“Let’s go see if it tastes as good as it smells.” He rose and hauled her to her feet.
“Won’t taste as good as Ma’s.”
“Guess it won’t.”
“You know what Amelia said? She said she didn’t expect it would because Ma’s was full of love for us.” Her voice squeaked at the end.
Zach’s throat tightened. Good thing he didn’t need to say anything.
They stepped into the house. The cake did indeed smell wonderful. He knew how she’d known to make that flavor. No doubt, whoever wrote those letters had informed her. He tried to think who would know so much about him. Pa, for sure, but Pa couldn’t have written them.
Gil maybe, but Gil could barely write his name.
Amelia turned at their entrance, and Zach forgot musing about the letter writer.
She had a bit of flour on her cheek and what appeared to be a spot of molasses on her apron. She wouldn’t know it, of course, but he’d often come into the house and seen Ma the same way.
Amelia smiled. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”
It wasn’t quite the greeting Ma would have given, but it sure felt pleasant.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
She laughed. “Why should I? It’s your house.”
Pa and Poppy sat at the table. Crumbs before them indicated Amelia had given them something to tide them over until dinner. “Where’s Gil?”
She glanced toward the bunkhouse. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
Zach groaned. “I better go check on him.” He trotted across the yard and up the wooden steps into the bunkhouse. The place reeked of liquor, and Gil lay on his bed, his arm across his eyes.
Zach shook the man. “You’ve been drinking again.”
“Only had a mouthful.” The slurred words said otherwise.
A bottle lay beside Gil. Zach shook it. Empty. “Gil, you need to stop drinking.” He left the man, knowing he would take a few hours to sober up.
What was he going to do about him? Once Amelia left, Gil would be needed to cook and look after Pa. Trouble was, Gil wasn’t to be counted on.
Zach left the bunkhouse, drawn back to the kitchen by the smell of a cake full of raisins and molasses. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into it.
The table was set, a plate piled high with biscuits in the middle. Around it were various other offerings—fried potatoes, bacon, a salad of grated carrots and raisins—another of Zach’s favorites. His mouth watered. Gil knew how to cook, but his usual fare of late was baked beans for dinner.
Zach sat down. He glanced at Pa, but Pa was smiling at Poppy. Zach didn’t think he was ready to ask the blessing, so he bowed his head and offered up a quick prayer. The meal was delicious, and he said so. But he longed to try the cake.
After the meal, Amelia cut generous slices and gave one to each of them.
Zach savored his first bite. “Just like Ma used to make.”
Kat pushed aside her piece. “Don’t think I want any.”
But when Zach reached to take her plate, she slid it out of his way. “Might have it later.”
Zach chuckled. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Kat scowled, being stubborn out of principle or a mistaken belief she’d do their ma a disservice if she admitted the cake was as tasty as Ma’s. Which it was.
“Thanks,” he said to Amelia, then headed outside to tend to the chores.
