What’s your favorite chocolate dessert? 

I love chocolate! I especially love chocolate cake! It’s so good paired with vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of fudge sauce.

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So, what’s your favorite chocolate dessert?

This is the first part of Chapter 1 of my novella, The Bakery Bride, part of The Underground Railroad Brides Collection:

Chapter 1

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1859

“Son, when are you going to get married?”

Oh no, she had to go and mention that. His mother acted as if he were the only unmarried, upper-class Negro man in Philadelphia. Joseph Adams ignored her and shoved the paddle into the hot, wood-fired masonry oven. He pulled out the thick, crusty loaves of bread. Thin fingers of sweat trickled down his face. He set the paddle of hot bread onto the counter and flexed his aching arms. The pain reminded him of his late-night excursion with other free black abolitionists. He’d been unloading supplies into the church, getting ready for the next group of runaway slaves they were expecting. The yeasty scent of the bread enveloped him as he sighed and wiped his forehead with a towel. Hopefully, his headache would go away soon.

“Boy, you hear me talking to you?”

“Mother, I hear you.” Did she honestly think he could predict when he’d be getting married? His mother’s mouth pressed down while she arranged loaves of bread into large square baskets. Her bony shoulders drooped. She’d been so miserable since Father died one month ago.

Joseph focused on the rough pine walls and two empty slab tables in their bakery. Visions of sitting with his father at those tables, talking about life, filled his mind. He eyed his mother. She hadn’t been eating as well as she should be, and she’d lost a lot of weight. He was worried about her, but, when he tried to get her to see the doctor, she’d get upset. He heard her crying every night. Hopefully, she’d soon heal from her sadness. He figured her grief was making her act so irrational about his future.

He pointed to the office in the back room. He briefly eyed the stacks of parchment papers and ink well resting on top of the antique desk. He then focused on the painting of his late father which was centered on the office wall. “Didn’t you tell me you had to do some bookkeeping today?” Maybe if he got her focused on something else, she’d stop asking him about holy matrimony.

She shook her head, the red kerchief on her head bouncing with the movement. “You never answered my question about marriage.”

No, he hadn’t. She’d asked that question at least ten times over the last month. His response hadn’t changed so why bother answering? “Mother, I don’t want to talk about marriage.” He again gestured toward the back room. “If you don’t want to do the bookkeeping, then why don’t you go and rest for a bit.” He figured she could sit in the chair and prop her feet up. Maybe close her eyes for a few minutes.

“No, if anybody should be resting, it should be you. You got up before I did.” In spite of her words, she made her way over to the back room. She dropped into the chair and propped her feet onto a stool and leaned back. “You were up hours before I was.” She then closed her eyes.

Indeed he was. He missed having his father in the bakery, helping out in the kitchen. Now he had to work even harder since they had yet to hire someone to take his father’s place. Working the extra hours made him sick, literally. Thoughts of running away from the family business and never looking back rushed through his mind. How nice it would be to never bake another loaf of bread. The loud screech of the door opening invaded his thoughts.

Joseph focused on the small, dark-skinned woman who strolled into his shop. A few black curls peeked from beneath her bonnet. As soon as he spotted her full lips and sculpted cheekbones, he paused. He could look at this woman all day. He took a deep breath, realized he’d stopped breathing. Her sharp eyes scanned the red-bricked walls and rough wooden tables. He wiped his sweaty palms on his apron and approached her. “May I help you?”

“I’s come about the job.”

They’d just started looking for a replacement for his father. The few people who’d inquired had not passed his mother’s approval. This was the first time they’d ever tried to hire a nonfamily member for their business. He cleared his throat and stared at the woman. Her skin was the color of the dark chocolate they sometimes used in their flaky, crescent-shaped croissants. He asked the first question that popped into his mind. “What’s your name?”

“Ruth.”

Ruth. The name suited her. He studied her warm, cocoa-brown skin and her cheap gray dress. Scuffed brown shoes covered her dainty feet. When he again focused on her face, she looked away, as if embarrassed.

Realizing his staring made her uncomfortable, Joseph glanced away and cleared his throat. He schooled his face to a stern, businesslike expression before shifting his gaze back to her. “Ruth, have you worked in a bakery before?”

“No, I—”

“Do you need my assistance, Joseph?” At Mother’s voice, Joseph’s stomach curled with dismay. Ever since his father died, Mother had watched his every move, as if she didn’t trust him to run the bakery on his own. She focused on Ruth. “Did I hear you asking about the job?”

Ruth dipped her head. Mother scrutinized the young woman. “Yes’m. I’s come to see about work.”

Mother peered at her. “How did you know about this job?”

“Cyrus Brown says you lookin’ for a baker.”

Mother scrunched her eyebrows. “Who is Cyrus Brown?”

Ruth folded her arms over her chest. “He’s an abolitionist over at the church.”

“An abolitionist told you about this job?” Her voice vibrated through the room.

