The Engagement Charade. Karen Kirst

      His footsteps didn’t carry him to the hallway, as expected. Instead, he approached the table near the stoves where she worked.

      “Mrs. Jameson.”

      She frowned, wondering exactly when she’d come to dislike being called that. “It’s Ellie,” she countered. “You call Flo and Sally by their first names. Why do you refuse to use mine? Did you have a schoolmate named Ellie when you were young? A girl who teased you unmercifully? Or an old, crotchety aunt named Ellie who pinched your cheek too hard and made you eat beets?”

      Flo’s chuckling filled the sudden silence. Alexander looked taken aback. “You’re the first Ellie I’ve encountered.”

      “Then may we cease with the formality?”

      “Ellie, I’m going into my office now.”

      “Can I get you a glass of milk? Or chamomile tea?”

      “No milk. No tea. No weak coffee. Under no circumstance do I wish to be disturbed today. I do not want to hear the day’s menu or be consulted about decorations. Is that clear, Ellie?”

      Irritated, she slapped the dough with more force than necessary. Flour puffed about her fingers. Why must he be so determined to resist her attempts at friendship? “Perfectly clear, sir.”

      “Good.” Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the hallway.

      “Oh, Mr. Copeland?”

      Shoulders tensing, he twisted around, one haughty brow lifted in impatience. “Yes?”

      “Does fire warrant your attention?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Fire. Do you wish to be told if there’s a fire?”

      Flo ceased stirring the batter, humor touching her fleshy features.

      Alexander opened his mouth to speak.

      Ellie cut him off. “What about a robbery? Would you like to be informed of such an event? Or an altercation between customers?”

      He tilted his head to one side, an errant lock of hair sliding into his eyes. “Did you skip breakfast?”

      Her fist slipped from her hip. “Sir?”

      “I’ve noticed you have a tendency to lose your equanimity when you skip a meal.” He made a circling motion to indicate their workspaces. “Perhaps you should eat something.”

      He quit the room, his office door closing with a decided click.

      Flo’s chuckles brought Ellie out of her stupor.

      “What just happened?” Ellie spread her hands wide.

      “Our boss revealed he’s not as oblivious to goings-on as we thought.” She winked. “He’s right, you know. You do get tetchy when you’re hungry.”

      “Humph.”

      Ellie tried not to take her frustration out on the dough. Her customers wouldn’t be satisfied with biscuits as hard as river boulders. She contemplated the puzzling exchange all while bustling about the kitchen. Part of her was inexplicably pleased that he’d paid enough attention to notice something as personal as her moods. The other part quailed at the prospect. What else had he concluded but hadn’t voiced? Could he have added her extreme fatigue and frayed emotions together to equal her current condition?

      She wasn’t sure why the thought of his knowing unsettled her. Pregnancy was a sensitive time for a woman, especially one without a husband. Alexander was her boss. Not only that—he’d created an emotional barrier between himself and his employees. He was neither amiable nor approachable. Alexander Copeland was not a man to invite confidences. Hard and aloof, he didn’t possess finer feelings. Why, he probably had never even courted a lady!

      By the time ten o’clock rolled around, Ellie was eager to embark on her mission to find lodgings. Ralph’s warnings resurfaced, dislodging her consternation over Alexander. She had more important matters to attend to, like securing a future for herself and her baby.

      After explaining her intentions to Flo, who readily agreed to start on the potato gratin that would accompany the roast at the noon meal, Ellie went to inspect the room for rent at the post office. The owner of the building, Lyle Matthews, was a pleasant man who’d likely be a good landlord. However, the room was narrow and musty and the weekly fee far beyond her means. She thanked him for his time and, disappointed but trusting God would provide for her needs, hurried across the street to the mercantile to pick out material for the café.

      The proprietor and his wife, Quinn and Nicole Darling, were exceptionally helpful. No matter how busy, the couple remained patient and kind and treated each of their customers with respect. Today, Nicole laid out bolts of fabric for Ellie to peruse. She came close to choosing a ridiculous lime-green cotton printed with pink birds simply to irk Alexander. She reined in the impulse and, for the curtains, chose a sensible, soft yellow that would lend cheer to the space. The tablecloths would be white with matching yellow overlay. With her purchases recorded in Quinn’s ledger, she was on her way out the main entrance when a board of announcements caught her eye.

      The papers consisted mostly of ads for prized bulls and assorted livestock, farm equipment and workers. Her hope had fizzled by the time she read the last one.

      “Excuse me, miss.”

      Ellie scooted out of the way as a heavyset farmer removed an ad for a rabbit hutch and, with a nod, ambled down the aisle. She looked at the board again and realized a second paper had been hidden by the one he’d taken. As she peered closer at the wrinkled note, her heart leaped with excitement. She ripped it from the nail and hurried onto the boardwalk.

      After leaving her purchases at the café, Ellie walked to Mrs. Calvin Trentham’s house. Located near the church, the white clapboard house boasted a shingled roof and black shutters. Late-summer flowers provided bursts of violet, orange and green along the foundation. Thick groves of deciduous trees dominated the landscape and gave way to the steep, forested mountainside a couple of acres behind the house.

      Ellie’s chest grew tight. The farmhouse was very similar to her grandparents’, the last place she’d felt completely safe and free to be herself. She squared her shoulders and knocked lightly on the door. Her summons was answered by a diminutive woman with gray coronet braids and periwinkle-blue eyes set in a thin face.

      “May I help you?”

      “Good morning, I’m looking for Mrs. Trentham?”

      “That’s me.”

      “My name is Ellie Jameson. I saw your note at the mercantile. Do you still have a room to let?”

      Blinking in surprise, the woman chuckled. “I posted that months ago. When I didn’t get any takers, I figured Mr. Darling had tossed it in the waste bin.” Waving Ellie inside, she closed the door and gestured toward a room to their left. “Would you care for coffee?”

      Clutching her reticule in her hands, she shook her head, her ponytail tickling her neck. The scents of cinnamon, nutmeg and yeasty bread clung to the air, putting her in mind of cinnamon rolls. Her stomach rumbled. If she wasn’t queasy, she was starving. There was no in between.

      “No, thank you. I can’t linger. I work at the Plum, and I’m needed back to help with the noon meal.”

      “I patronized the place years ago. Hated to see Mrs. Greene leave.” She nodded in understanding, her gaze keen. “Are you from here originally? I don’t recognize the surname.”

      “I arrived in Gatlinburg in May. My husband passed in June, and now I find myself in need of alternate lodgings.”

      Mrs. Trentham made a commiserating noise and patted Ellie’s hand. “You poor dear. I lost my Calvin a decade ago. We were together for forty-five years.” Glancing about the neat room made cozy with quilts and colorful knitted throws, she said, “Our children have all moved away. The quiet gets to me sometimes. That’s why