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Authors: Janice Thompson
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announced to everyone within hearing distance.
“As you can see, so are we,” Mrs. Weimer replied. “It’s truly the best thing on the menu.” As she sang Myrtle Mae Jennings’s praises, Ida couldn’t resist the temptation to groan.
“Are you all right?” Sophie gave her a curious look.
Just then Myrtle Mae entered the room with a broad smile on her face. She eased her ample frame through the crowd of tables, clapping her hands together when she saw Ida’s father.
“Why, Dirk, I’m so happy to see you.” Her cheeks, already flushed, deepened a shade as their eyes met. Ida took note, wondering when this attraction had begun. How had she missed it? And what could she do to keep it from going any further?
Her papa’s mustache began to twitch at once. “After all I’ve heard about your pot roast, I wouldn’t miss it.” And then he winked at her.
Ida tried not to gasp aloud, but stifling her surprise proved difficult.
“What about you, Ida? What’s your preference?” Sophie asked.
“My preference?” Ida stole another peek at Mick Bradley, who suddenly took notice of her. He gave her that smile and she felt her cheeks warm. Embarrassed, she pulled the menu back up. “I’m not sure what to order.”
Sophie, puzzled by Ida’s behavior, looked up and noticed Mick. “Well, you are certainly studying that menu,” Sophie said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “You will have it memorized before long.”
“Must be mighty hungry,” Mr. Weimer added.
“More likely she can’t find anything she likes,” Papa interjected. “Ida has a tendency to prefer her own cooking over that of others.”
“Oh, you really must try my pot roast, Ida.” Myrtle Mae gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll make a believer out of you,” she said, smiling as she headed back to the kitchen.
Ida found it increasingly hard to concentrate, what with Mick Bradley standing directly across the room. Who could eat, when a man like that had just made his presence known?
Mick took a seat at a table well within view. For a brief moment, Ida actually felt sorry for the man, dining alone in a room full of strangers.
Sophie leaned over and whispered, “Perhaps we should ask the man to join us.”
“Hush! He’ll hear you,” Ida replied.
Sophie laughed at Ida, and looked back at Mick. He raised his hand in greeting, and Sophie waved back. “He is one good-looking man, Ida. Surely looking at Mick Bradley gives you reason to rethink your position on marriage,” she teased.
The only thing she wanted to rethink right nowwas her decision to join her papa for dinner at The Harvey House in the first place.
Mick took note of Ida the moment he entered the restaurant. He couldn’t help but notice her dressed like that. Nearly a dozen times during the meal he glanced her way, just to see if she would look back. He wanted to see how her eyes matched up against that beautiful blue dress. He imagined they’d knock him off his chair if he got a close enough look.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—that never happened. All too soon, Ida and her father left the restaurant with the group they’d been eating with. Mick had sensed her discomfort at his presence, and yet a wave of disappointment washed over him as she left.
On some level, Mick envied Ida, sitting with people she loved—in a group that size—to share a meal. He wondered if he’d ever know the love of a daughter, one who looked up at him with such awe. Or the admiration of sons, who hung on their father’s every word like the trio of older boys sitting with Ida. Would he ever gather together with loved ones, praying over food as he’d heard them do, eating pot roast, and singing the cook’s praises loud enough for all to hear?
For the first time in ages, Mick acknowledged that losing his parents twenty years before had left him with an emptiness inside. His brother had taken him in and fathered Mick as best he could, but he couldn’t fill
“As you can see, so are we,” Mrs. Weimer replied. “It’s truly the best thing on the menu.” As she sang Myrtle Mae Jennings’s praises, Ida couldn’t resist the temptation to groan.
“Are you all right?” Sophie gave her a curious look.
Just then Myrtle Mae entered the room with a broad smile on her face. She eased her ample frame through the crowd of tables, clapping her hands together when she saw Ida’s father.
“Why, Dirk, I’m so happy to see you.” Her cheeks, already flushed, deepened a shade as their eyes met. Ida took note, wondering when this attraction had begun. How had she missed it? And what could she do to keep it from going any further?
Her papa’s mustache began to twitch at once. “After all I’ve heard about your pot roast, I wouldn’t miss it.” And then he winked at her.
Ida tried not to gasp aloud, but stifling her surprise proved difficult.
“What about you, Ida? What’s your preference?” Sophie asked.
“My preference?” Ida stole another peek at Mick Bradley, who suddenly took notice of her. He gave her that smile and she felt her cheeks warm. Embarrassed, she pulled the menu back up. “I’m not sure what to order.”
Sophie, puzzled by Ida’s behavior, looked up and noticed Mick. “Well, you are certainly studying that menu,” Sophie said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “You will have it memorized before long.”
“Must be mighty hungry,” Mr. Weimer added.
“More likely she can’t find anything she likes,” Papa interjected. “Ida has a tendency to prefer her own cooking over that of others.”
“Oh, you really must try my pot roast, Ida.” Myrtle Mae gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll make a believer out of you,” she said, smiling as she headed back to the kitchen.
Ida found it increasingly hard to concentrate, what with Mick Bradley standing directly across the room. Who could eat, when a man like that had just made his presence known?
Mick took a seat at a table well within view. For a brief moment, Ida actually felt sorry for the man, dining alone in a room full of strangers.
Sophie leaned over and whispered, “Perhaps we should ask the man to join us.”
“Hush! He’ll hear you,” Ida replied.
Sophie laughed at Ida, and looked back at Mick. He raised his hand in greeting, and Sophie waved back. “He is one good-looking man, Ida. Surely looking at Mick Bradley gives you reason to rethink your position on marriage,” she teased.
The only thing she wanted to rethink right nowwas her decision to join her papa for dinner at The Harvey House in the first place.
Mick took note of Ida the moment he entered the restaurant. He couldn’t help but notice her dressed like that. Nearly a dozen times during the meal he glanced her way, just to see if she would look back. He wanted to see how her eyes matched up against that beautiful blue dress. He imagined they’d knock him off his chair if he got a close enough look.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—that never happened. All too soon, Ida and her father left the restaurant with the group they’d been eating with. Mick had sensed her discomfort at his presence, and yet a wave of disappointment washed over him as she left.
On some level, Mick envied Ida, sitting with people she loved—in a group that size—to share a meal. He wondered if he’d ever know the love of a daughter, one who looked up at him with such awe. Or the admiration of sons, who hung on their father’s every word like the trio of older boys sitting with Ida. Would he ever gather together with loved ones, praying over food as he’d heard them do, eating pot roast, and singing the cook’s praises loud enough for all to hear?
For the first time in ages, Mick acknowledged that losing his parents twenty years before had left him with an emptiness inside. His brother had taken him in and fathered Mick as best he could, but he couldn’t fill
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