A Family to Call Her Own

“It couldn’t hurt,” Rose agreed.

“So what did you find out?” Rose asked eagerly when Frances returned from her mission later in the day, empty plate in hand.

Frances looked around carefully to make sure they were alone, then leaned close. “There was a stranger in there this morning with Mark,” she reported in a hushed voice. “Name of Zach. His car went off the road in the fog, and Rebecca drove him to the hospital. He’s a reporter from St. Louis, here to cover the flood. Ben says there was enough electricity flying between the two of them to run his toaster without even plugging it in. Said this Zach seemed like a real nice gentleman.”

Rose gave a satisfied nod. “Good job, Frances.”

Suddenly the front door of the restaurant opened, and both women straightened up guiltily. A young man carrying a large vase covered with green florist tissue entered the shop and made his way toward them.

“I have a delivery for Rebecca Matthews,” he informed the sisters, consulting the card attached to the tissue.

“I’ll get her,” Rose offered eagerly, bustling toward the kitchen. She opened the door and stuck her head inside.

“Rebecca, there’s a delivery here for you.”

Rebecca looked up from the soup she was stirring on the stove and frowned. “All our delivery people know to come around back.”

“It’s not that kind of delivery,” Rose replied, her eyes dancing.

Rebecca’s frown deepened. “What do you—” But Rose was already gone. Rebecca sighed. She was having a hard enough time concentrating today without all these interruptions, she thought irritably as she pushed through the swinging door.

She stopped abruptly when she saw the young man standing there with what was obviously a vase of flowers, Rose and Frances flanking him on each side like bodyguards.

“Rebecca Matthews?” the boy asked.

“Yes.”

“These are for you.” He walked over and handed the vase to her. Then, jingling his keys and humming under his breath, he headed back out the front door while Rebecca stared, dumbfounded, at the flowers in her arms.

“Well, aren’t you going to open them?” Frances prompted her. “Don’t you want to know who they’re from?”

Rebecca already knew who they were from. There was no other possibility. Carefully, her heart hammering in her chest, she set the vase down on a convenient table and tore off the green paper to reveal a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses artfully arranged with fern and baby’s breath.

“Oh, my!” Frances breathed in awe, reaching out to delicately touch a petal, as if trying to assure herself the roses were real. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Here’s the card, dear,” Rose informed Rebecca, extracting it from the flowers and holding it out encouragingly.

Rebecca took it gingerly, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. She tore open the envelope carefully and slid the card out, taking a deep breath before scanning the message.

“Please accept these with my thanks and apology. It was a memorable encounter. Zach.”

For some reason Rebecca suspected that the “encounter” he was referring to had occurred this morning, not Thursday night, and that thought sent a tingle down her spine.

“Well?” Rose prompted.

Rebecca looked up blankly. She’d totally forgotten her audience. “It’s just from someone I did a favor for,” she explained vaguely, her voice a bit breathless.

“It must have been some favor,” Frances commented.

“Yellow roses. Now that’s interesting,” Rose mused.

Rebecca looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“The language of flowers, dear,” Rose replied matter-of-factly. “Yellow roses mean ‘I’ll never forget you.”’

Rebecca’s face flamed and she lowered her head, tucking the note into her apron pocket. “I doubt whether anyone knows that these days,” she remarked, striving for an offhanded tone. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Rose replied, her eyes twinkling. “And then again, maybe not.”

“Well, I don’t have time to speculate about flower messages,” Rebecca declared briskly. “There’s too much to do.” She picked up the vase and, without a backward look, headed for the kitchen.

The two sisters watched until the door swung shut behind her. Then Frances turned to Rose.

“Do you think they’re from him?” she asked eagerly.

“Absolutely. Who else would be sending Rebecca flowers?”

“So our Rebecca really does have a beau,” Frances breathed in awe.

“Looks that way,” Rose affirmed. “Now let’s just hope she gives him a chance.”

“Rebecca, some friends of yours are here,” Frances announced as she came bustling into the kitchen to pick up the salad course. “That nice couple from St. Louis.”

“Nick and Laura?” Rebecca said in surprise, turning from the stove where she was stirring the sauce for chicken Madeira. Normally she checked the reservations, but she simply hadn’t had time today.

“Mmm-hmm,” Frances confirmed.

“Tell them I’ll stop by and say hello at dessert, would you?” Rebecca asked over her shoulder.

“Of course.”

Rebecca smiled as she added some lemon juice to the sauce. She didn’t get to see her childhood friend often enough. Laura’s business as a landscape architect was booming, and her free time was pretty much devoted to Nick, “the man of her dreams,” as she called him. And Rebecca couldn’t blame her. Nick Sinclair would make any woman’s heart beat faster. Rebecca didn’t know much about Laura’s first marriage, but apparently there had been serious problems of some sort. Serious enough that Brad, who was not only Laura’s friend but her minister, had once told Rebecca that he doubted whether Laura would ever remarry. But then along came Nick, who somehow convinced Laura to take a second chance on love.

Rebecca was happy for her. She remembered that even as children, Laura, who was several years older than Rebecca, had always taken it upon herself to watch out for her younger friend and make sure she was included in the games and activities. Rebecca never forgot her kindness, and she was truly happy that Laura had found her own Prince Charming. And she also had Laura to thank for getting Sam and her brother together. If Sam hadn’t been Laura’s maid of honor, Sam and Brad might never have found each other. The Lord really did work in mysterious—and wondrous—ways, Rebecca reflected with a smile.

An hour later, as Rebecca put the finishing touches on the chocolate mousse with zabaglione, she was glad once again that she limited dinner service to a single seating on Friday and Saturday nights. Until she could afford to hire another chef, one seating was all she could manage. And when she had a full house—as she did more and more often lately—she was a zombie by Saturday night. But it was satisfying to know that her efforts were paying dividends, and not a day went by that she didn’t give thanks for her success.

Rebecca stepped back and surveyed the forty servings of dessert, nodding in approval. They were picture-perfect. She shrugged out of her apron, and as Rose and Frances entered the kitchen with two of the high school students who helped out on weekends, she picked up two servings of dessert and stepped into the dining room. Her gaze immediately went to Nick and Laura’s “special” table, the same one they’d sat at on their first visit, in the early stage of their relationship. They always asked for it when they made reservations.

As she joined them, Nick rose and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “But I’m not staying long. I don’t like to intrude on my guests’ dinner.”

“Oh, Rebecca, we want to visit a little,” Laura assured her. “We hardly ever get to see you anymore.”

“Life is busy. What can I say?” she replied with a grin. “And I’m not complaining. In this business, busy is good.”

“Mmm, I can see why you’re busy, with desserts like these,” Laura complimented her, closing her eyes as she savored the rich, creamy confection.