smiling at the old guy. From the state of his clothes and the way he talked about his late wife, he was obviously alone. Her heart went out to him, one lonely soul recognizing another.
She’d been lonely for a long time, she realized now, even while she was married.
“I appreciate that, George, but I really have to figure out how to make great pastry. This pie can’t be just good. It has to be spectacular.”
“You know who used to make a really good pie?” Don said. “My sister-in-law Martha. I’ll bet she could show you.”
The others nodded in agreement but Mavis frowned.
“Isn’t Martha Kowalchuk in the nursing home? She must be nearly ninety.”
“Ninety-one,” Don said cheerfully. “She was my older brother’s wife. The old girl outlived him by twenty years. So far.”
Bridget vaguely remembered Martha from summers past when her pies were featured in the local fair. She’d been good back in the day, but that was a long time ago.
“If she’s that old I don’t see how she could help me,” she said carefully.
George gave her an indignant look. “Just because someone gets old doesn’t mean they’re useless.”
“Martha still has all her marbles. It’s the rest of her that doesn’t work so well.”
“Maybe Bridget could visit her and ask about her pie recipe,” Mavis suggested.
“I’ll bet Martha would love to get into a kitchen again. She was quite a cook in her day.”
“But the kitchen here is upstairs, Don,” Mavis explained. “I don’t think she could make it up all those stairs.”
Don took a sip of his coffee. “Probably not. Why don’t you get that kitchen in there up and running?” He pointed to the door of the restaurant. “We could use a good restaurant in this town again.”
“You know I don’t cook. I don’t have anyone to run it. Besides, I don’t even have a stove in there right now.”
Bill jerked his head toward Bridget. “This girl can cook. Why can’t she run the restaurant?”
All eyes turned to her and she wriggled under their scrutiny. “No, I’m not running the restaurant.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t know how long my daughter and I will be staying.”
George sighed wistfully. “It sure would be nice to have a restaurant again. I have to drive all the way to Bismarck for a decent meal since the Harvest Moon burned down.”
The others nodded, looking expectantly at her. She shook her head.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not opening the restaurant. I’m just doing this lunch for Jack Davison’s guests so that my daughter can ride horses at his ranch. This is a one-shot deal, that’s all.”
She looked into six pairs of disappointed eyes. Seven, counting her mother. She felt like she’d just told a group of five-year-olds there was no Santa Claus.
“I’ll tell you what,” Don said after a few moments of silence. “I’ll take you over to the nursing home tomorrow and introduce you to Martha. If anybody can tell you how to bake a tasty pie, it’ll be Martha.”
She reluctantly agreed, not wanting to insult Don and the others by refusing to go. But she wasn’t convinced a ninety-one-year-old woman could help her.
She was the only one who could help herself.
* * *
Despite the cool weather, Bridget’s palms were sweating as she opened the door to the hair salon. When she stepped inside and closed the door, she looked across the room, her gaze meeting her sister’s. Celia’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Hi.” Her scissors hovered over her client’s head, a little girl of about five. The child and her mother were her only customers. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I seem to recall an offer of a lousy cup of coffee.”
She tried to make light of her first visit to her sister’s shop, but inside her nerves jangled. She’d been in the wrong and it was up to her to make amends. But there was no guarantee Celia would even speak to her, let alone forgive her.
Celia’s mouth quirked
She’d been lonely for a long time, she realized now, even while she was married.
“I appreciate that, George, but I really have to figure out how to make great pastry. This pie can’t be just good. It has to be spectacular.”
“You know who used to make a really good pie?” Don said. “My sister-in-law Martha. I’ll bet she could show you.”
The others nodded in agreement but Mavis frowned.
“Isn’t Martha Kowalchuk in the nursing home? She must be nearly ninety.”
“Ninety-one,” Don said cheerfully. “She was my older brother’s wife. The old girl outlived him by twenty years. So far.”
Bridget vaguely remembered Martha from summers past when her pies were featured in the local fair. She’d been good back in the day, but that was a long time ago.
“If she’s that old I don’t see how she could help me,” she said carefully.
George gave her an indignant look. “Just because someone gets old doesn’t mean they’re useless.”
“Martha still has all her marbles. It’s the rest of her that doesn’t work so well.”
“Maybe Bridget could visit her and ask about her pie recipe,” Mavis suggested.
“I’ll bet Martha would love to get into a kitchen again. She was quite a cook in her day.”
“But the kitchen here is upstairs, Don,” Mavis explained. “I don’t think she could make it up all those stairs.”
Don took a sip of his coffee. “Probably not. Why don’t you get that kitchen in there up and running?” He pointed to the door of the restaurant. “We could use a good restaurant in this town again.”
“You know I don’t cook. I don’t have anyone to run it. Besides, I don’t even have a stove in there right now.”
Bill jerked his head toward Bridget. “This girl can cook. Why can’t she run the restaurant?”
All eyes turned to her and she wriggled under their scrutiny. “No, I’m not running the restaurant.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t know how long my daughter and I will be staying.”
George sighed wistfully. “It sure would be nice to have a restaurant again. I have to drive all the way to Bismarck for a decent meal since the Harvest Moon burned down.”
The others nodded, looking expectantly at her. She shook her head.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not opening the restaurant. I’m just doing this lunch for Jack Davison’s guests so that my daughter can ride horses at his ranch. This is a one-shot deal, that’s all.”
She looked into six pairs of disappointed eyes. Seven, counting her mother. She felt like she’d just told a group of five-year-olds there was no Santa Claus.
“I’ll tell you what,” Don said after a few moments of silence. “I’ll take you over to the nursing home tomorrow and introduce you to Martha. If anybody can tell you how to bake a tasty pie, it’ll be Martha.”
She reluctantly agreed, not wanting to insult Don and the others by refusing to go. But she wasn’t convinced a ninety-one-year-old woman could help her.
She was the only one who could help herself.
* * *
Despite the cool weather, Bridget’s palms were sweating as she opened the door to the hair salon. When she stepped inside and closed the door, she looked across the room, her gaze meeting her sister’s. Celia’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Hi.” Her scissors hovered over her client’s head, a little girl of about five. The child and her mother were her only customers. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I seem to recall an offer of a lousy cup of coffee.”
She tried to make light of her first visit to her sister’s shop, but inside her nerves jangled. She’d been in the wrong and it was up to her to make amends. But there was no guarantee Celia would even speak to her, let alone forgive her.
Celia’s mouth quirked
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