Joseph groaned inwardly. The last thing he needed was for Mother to get upset about the abolitionist movement. If she found out he was involved with the Underground Railroad, she’d have a conniption for sure. She’d often told him they should give money to the cause, but, not to get actively involved. He figured she was scared. She’d been so distressed since his father died that he had not found the right time to tell her about his recent involvement.

Mother cocked her head and squinted at Ruth. “How would an abolitionist know about this job?”

“Mother, it doesn’t matter. Ruth is here now, so we need to consider her for the position.”

Ruth nodded toward Joseph. “Thank you. I’s glad you said that.”

He gestured toward Mother. “Ruth, this is my mother, Elizabeth, and I’m Joseph Adams.”

Ruth nodded at Joseph before focusing on his mother. She dipped her head. “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am.”

Mother didn’t acknowledge Ruth’s greeting. Instead, her dark eyes assessed her like a hawk. “I can’t have someone working in our bakery who talks like that.”

Joseph cringed. He needed to step in, and Mother needed to tone down her elitist attitude. Their family had been free for two generations and had amassed a considerable amount of wealth. Mother wore their upper-class status like a badge, making sure everybody knew they owned their own business and catered to both White and Black elite clientele. “She doesn’t have to talk to anyone. I’ll wait on the customers.” As long as Ruth knew how to bake, he was sure she’d fit into their business.

Mother’s chin jutted out. “I’m in charge around here. She just won’t do.”

Ruth’s dark eyes snapped to life and she stood taller. She folded her thin arms over her chest and looked directly into Mother’s face. “I’s can bake bread better than anybody around here. Let’s me prove it.”

Mother stepped back, obviously stunned. Joseph smiled. People rarely stood up to his tall, overbearing, and outspoken mother. Joseph liked Ruth’s spunk. Someone like Ruth was just what they needed around here to put Mother in her place. He needed to hurry up and give Ruth a chance before Mother got crazy and forced her to leave the bakery. He gestured toward their oven. “Come over to the oven, Ruth.”

With quick steps, she followed him to the workspace behind the counter. She glanced at the dough trough, the wood-fired masonry oven, the large counter space. She then took note of the sacks of flour in the corner. She seemed to be taking everything in, an inventory of her new surroundings. “You gots any nuts, berries, dried fruit…cinnamon?”

Joseph opened the cabinet and removed the dried cranberries, raisins, and a canister of cinnamon, pushed the items toward Ruth, then glanced at Mother and grinned. Mother remained uncharacteristically quiet. Usually when she met someone, she enjoyed dominating the conversation. Her silence told him she was either impressed or speechless—and it took a lot to make Mother speechless.

Ruth took the paddle, plunged it into the trough, and scooped some dough onto the counter. She then stopped, glanced around. “Do you have any dough that’s already been set out to rise?”

“Yes.” He rushed to give her the filled wooden bowl he’d placed near the oven earlier. She dumped the dough onto the workspace and sprinkled flour on top. Then, with deft hands, she worked the dough, sprinkling in the cinnamon, nuts, and dried fruit. Her small delicate hands looked so lovely…he could imagine watching her knead dough all day. She stopped working, turned toward him. “Where’s the other stuff?”

He frowned. What was she talking about? “Stuff?”

“To bake your bread. Sugar and stuff like that.”

He pointed toward the cabinet. “I’ll go get what you need.”

She shook her head. “I’ll get it.” She opened the cabinet and studied the shelves. She removed containers, opened the tops, and sniffed each one. Their containers of spices were clearly labeled, so he figured she just wanted to make sure their spices were fresh. She stopped sniffing, looked directly at him. “Don’t watch me.” The command flew from her mouth as her dark eyes pierced into his.

Goodness, he hadn’t been expecting that. He focused on Mother. Her narrowed, dark eyes and pressed mouth indicated her building anger. Joseph’s hopes for Ruth earning a position in their bakery deflated.

Not wanting to crowd Ruth, Joseph left her side and strolled over to Mother, who gestured at Ruth as she leaned toward him. “Don’t let that foolish girl give you orders. No way is she working here.” Despite her whispered voice, he wondered if Ruth could hear her.

“Mother…” Joseph’s grip on his temper slipped at Mother’s imperious attitude.

He eyed Ruth again. It appeared she’d dumped some herbs and spices into a bowl. He wondered what she’d put into the dish. She dumped the contents into the dough and her hands again kneaded the mixture. Soon, she’d made four perfectly round small loaves. When she finally stood back and pressed her fists against her waist, he joined her behind the counter.

“I usually lets this rise for a hour. But, I knows you don’t want to wait.”

Joseph figured Ruth knew Mother was uneasy about hiring her, and she wanted them to taste her bread as soon as possible. She took a pinch of flour and turned toward the large, beehive-shaped brick oven. Orange flames licked from the back of the baking hole. She tossed the flour into the oven. The cloud of flour floated down on the brick surface. The white powder slowly darkened from the heat. Her beautiful lips moved. He figured she was counting how long it took for the flour to brown. She then gave a little nod, took the handle of the large paddle, and shoved the loaves into the oven. Her lips continued to move silently. He wondered if she was counting, or praying…or what. She cleaned up her mess on the counter and returned the bowl into the cabinet.

