Hallie tasted the stew and then nodded at Liv’s hands. “Those thumb wrappings of yours.”
“My hands will never be the same.I’m so wounded, Hallie! All that mending... The sharp sewing needle—”
“Could not have,” Hallie interrupted, “possibly caused enough damage for you to need those cucumber-sized bandages. You’ll get no sympathy from me. You shouldn’t have been trespassing, and you know it. Now unwrap those silly things before you have half the table setting on the floor.”
Liv plopped down on a thatched chair and began to gnaw the bandage knot loose with her teeth. The twins were in a corner, playing with their most prized and fought-over possessions—a set of whalebone animals and an Ark, hand-carved by their father.
Hallie turned back to the stove.She closed her eyes and sighed. It was quiet for a brief moment, just the sizzling sound of the meat cooking on the stove. But instead of peaceful darkness, her eyelids seemed to be etched with the image of Kit Howland’s face.
His kiss haunted her. She could not forget the feel of his lips, the scent of him, the way she had felt, as if she were floating.
What did he feel? She wondered. She felt sure that he wasn’t indifferent to her. He certainly didn’t push her away, at least not until Captain Prescott arrived, and then, for a moment he looked terribly uncomfortable, even embarrassed.
He’d called her a kid. But if he’d really been trying to intimidate her, and hadn’t been affected, would he have been embarrassed? Hallie didn’t think so. Mama always said a man’s feelings were usually right out in the open for any woman to see. A smart woman would know the signs. She only has to think illogically. She’d know that a man would instinctively cover up any slip of emotion that might make him look weak. Men didn’t like to be thought of as emotional; it wasn’t manly. Of course, men thought anger was a man’s emotion, so they’d use it as a cover. Mama said a perceptive woman looks past a man’s anger to the feelings he’s trying to hide. She also said it was a woman’s duty to train a man in the art of emotion, especially in matters of the heart.
If she could get Kit to see her as a woman, surely she could win his heart...or at least start his training. He’d been concerned when he thought she was upset. Hadn’t he said something about the responsibility of raising the children? Men thought that child-rearing was woman’s work. If he saw her with the children and saw how well she handled them, maybe he would realize that she was a woman.
Hallie knew from Da that when Captain Prescott came into port he would get his friend and head for Millie’s Grotto. When Da was in port, he’d always eat with them instead of the family.
She looked down at the sizzling meat, then at the barrel of salted beef sitting against the wall. It was almost full. A half-guilty, half-calculating glance told Hallie that the children were still busy, a good distance from the hot stove. Using her apron as a pot holder, she tilted the iron skillet to its side, so the hot grease spilt into the stove fire.
Flames shot up, and she jumped back, arms out to keep the children away. The flames charred the meat black and spewed smoke into the air. After a moment, Hallie dug a scoop into a nearby salt bag and used it to quickly smother the blaze.
Acrid smoke filled the kitchen, Hallie wedged the back door open. “Guess I ruined supper,” she said blithely. “I’ll get cleaned up and we’ll eat at Millie’s.”
The twins immediately whooped up and down, and Liv wasted no time returning the dishes to the cupboard. Millie always gave them huge helpings of dessert.
Hallie sped from the room. Her long legs took the narrow stairs two at a time and she burst into the bedroom she shared with Dagny, racing to the oak wardrobe. She grabbed her pink dress and flung it on the bed. Scurrying to the washstand, she began to vigorously scour her face. As she glanced up in the mirror, Dagny walked in the room and looked at the pink dress on the bed, then at Hallie with questioning stare.
“I burned supper,” Hallie explained. “So we’re going to Millie’s.” Hallie ducked back down, hiding her face over the china washbowl. She splashed the cool water over her flushed skin and hoped Dagny would leave the room—and soon, before she had a chance to read the excitement Hallie knew was all over her face.
Kit and Lee stopped infront of a narrow wooden building that stood a few blocks up from the wharf. A rusty tin sign was nailed to the eave at a cockeyed angle and the air, thick with fog, condensed into henna-colored rivulets that trickled over the painted letters:
THE GROTTO
P. Millicent Dockery, Proprietor
Kit opened the door, and they entered the dining house. The succulent scent of steak and onions seeped through Kit’s senses. There was a reason there were often lines outside Millie’s.
“Well, God love ya, Kit Howland. And so what storm finally blew this friend of yours into port?” An older woman, barely five feet tall but almost that wide, greeted the two men, looking from Kit to Lee.
“I tell you, Millie, it wasn’t a storm. I found him under a rock during last night’s full moon. He’s been howling that he’s half starved.” Kit found an empty nail and hooked his hat onto the crowded wall.
Lee enveloped Millie in a huge hug and lifted her up off her feet. “Now what kind of a welcome is that, woman? The only thing that’s kept me going all these months was the thought of your sweet cooking.”
Millie waved a long, wooden spoon in Lee’s face. “Put me down, ya handsome oaf! Before ya break your back and have half the women in San Francisco after me for ruining their sport!”
“Millie, my love, those women don’t hold a candle to you.” Lee heaved her higher, ignoring her command. “When are you going to marry me?” He looked at her as if he were pleading. “I liked to starve to death when I was at sea.”
Unfazed, Millie looked at Kit, who was lounging against the edge of a homespun curtain while he watched the bantering. “I sure hope ya brought a shovel with ya, Kit, ‘cause this rascal’s full of more muck than Cookson’s Livery Stable.”
She bopped Lee on the head with her spoon, and he set her down. Then she turned to Kit. “Get your backside off them there curtains.” She emphasized each word by poking her wooden spoon into a metal button on Kit’s chest. “Didn’t yer mama teach ya nothin’?”
Kit laughed, rubbing his hand across his prodded chest. “Yeah, she taught me that women whose names begin with M are harpies. Mama... Millie—”
Kit dodged the spoon.
“Madeline,” Lee added with a devious grin.
