rack and checked the clock. If the oven was sufficiently hot to brown the flour in five minutes, then the oven was the right temperature. She could turn the gas cock up or down if need be.

At the five-minute mark, she opened the door. Perfect. She set her layer cakes inside and closed the door.

“You think you’re so smart.” Kathleen plunked her ample frame on a stool. “But you’re not smart enough to beat me. Remember that, Charlotte Gregory. I’m going to win this competition and get me a husband. You know what they say: ‘The way to a man’s heart . . .’”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “The way to a man’s heart isn’t through his stomach. It’s with a gentle and humble spirit. You give that a try. I’m sure it’s something new for you.”

Joel heaved a sigh. Nurse Watkins should know by now that Joel liked the morning reports on the left rather than the right side of his desk. Bone-weary, he deposited the stack in its correct position, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Fifteen minutes of shut-eye. That’s all he needed.

A knock on the door jolted him awake. He relaxed when his sister, Nurse Mathilda Brooks, peeked in.

She set a cup of coffee in front of him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I heard you lost Harvey Baker last night.”

He nodded, not trusting the thickness in his throat. After a swig of the coffee, he glanced up at her and smiled. “I’m fine, Mattie.”

She took a seat in the empty desk chair. “You stayed all night with him?”

“No one should die alone.”

“Cathy Creston is a good nurse. She’d never let that happen.”

He held up his hand. “I’m not attacking the nurses. I have the utmost admiration for all you do.”

“That’s good to hear.” Mattie smoothed her apron. “Speaking of which, what happened with Mrs. Cole’s sister? Charlotte Gregory, wasn’t it?”

“And how did you hear about that?” He chuckled. “Never mind. I should know you’ve always had a way of learning about everything. And now I can tell by the way you’re biting your lip you have something to say. Go ahead. You will eventually.”

“I need to get back to work.” She stood, walked to the door, then turned back to him. “Joel, that Miss Gregory has a valid point. New mothers do need adequate nutrition, and we nurses have been woefully trained in meeting those needs. We plan our menus based on what foods we have on hand, with little consideration for the nutritional requirements of the mothers. Maybe if she came to teach—”

“Mattie!” Joel mockingly thumped his fist on the desk. “You of all people know this hospital is in dire financial straits. Besides, we don’t know if Miss Gregory could cook her way out of a paper bag.”