A delicious fruity scent soon filled the kitchen. Joseph’s mouth watered. He had been so busy he hadn’t stopped for dinner that afternoon. The heavenly scent grew stronger, and Joseph’s stomach rumbled. About twenty minutes later, Ruth lifted the paddle and quickly removed the hot, crusty loaves of bread. The dried fruit peeked through the cooked dough.

He opened the cabinet and removed the butter crock. They waited for the bread to slightly cool before Joseph sliced open one of the loaves. Steam exploded from the bread, releasing more of the delicious scent. He slathered butter on two thick slices of bread and carried the extra slice to Mother.

She eyed the delicious smelling bread. Her eyes sparked with curiosity. She accepted the bread and took a hearty bite.

His stomach rumbled again as he bit into the bread. Heaven help him. This bread tasted amazing. The combination of fruit, nuts, and cinnamon exploded into his mouth. He closed his eyes. Melted butter dribbled down his chin. He gobbled another bite. He wiped the stray butter away with his hand. There was something else in this bread, too…some other spices…what were they?

Mother gave him a critical glance. “Joseph, don’t forget your manners. You’re eating like a street beggar.”

He stopped eating. Bristling at Mother’s caustic tone, he scowled at his outspoken parent. She’d eaten her entire slice of bread. He’d never seen her consume such a large slice of bread so quickly. It figured she berated him for eating so fast when she’d practically done the same thing.

Well, he didn’t need to ask Mother if she wanted to hire Ruth. He already knew how she felt by the way she eyed Ruth’s tasty bread setting on the counter. Mother wanted another slice, but was too proud to say so. He was taking matters into his own hands. He focused on Ruth, coaxed her into the corner. Mother hovered, but he didn’t care. He needed to get Ruth to agree to work for them before another bakery snatched her up.

Her dark brown eyes appeared pensive and serious, and her pretty mouth drooped. Concern about being hired shone on her face. Well, she could stop worrying. Before he offered her the job, he had to ask her one question. “What did you put into the bread?”

She blinked, focused on him. “I can’t tell you.”

He jerked back. “Why not?”

“That’s my secret bread. If you want more of my bread, then you gots to hire me.”

Well, he already knew some of the ingredients…so, that was a start. But, what if he wanted to make the bread? What if Ruth were sick or delayed from coming to the bakery? How would he manage to make this bread if she wouldn’t tell him what was in it? Well, he’d figure all of that out later. For now, he just needed to make sure they hired Ruth. He offered his hand. “Ruth, would you like to work in our bakery?” He mentioned the wages they’d offer. Her brown, pretty eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if she were pleased, or if she were upset because she wanted more money.

Her face split into a huge grin as she shook his hand. “Yes, I accept.”

Mother narrowed her eyes. She approached them, pulled Joseph away from Ruth. “I need to talk to you.”

He sighed and followed his mother into their office. He eyed the fountain pen, inkwell, and parchment papers that littered the desk. He wished Mother would solely focus on her bookkeeping duties and leave the hiring up to him. “Joseph, you can’t hire that girl without my permission.”

“I just did.” It was high time he stood up to Mother.

“Well, you’re paying her too much money.” One reason their family had accumulated so much wealth was because Mother watched every penny they spent. She did the bookkeeping with a keen eye, always looking for ways to save money. “That girl is poor as they come. I can tell by the kind of clothes she’s wearing. She’s desperate for a job, and you could’ve offered her a much lower wage. She probably would’ve accepted it.”

He shook his head. He didn’t agree, not one bit. “Mother, Ruth is worth every cent I offered.” He wasn’t going to argue with his mother about this. Sometimes, talking to her just made him so tired. He often wondered if she were so miserable she just wanted to argue for no reason. “I’m not a fool, Mother. You know just as much as I do that our customers will be lining up to purchase Ruth’s bread.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Joseph. That girl is here to bake and nothing else.” She glared at him, folded her thin arms over her chest. “I saw you looking at her. If you even think about courting her, then you are a fool, the biggest fool I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Joseph turned on his heel and stormed toward the door, knocking his knee against the desk. Pain shot through his joint as parchment papers scattered onto the floor. He had to get out of there. No way could he stay in Mother’s presence for another minute. He limped toward the front of the bakery.

“Joseph, get back in here and pick up these papers.”

The scent of Ruth’s delicious bread lingered in the hot air. He pushed the door open and breathed deeply, limping outside and into the sun.

“Joseph!” His mother yelled from the door, but he’d already limped halfway down the street. No way would she follow him. She wouldn’t risk losing income by leaving the bakery unattended.

He finally dropped onto a bench beneath a huge oak tree. Bright sunlight sliced through the branches as the leaves danced in the wind. A man in a black suit rushed by, checking his pocket watch. Joseph closed his eyes, tilted his face toward the sky. He rubbed his aching knee and tried to calm down. He figured if he’d stayed around his mother another minute, he feared saying something he’d later regret.

Read the rest of The Bakery Bride in The Underground Railroad Brides Collection! Pre-order your copy today!