Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(21)

“I apologize that we’re unable to host you in our home. But my own dear mother will be visiting soon as well as a cousin. So I fear the guest room is in high demand.”

“The cabin will be more than fine, ma’am. Thank you. By chance, has Carnton had its hog killing yet?”

“No, we haven’t. In fact, I believe the Colonel is planning to hold that in the next couple of weeks.”

“I’ve butchered plenty of hogs back on the farm in South Carolina. Every winter since I was a boy. I’d be happy to help, if you’d like.”

Her eyes brightened. “I’m sure the Colonel would be happy to have your assistance, Captain. As with other farms, all of our slaves but one, Tempy, the head cook I’ve mentioned, have been sent south. So every hand is a welcome addition to the work.” She continued on toward a doorway that led to two sets of stairs. One leading up to the second story and the other leading down. “I meant to inquire earlier, Captain . . . Have you taken your noonday meal yet?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

“Then we’ll remedy that straightaway. Tempy is the best cook in all of Tennessee. She’s been with us for years now. And I’m certain she’ll have something you’ll—”

“I must have my kitchen worktables scrubbed clean!” A strident female voice carried toward them from around the corner. “And we must have a table dedicated solely for working pastry dough. That is imperative. Every experienced chef knows this. This one here will do.” A rapping noise followed. “Once it’s properly cleaned, of course. Get to it immediately. And no other food is to touch it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came a quiet voice.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Yes, ma’am . . . Chef Boudreaux.”

Mrs. McGavock exhaled, her expression darkening. She descended the short staircase, and Jake followed, his curiosity more than a little roused.

“Miss Boudreaux.” Mrs. McGavock’s tone was polite yet had gained an edge. “I trust you’re getting settled into Tempy’s kitchen.”

Jake didn’t miss the emphasis on ownership, nor the tiny black woman he’d seen at the door a while earlier whose eyes were downcast. But the young woman who turned to face them, she was new.

Her white-blond hair was piled high in a chaos of tight curls and her hands were fisted at her waist. She smiled and her expression lost a degree of its censure, though not enough to cover the fire in her eyes or her demeanor that reeked of disapproval.

“Yes, Mrs. McGavock, I am. Though I am finding the conditions considerably more . . . rustic than I was led to believe. But I’m certain I can still work here. After all—”

She tossed Jake a look that he thought she meant to be coy and perhaps even alluring. It had the exact opposite effect.

“—I am Katharina Boudreaux, a professional chef trained in Paris.”

Mrs. McGavock smiled, yet Jake felt the air crackle with warning, much like the moment before a battle ensued.

“Yes, Miss Boudreaux, I’m aware of your accomplished résumé. Mrs. Tyler presented it to the committee when she insisted we hire you. However, Mrs. Tyler did not share that you would denigrate a trusted and beloved servant in this household. Nor did she convey how you would criticize my home. The home in which you were—ever so briefly—a guest and an employee. Tempy, please collect Miss Boudreaux’s trunk from the room upstairs. Miss Boudreaux, if your carriage has already departed, we will happily lend you use of ours. Allowing that it’s handsome enough for your taste.”

The woman stared, slack jawed, and Jake looked between the two women, liking this Mrs. Colonel John McGavock more by the minute. And starting to believe she’d earned that title.

Miss Boudreaux huffed. “I have never been asked to leave a position before!”

“Well, there’s always a first time. As I tell my children when they stumble and fall, learn from the experience. Take the lesson and just enough of the pain to remember not to repeat the same mistake again. I’ll see you out now.”

The tiny black woman skirted by Jake, a ghost of a smile touching her mouth. And Jake looked over at Mrs. McGavock. “I’ll help her with the trunk, ma’am.”

“That would be much appreciated, Captain.”

Minutes later, Jake stood inside the open front doorway alongside Mrs. McGavock and Tempy as the wheels of Chef Boudreaux’s carriage struggled for purchase on the ice-slicked drive leading back to town.

He smiled. “And I thought that by coming here I was leaving the front lines behind me.”

Mrs. McGavock laughed. “Life is too short and our days too few to willfully spend time in the company of people who insist on telling us how much better they are than everyone else.”

“Amen to that,” Tempy whispered, which drew more laughter. “Come on back to the kitchen now, Captain Winston, and I’ll get you some potato soup that’ll warm up your insides real good. And how do you feel about butter cookies?”




Later that night in the cabin, Jake ran a hand over his smooth jawline, his face cool without his beard.

“My, my,” Tempy had said when he’d shown up freshly shaven for dinner with the McGavocks. “Miracle what a difference a razor can make in a man.”