Beauty and the Baker Read online

  Beauty and the Baker

  Cowboys & Angels #39

  Christine Sterling

  Table of Contents

  License Note

  Get Free Books

  Dedication

  Lorraine’s Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Buttercream

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Leave a Review

  Sneak Peek – Tempting the Tailor

  Sneak Peek – Bride in Blue

  Acknowledgements

  Read all of Christine’s Books

  About Christine

  License Note

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  -- Christine Sterling

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  Dedication

  For Mary Wiles.

  Thank you for sharing your stories of your mother, Monica Lorraine Phillips Ball.

  I hope I’ve done her chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting justice.

  Photo courtesy of Mary Wiles.

  Lorraine’s Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Buttercream

  When I was talking with Mary about her mother’s cakes, the one she said was always requested, was Lorraine’s Chocolate Cake. The secret ingredient is hot coffee.

  Cake Ingredients:

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  1 cup light brown sugar

  1 cup granulated sugar

  3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  1 cup milk

  1/2 cup canola oil

  2 eggs

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 cup strong hot coffee

  Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

  1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

  3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

  3 ½ - 4 cups powdered sugar

  2-4 tablespoons milk as needed

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  Instructions:

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

  Butter & flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

  In a large bowl combine flour, both sugars, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

  Using a mixer, mix together milk, oil, eggs and vanilla in an extra-large bowl until combined.

  Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients with the mixer on low.

  Pour in the hot coffee (Batter will be very thin).

  Divide between the prepared pans and bake for 23-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

  Make the frosting while the cake is baking and set aside. Cool the cake completely before frosting.

  Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

  Add butter to a stand mixer with the whisk attachment. Beat until fluffy.

  Add in cocoa powder, powdered sugar, milk and vanilla extract. Beat until thick and creamy. If frosting is too thick add more milk. If it is too runny add more powdered sugar.

  Set aside until you are ready to frost the cake.

  Frost cake when completely cool.

  Store at room temperature in an airtight container for up to 3 days!

  Chapter 1

  August 1893

  Charlie Stockton slowly opened his eyes before closing them again. He wasn’t sure where he was, just that he was lying on his belly in a bed that wasn’t his own.

  He felt like he had woolen rags stuffed in his mouth. The insides of his cheeks were dry, and his tongue was scratchy. He swallowed. He didn’t even have enough spit to make a difference.

  He tried to shift positions but groaned with every movement. It felt like his back was on fire.

  Fire.

  He didn’t want to think about that.

  He tried to replace the thought of the flames licking his body with anything. He had no idea where he was, or what he was doing there; so, he started reciting what he knew.

  Charles Harold Stockton.

  Charlie for short.

  Parents were Harold and Lydia Stockton.

  His middle name came from his father.

  Lydia died three years ago.

  His younger sister was Cassandra.

  He was in his twenties. Cassie had just turned nineteen.

  He missed her birthday.

  No pets.

  His best friend was Ian Poole.

  Ian’s family was from Dorset, England.

  Ian called him “Pretty Boy,” on account of his dark Irish good looks.

  Both families lived in a rundown tenement on the lower east side, which was owned by Mr. Weston.

  Charlie gave a shudder thinking of the man responsible for his injuries. Cassandra was fortunate she was able to flee with their father. She didn’t have to endure what occurred after that fateful day in their apartment.

  Charlie didn’t want to open his eyes again. The light was piercing. Instead he listened to the sounds around him. The window must be open as he could hear the birds outside and a soft breeze caressed his skin.

  He could hear the sounds of shoes clacking against a wooden floor. The sound of metal against metal reached his ears. He heard the soft murmur of a woman’s voice, but he couldn’t decipher the words.

  Perhaps if he just moved his head and not his whole body. He leaned up a little bit; just enough to turn his head to the other cheek, before placing it back down on the sheets.

  The sheets were slightly damp, so either he was perspiring or drooling. Neither option sounded very appealing.

  “Oh, you’re awake,” a voice chirped above him. “I’ll let the doctor know.”

  “Wat- wat- ter,” Charlie said. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak. He opened one eye so he could look at the person with the bird-like voice.

  He must be dreaming. She looked like an angel.

  Or a bird.

  She had a white hat made of stiff material that branched out like wings on either side of her head. She wore a white dress with a white apron.

  Her hair was the color of honey that his mother liked in her tea and her deep brown eyes were surrounded by long lashes.

  Charlie could see several other women behind her that were dressed similarly. One even had a red and blue cloak.

  They must be nurses.

  He closed his eyes again. The light was so bright.

