Bittersweet by Cathy Marie Hake

sandwiches along with pie for dessert.” “Pie!” Sean perked up.
    “The boy ate an entire pie all to himself the other day at the contest. You’d think he’s had enough,” Hilda huffed.
    “Colin ate two whole pies.” Sean cast a look at his older brother. “And he got sick from it.”
    “That was a few days ago.” Colin opened the door to the diner. “I’m ready for more now.”
    Josh joined them. They’d all eaten ham sandwiches and started dessert when Ethel exited the kitchen. “I declare, I don’t understand,” she told the group. “I fricasseed four chickens today, figurin’ folks’d snap it up. Only one order for it. And my pork chops! I baked up eight big fat ones with radish and raisin stuffing in a molasses sauce. With you having sandwiches, all that good food’s going to waste.”
    “That’s a shame,” Josh said.
    Laney nodded. “Ethel, if you can box up the chicken, we’ll take it with us.”
    “We will not!” Hilda half shouted.
    “Of course we will.” Laney blotted her mouth with the napkin.
    “We will?” Ruth gawked at her.
    “Yes, we will.”
    Ethel bustled back toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the chicken ready to go.” She reappeared soon thereafter and stacked several pasteboard boxes on a nearby table. “They didn’t understand, Laney, but I do. When you’re sweet on a man, he’s on your mind night and day.”
    Laney wanted to crawl under the table. She’d tried hard not to be obvious about her attraction to Galen; a lady oughtn’t pursue a gentleman.
    Blind to the embarrassment she was causing, Ethel prattled on. “You’ve been worried about Galen O’Sullivan.”
    Ruth burst out, “We’ve all been concerned.”
    “No need for that. My niece packed a fine meal for Rick Maltby to take out to him just the other day. Myrtle is helpful like that—going to make some man a fine wife. She thought to take more meals out to him, but it’s just not done. A gal can’t be too careful about her reputation.” Ethel patted the top of the uppermost box. “Anyway, no reason for anyone to fret over Galen. My good food will fill him right up.”
    Hilda eyed the boxes. “That’s enough to give ten men a royal bellyache.”
    “I figured on ten,” Ethel said, completely oblivious to Hilda’s meaning. “There are the eight of you here, and Galen back on the farm. He’ll be hungry enough to eat for two. Just to be sure you’ll all be full, I boxed up my famous chocolate applesauce cake.”
    “Oh, you really didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said.
    “But we appreciate it all the same.” Laney smiled.
    As Josh stacked the boxes in the back of one of the rented buckboards, he gave her a wary look. “Laney, this is a bad idea.
    Try feeding any of this to Galen, and he’ll get sicker than a dog.
    He’ll never forget—” “Or forgive you,” Ruth inserted.
    Hilda gave the boxes a dark look. “Elaine Louise McCain, what possessed you to take four fricasseed chickens?”
    Laney popped open her pretty paper parasol. “It was the better choice.”
    “I suppose all things are relative,” Ruth said slowly.
    “Ethel’s a nice woman but a terrible cook.” Hilda shook her head. “Her food’s not fit for—” “ Human consumption,” Laney supplied as she sashayed toward the mercantile. “I’ll go see if we have any mail waiting for us.”

    Galen gathered the weary horse’s reins and watched the rider speed off on the fresh mount. Walking the mare to cool her down, he called over to Ishmael, “You’d best put your hat on. That field’s supposed to grow barley, not beets.”
    “I reckon I’ll slap my hat on my head onc’t my face gets as red as that hair of yourn.”
    “That was at least half an hour ago.”
    “Whoa.” Ishmael stopped at the end of the row he’d just plowed. He rubbed his sleeve across his damp forehead. “Boss, I got a twin sister who frets over me. No need for you to take up whar she leaves off.”
    “She’s not here to