Chapter 19
Meg laughed when she found no herbs or spices of any kind—with the exception of salt and pepper—in the kitchen. She hadn’t thought to purchase any before Mrs. Allen came as she’d been so busy learning about Sam and the house. She’d kicked herself, realizing that she’d gotten all the supplies she might need—except seasoning.
She remembered her mother’s herb garden and headed outside, hoping she might find something she would use to make the chicken she’d prepared a bit better. She spent some time searching for something, anything in the garden, but what she found mostly were flowers—lots of flowers.
She’d found a bench near the far back corner and sat down, finding herself a little nervous as this whole thing began. And when she was nervous, the best thing to calm her down was to sing.
The weather was changing a bit as fall approached, and she found herself pulling her wool wrap around her more tightly against the chill. Before she knew it, she was singing—almost unknowingly, it was so natural.
As she finished and stood, she looked back to the house. Mrs. Allen had opened the window and noticed Meg in the garden. Meg had no way of knowing how long she’d been there, but her stomach fluttered a bit as she turned and walked back toward the house.
“Meg, that was marvelous,” Mrs. Allen said. “Sam hadn’t told me that you sing. And with the voice of an angel, at that.”
“Oh, it’s just something I grew up doing. Nothing special.”
“I beg to differ, my dear. It’s very special, indeed. No wonder you and Sam are so well-suited.”
She smiled down at her, her blue eyes crinkling just as Sam’s did, and slowly closed the window. Meg was left to wonder what she meant. Besides Sam’s ability to read music—a talent she did not have—he’d shown no signs of any interest at all in music. At least not to her.
She spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the chicken, peeling potatoes and even got some biscuits in the oven before Sam got home. Her mind wandered to what it would be like to cook for Sam—and children, them happily helping in the kitchen.
“That smells delicious,” Sam said, startling Meg as she took the roast chicken and potatoes that she’d prepared out of the oven and set it on the counter to rest.
She wiped her hands on her apron. She smiled at the compliment, glad that Sam felt her cooking at least smelled good—and was a little anxious to see if it tasted good also. Maria had taken over most of the cooking since her mother died, and she was feeling a little rusty.
“What is that herb on there? It truly smells fantastic.”
“This?” She picked up a green sprig that she’d laid around the outside of the chicken over the potatoes. “You don’t know what this is?”
He grinned shyly. “I’m not a cook. Not very good at it, never learned. I take most of my meals at the Occidental, so no, I don’t know what it is.”
“Hm. That must be why your herb garden has few herbs in it besides this rosemary.”
“I have rosemary in the garden?”
Meg’s eyebrows rose and she laughed, reaching for Sam’s hand and pulling him to the kitchen door, through to the garden. She reached for a sprig of the plant covered with spiky, gray green leaves and purple flowers. Breaking one off, she pulled off the leaves by sliding her fingers down its stalk and held her palm full of them up to Sam’s nose.
“Oh, my goodness. That’s exactly what it smells like in the kitchen,” he said as he stared at the rosemary bush.
“Yes, this is what my sister Rosemary was named after, obviously.”
“Well, it wasn’t that obvious to me,” Sam said as he broke off a sprig of rosemary as well.
“Are there any other herbs here?”
“None that I can see. Maybe a lavender bush?”
“So you came out and picked this just to use on the chicken?”
She looked to the back of the garden and the bench she’d sat on earlier, envisioning Sam sitting on it, bouncing one of their future children on his knee.
“Meg? Are you there?” Sam’s voice penetrated her daydream and she blinked a few times before she remembered she had been standing in the garden talking about rosemary.
“What? Oh, yes. I was just—”
“Daydreaming, I think.”
She fiddled with the pockets of her apron, anxious to get back into the warm kitchen. “Yes, daydreaming, but there’s no harm in it.”
“Not normally, but in the middle of a conversation, it’s a bit awkward.”
Meg turned quickly to Sam, hoping he wasn’t angry, and laughing as she recognized the grin that meant he was teasing. He heart fluttered at that smile as it always did.