  “After the doctor comes and sees you,” she chirped again. Charlie looked back to her, but she was already gone, her heels clicking against the floor. Even her movements were very bird-like. She flitted between the beds down out of sight.

  She came back shortly, thereafter, escorted by a man in dark pants with a dark suit jacket. They stopped at the end of his bed.

  Charlie couldn’t see them, but he didn’t hear the footsteps go any fur
ther than that.

  His vision was blocked by a dark object, which Charlie realized was the man in the suit. He pulled a chair over and sat down, looking at Charlie. He had a board in his hand, with papers attached to it that he was flipping back and forth.

  “How about we get you a drink of water?” the man asked, his attention returning to the papers in front of him. His voice was very soothing. Charlie tried to nod. “No need for you to move, son.”

  Charlie heard the nurse move behind the doctor and then the sound of water being poured in a glass caught his attention.

  “That will be all, nurse,” a man’s voice said.

  “Yes, doctor,” the angel chirped, and Charlie could once again hear her shoes clacking down the room.

  The doctor held a rye straw to Charlie’s lips, allowing him to take sips of the cool water. Charlie swished the water around before swallowing. The doctor put the glass on the side table and leaned over so he and Charlie were nose to nose.

  “I’m glad to see you are awake. It was touch and go for a while,” the doctor said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I’m Dr. Wagner. I’ve been taking care of you, along with my colleague, Dr. Acker.”

  “Where am I?” Charlie croaked. “And why am I laying on my stomach?”

  “All in good time, young man,” the doctor said. “A few answers first, especially given you’ve been unconscious for nearly three weeks.” He picked up the board and removed a pencil from his pocket. “Can I get your name?”

  “Charles.” Charlie took a deep swallow. “Charles Stockton. I go by Charlie.”

  “And what is your occupation, Mr. Stockton?”

  Occupation? Charlie thought about it for a minute. “I guess I don’t have a job.”

  Dr. Wagner looked over his glasses at Charlie. He made a sound and then turned back to his paper. “I am going to say you are around, what? Twenty-five?”

  “No.” Charlie tried to shake his head. “Only twenty-three.”

  “Do you know how you got your injuries?”

  Images of fire, screaming, burning skin invaded his thoughts. If he closed his eyes, he could almost relive the smell of his flesh burning. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t even lift his hand to wipe it away. His arms seemed heavy and useless. He tried to wiggle his toes.

  There. At least he was able to move something.

  The doctor must have seen the movement, as his gaze was now directed to Charlie’s feet under the sheet.

  “I don’t know,” Charlie finally said. “I don’t know how I got them.”

  “Well, you were lucky that someone came by and heard you. The other boy you were with wasn’t so fortunate.”

  There were two boys. That much Charlie remembered. Ian, his best friend and James, one of the younger boys assigned as a runner between departments. Both worked at the factory with him.

  “How old was the boy?”

  The doctor thought about it for a moment. “Appeared younger than you.”

  James. He was only fourteen.

  Charlie allowed another tear to fall.

  “Did they find anyone else?”

  “No,” the doctor said solemnly. “Was there someone else there?”

  Charlie didn’t want to give anything away. “No,” he said quietly.

  “You were pretty badly burned. Did someone do this to you?”

  What was he supposed to say? That he stood up for something he believed was right and it resulted in him being tortured and the death of a young boy, if not his best friend?

  He knew exactly who did this to him. Even if he didn’t see their faces, he knew. There was no doubt.

  He looked the doctor straight in the eye. “No,” he lied. “It was an accident.”

  The doctor didn’t look convinced. He sat there for a minute, with his ankle resting on his knee. Finally, Dr. Wagner clapped his hands against his legs and stood. “Well, if you decide you want to discuss it, let one of the nurses know. I can stop by or I can bring the Chaplain over.”

  Charlie knew he would never speak of what happened again, so instead, he simply nodded.

  “Let’s take a quick look at how you are healing.” Charlie caught the movement of the doctor pulling a curtain around the bed to afford them a measure of privacy. The cool air blistered his back as the doctor pulled the sheet away. Charlie gave a quick intake of breath. He felt a bandage pulling away from the skin on his back. “You are actually looking much better. I think the larvae have done their job extremely well.”

  “Larvae?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. We used larvae. You’d call them maggots. They eat the dead skin and leave the healthy skin intact so it can heal.” The doctor put his head out of the curtain. “Nurse,” he called. “I need a dressing kit and a tub of burn salve. Be quick about it.”

  Charlie heard a muffled response. “How bad is it?”

