Page 12 of May I Kiss the Bride
“What would your father think if you were professionally trained?”
Viola lifted a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s not possible for a woman like me. My parents will find me a husband, one who’s properly rich. I’ll have two children, a boy and a girl. The boy will go into law or banking. The girl will be beautiful and marry another rich man. And when I’m in my rocking chair, tapping away my final days, wanting to be a nurse will seem like a faded dream of a girl I once knew.”
Rey gazed at her for a long moment, and she gazed right back.
“Well, if you want my opinion, Viola Delany, you can have the husband and two children, plus follow your dream. It’s 1905, ma’am.”
VIOLA HAD NO IDEA WHY she’d gone and told Sheriff Rey things that she hadn’t even told her own mother. When she once brought up nursing school to her father, he’d blustered and ranted, firmly putting her back into the place where she was expected to exist. And the months and years had passed. Now she was twenty-seven and working in a tiny bakery for an aunt.
“You look like him, you know,” Aunt Beth said as she perched on the wooden stool in front of the shop register.
Viola paused in peeling the bushel of peaches she’d been working on for the past hour. Sidney was peeling apples, and Della was sweeping the floor.
“Who?” Viola’s mind had been on Sheriff Rey an inordinate amount of the time since his near fainting in the shop six days ago. He was much recovered now, or at least he seemed to be when he stopped in each day at 2:00 to shoo men out of the shop and make sure there were no troublemakers.
He merely tipped his hat at Viola, greeted her aunt and asked if there was anything she needed, then strode out.
Oh, she’d seen him about town. And if they made eye contact, he’d nod and tip his hat.
Viola was about ready to knock that hat off of his head, if only to get him to say more than a two-word greeting.
“Your father,” Aunt Beth continued. “You remind me of him.”
Viola couldn’t have been more surprised. People always told her she looked like her mother—same blonde hair, similar height, and curvy build.
“You have his eyes.” Aunt Beth looked toward the windows, her painted brows pinched.
Viola wouldn’t say her aunt looked exactly like her mother—but there were plenty of similarities between the two sisters.
Now Viola blinked. She supposed her eyes were the same color as her father’s, but no one else had really commented on that.
“You have his forthrightness and stubbornness,” Aunt Beth continued as if she were performing a monologue with an audience of three.
Della had stopped sweeping, and Sidney had stopped peeling apples.
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Viola teased, because Aunt Beth sounded bleak, subdued, and something prickled at the back of Viola’s neck. What had brought all of this on?
Aunt Beth pushed herself up from the stool, then rubbed her hands as if they ached, which they probably did.
“Do you want me to put on that cream for you?” Viola offered.
“That would be nice, dear,” Aunt Beth said in a tone that sounded like she was thinking of something else entirely. “Do you think you girls can run the shop today? I’m quite tired.”
Viola’s mouth nearly dropped open, but she nodded anyway. “Of course.”
“Can I run the register?” Sidney asked in a hopeful tone.
“I don’t care who does it, but there must be a double count upon closing.”
“Yes, Miss Cannon.” Sidney gave Della a triumphant glance.
Della’s scowl lasted only a second, then she returned to sweeping.
“Come, Viola,” Aunt Beth said.
Viola followed her aunt up the stairs to the second floor, where she lived in a suite of rooms that included a tiny kitchenette, a sofa by the window, and two narrow beds in the bedroom.
When Aunt Beth settled on the sofa, she drew an afghan about her legs even though it was plenty warm.
