She wanted people to treat her like they would anyone else. Surely Zelma wanted the same.
“I have to admit, I’ve never been in a kitchen, except in passing,” Victoria said, as she stood next to the table wondering how to go about satisfying the ache in her stomach.
“If you’re used to having a housekeeper, then your family must be well-to-do,” Zelma said, eyes still warm and welcoming.
“Yes, my father has profited with his lumber and mining holdings,” Victoria replied, wondering how much Tom would allow her to share. Probably less was better at this point.
“Well, I’m not surprised Tom caught your eye. I always figured that, with his handsome features, he’d draw attention from some of the rich ladies he associated with.”
Victoria had no doubt Zelma was right and that Tom had gotten plenty of attention wherever he’d worked, but at the moment she was too hungry to think about it. “So, as you can probably guess,” Victoria said, “I’m fairly useless when it comes to household tasks.”
“Not useless, dear.” Zelma lifted the blanket covering her lap and pushed her chair away from the table. “Just not instructed.”
Once Zelma was removed from the barrier the table had provided, Victoria noticed the large wheels on the sides of the chair and a small one in the back. Apparently the chair was portable.
“I’ve always believed that anyone with a willing attitude can learn anything new.” Zelma gripped the two wheels in front and strained against them, causing the chair to roll backward even more. “Especially if they have a patient instructor.”
With the blanket pulled up almost to her knees, two uneven stumps were visible beneath Zelma’s skirt. Victoria could only imagine the many things Zelma had to learn to do without having her feet, just as her mother had to learn to do things differently after she’d lost her sight. If Zelma and her mother could overcome obstacles and adjust to challenges, certainly she could too.
“I’ve had to learn a lot of patience over the years,” Zelma said following Victoria’s gaze to her missing limbs. “So if you need a patient instructor, I’m more than happy to be one for you.”
Victoria nodded. “Thank you, Zelma.”
“You can call me Mom if you want to.”
Victoria knew she should decline, that to call Zelma Mom would only take the deceit about the true nature of their marriage relationship to new level. But the hope in Zelma’s eyes was too hard to resist. “Thank you. Mom.”
With that, Zelma smiled. “Now, why don’t you get behind me, dear, and help wheel me into the kitchen. We’ll start with learning how to make coffee. How does that sound?”
Victoria rounded the back of the chair. “That sounds perfect.”
Chapter 11
Tom picked at the charred cod, searching for any edible pieces. He moved his knife to the fried potatoes, and was met with the same problem. The food Victoria had prepared wasn’t worth feeding to the sharks.
Across the dining room table, his dad was shoveling bite after bite into his mouth without a break, as if the meal was fit for a king. His dad paused with the fork halfway between his plate and mouth. He pointed his forkful of food at Tom’s plate, and his eyes held a rebuke. Tom could almost hear his dad’s voice—Every good husband eats the food his wife puts in front of him gratefully and without complaint.
“I like the seasoning on the beans,” Dad said to Victoria, his mouth half full. He looked pointedly at Tom again.
And a good husband always finds something positive to say to his wife, even when there doesn’t seem to be anything. Tom had grown up with his dad’s nuggets of wisdom and had seen him practice everything he preached. But he’d never had the opportunity to test any of the advice himself. Until now.
Next to him, Victoria sat in her chair stiffly. Strands of her hair were plastered to her forehead, and her face was flushed—likely from the heat of working in the kitchen on an already sweltering day. Although the interior of the house was cooler than outside, it was still uncomfortably hot with the humidity that had rolled in.
She’d only taken five tiny bites from her own plate. And she’d nearly choked on two of them. If Victoria couldn’t eat the meal, surely Dad didn’t expect him to attempt it, much less compliment her.
But Dad continued to eat, and Mom did likewise, albeit much more carefully and slowly. Another glare from Dad told him that yes, indeed,