Beloved Counterfeit by Kathleen Y'Barbo Page A

actually miss a meal. Dared she pray it?
    She turned her thoughts to Tess, who now sat on the kitchen floor with her favorite wooden spoon and a scowl. “So you made soup?”
    “No,” came the sullen response.
    Ruby picked up the empty tray and retraced her steps back into the kitchen. She’d handle Tess later. Likely the girl would emerge from her mood as quickly as she’d settled into it. She generally did. For now, however, the noon meal must hold Ruby’s attention.
    Besides, with all but one room in the boardinghouse claimed, there’d likely be at least ten around the table. A glance at the clock warned her they’d all be coming through the door soon. Wrapping the fresh bread in a tea towel, Ruby reached up to retrieve a basket then placed the barely cooled loaf inside.
    Ruby pressed past Tess with the bread in one hand and a stack of linens in the other.
    The place might have been only a modest boardinghouse in faraway Fairweather Key, but Mrs. Campbell insisted on proper manners, proper meals, and good linens. She’d boasted that her entire collection of napkins and tablecloths—reportedly once used by royalty—had been purchased for next to nothing at a wrecker’s auction. To back up her claim, each item bore the crest of Britain’s ruler in the corner.
    Though Mrs. Campbell had left Ruby to do as she pleased both in the kitchen and with the rules of the boardinghouse, Ruby had kept all in order as if the former judge’s wife still ruled the roost. Should she return tomorrow, Mrs. Campbell would indeed find everything quite unchanged. Except the recipes. Those Ruby had adjusted a bit.
    Another tug at her apron strings caused Ruby to nearly tumble backward. The bread basket, however, was not so fortunate. While the basket clattered to the floor and slid toward the kitchen, the bread parted ways to skid to a stop near the window. In her rush to help, Tess stumbled and stomped on the cloth-covered loaf.
    Or perhaps the act was intentional.
    Surveying the damage, Ruby decided the bread was ruined, though she might salvage enough of it to make a bread pudding for tomorrow night. She turned to walk back to the kitchen, and with each step, she prayed she might tamp down her anger lest she—
    The crumbled mess that had formerly been a stellar example of her bread-making skills went flying past Ruby’s head and slammed against the far wall. “Stewp! Say it. Stewp. Stew and soup!”
    “Maria Teresa—” Ruby covered her mouth even as her heart sank. One name more and, well, she’d not contemplate it.
    Tess looked stunned. “You said never to—”
    “I know what I said.” Ruby’s fingers shook, rendering her unable to retrieve what remained of the bread. “It was a mistake, Tess.”
    The door opened then shut, indicating the first of the hungry boarders had arrived. “What are you making, little one?” a familiar female voice called.
    “Stewp, Miss Emilie!” Tess said with more than a little quaver in her voice. “For Red.”
    “Soup and stew?” Ruby turned to see Emilie Gayarre standing in the doorway. “And look at this.” The schoolteacher stooped to reach for the mangled loaf. “You’ve made mush to go along with it.” Her gaze met Ruby’s, and Ruby thought she detected more than a note of sympathy there. “Busy morning?”
    Ruby mustered a smile before taking the remains of the bread and depositing them into the slop bucket. “I’ve had better.”
    Before Emilie could respond, Carol and Maggie burst through the back door and clattered to a halt when they spied their teacher. Looking like the cat that ate the canary happened too often with this pair, but today the expression was especially pronounced.
    Ruby glanced over at Emilie then back at the girls. So often since the twins were born, Ruby had wondered if there might be some sort of unspoken communication between them, some language of signals and expressions that only the two of them were privy to.
    As if hearing her thoughts,