  The doctor leaned back in. “It is mostly your back and legs. It is almost as if the fire was behind you and never came around front.”

  “I dunno,” Charlie replied. He tried shifting again. The doctor disappeared behind the curtain again, before reappearing and placing several items alongside Charlie on the thin mattress.

  He heard someone else approach behind him. He tried to turn his head in that direction, but the doctor placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Be still. It is just Nurse Watts. She is going to assist me with changing your bandages.”

  The nurse spoke in a deep voice. It didn’t have the chirp-like quality of the other nurse. Charlie closed his eyes and strained to hear the bird-like voice of the nurse he saw before. He thought he could hear her singing at one of the other beds.

  Charlie concentrated on her sweet song as he tried to ignore the doctor and nurse conversing over his back. It didn’t hurt as badly as he thought. The doctor said that was because he still had the morphine in his system.

  Charlie didn’t know when they were finished as he had drifted off to sleep with the sounds of an angel in a white uniform singing to him in his dreams.

  It had been three weeks since he woke up in the hospital. Dr. Wagner finally said that he was healed enough to go home. Wherever home would be now.

  He woke up in Baltimore, Maryland. He didn’t recall how he arrived there, but he did recall a warehouse down by the water and what followed afterwards.

  He knew the physical pain would eventually subside, but how could he ever get rid of those images in his mind?

  Charlie was relieved to be leaving, but sad that he didn’t get a chance to see the nurse with the lovely voice before he left. In fact, she hadn’t been there since the day after he woke up.

  Instead, he saw Nurse Watts every day. And not that she was unkind, she just didn’t have that angelic quality of the singing nurse.

  When Dr. Wagner finally released him, he was provided a new set of clothes since the ones he had on were burnt. From the church, Dr. Wagner said. Charlie didn’t care where they came from. He was just thankful they were clean.

  His few possessions were stuffed in a cloth bag and handed to him. He was surprised that they weren’t stolen, but Dr. Wagner said that he ran a very honest establishment and wouldn’t tolerate thieving a patient’s belongings.

  In the bag was a flower pin that he wore on his lapel and some loose change. The pin was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. It didn’t even resemble a flower, but a mishmash of metal that had been welded together.

  His sister Cassie gave it to him on his birthday when he turned ten. She saved two cents of her salary, which was a week’s wages, so she could purchase the bit from one of the workers down the road. He had worn it every day since then.

  Charlie fingered the forty cents in his pocket. It wasn’t enough to get back home to New York, but he could catch a ride on one of the trains headed north.

  He stopped to ask a man where the freight yard was and then headed in that direction, his too large shoes slapping against the ground with every step he took.

  The
train was just pulling out of the station, when he saw one of the line tramps begin to close the door on one of the cars.

  Charlie took off at a run and held his hand out to catch the tramp’s attention. The man saw him and pushed the door open a bit more before lying on his belly and reaching his arms out towards Charlie.

  Charlie grabbed the hands and allowed himself to be pulled into the car.

  “Thanks, friend,” Charlie said, pulling himself to his knees.

  “Where you going to, son?” the tramp asked, before leaning up against the far wall. Charlie let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim interior. There were at least six men lined up against the wall or sitting on hay bales. Several of the men nodded to him.

  “New York,” Charlie said. “For now,” he added as an afterthought.

  The man nodded. “Some of these gents are going to Philadelphia. Others are headed to New York.” The man reached his hand out to Charlie. “Call me Sam.”

  “Charlie,” he said, taking Sam’s hand. Sam appeared to be as old as Charlie’s father. He had kind eyes and a weathered face. His hand was wrinkled, but strong.

  “We don’t ask too many questions here. Come on over and meet everyone.” Sam patted a hay bale next to him. “Boys, introduce yourselves.”

  The men went around and gave their names. Charlie tried to put them to memory as they went around the car, but when they got to the end, the only one he remembered was Sam and a man named Duncan. Duncan was a large man with a Scottish accent. He had to be nearly seven feet tall. The man was memorable. No way would Charlie forget his name.

  Once the introductions were complete, Charlie went and sat on the bale, leaning his back against the car. He looked around once more at the men around him.

  Most were wearing clothes that were ragged or patched. He stood out in his new clothes from the church. He pulled his jacket closer around him and settled against the wall, searching for a position that didn’t hurt his back.

  His skin was healed, he was just still tender. The sound of the wheels lulled him into a state of drowsiness. Soon it was coupled with the gentle sound of a guitar and a voice singing softly. He felt his eyes getting heavier. It must have done the same to the others because soon the car was filled with snores sounding in harmony.