Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (15 page)

“How do you
know that
?”

Fee shrugged and pushed her black glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She helped me prep the tearoom trays. We bonded. Maybe it will help you lure her out.”

“What, like a hungry cat?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

Emma shrugged and turned to leave.

“Be careful you don’t get mauled. We’ve got a party of eight for tea at noon.”

Tearoom Pecan Tassies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees
.

Tassie shells:
1 cup softened butter
6 ounces softened cream cheese
2 cups all-purpose flour

Pecan filling:
1 egg, beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
A pinch of salt
¾ cup light brown sugar
¾ cup chopped pecans

Required: 12-cup pan designed for miniature muffins

Beat butter and cream cheese until creamy.
Add flour in four parts, blending smoothly each time.
Pinch off pieces of dough (about the size of a
pecan in the shell).
Press dough into bottom and sides of miniature muffin tins.

Mix filling ingredients together.
Pour into prepared tassie shells, about two-thirds
of the way full.

Bake for 20-25 minutes.

Cool completely while still in the pan.

I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find her.”

Jackson watched Emma pace in front of the window. She didn’t lose it very often, but when she did, pacing was usually involved.

He noticed the paper napkin cupped cautiously in her hand.

“What have you got there? Is that one of those pecan pies you make for the tearoom?” he asked, nodding toward the tiny pastry in her hand. “Is it for me?”

“It’s for Hildie, Jackson. Focus.”

“Did you check the storage room?” he suggested, diverting his attention from the pecan delicacy calling his name. “Isn’t that where she likes to hide?”

“That was the first place I looked. I’ve been all over this hotel and—” The jingle of her phone stopped her, mid-word. She looked at the screen and groaned. “And now Mrs. Troy is here to pick her up, and I’ve lost her. I’ve lost Hildie, Jackson.”

He got up and went to her, placing a firm arm around her shoulder. Both of them stood there silently, looking out over the sunlit town of Roswell.

“She’ll turn up,” he whispered as he pulled Emma closer. “Ask Fee to send the woman up here to my office, and we’ll have a discussion about what comes next.”

Emma tipped her head, looked up at him, and sighed. “You’re a very calming influence. Are you aware of that?”

“It’s a gift,” he teased.

“Well, it’s a good one.” Emma dialed a number on her cell phone as she asked, “Where’s Bree this morning?”

“Who?”

“Bree. The girl filling in for Susannah.”

“Oh,” Jackson groaned, turning back to his desk and flopping down into the desk chair. “Bree-like-the-cheese left me after her first day.”

“Why? What did you do?” His objection waylaid by the phone in her hand, Emma blurted, “Fee. Will you ask Mrs. Troy to come up to Jackson’s office, please? . . . Thanks so much. Let me know if you see Hildie.” She pressed the button to end the call and picked up where she had left off. “If you call Cheryl Delbert, I’m sure she can get someone over here.”

“I did that. She sent Mavis.”

“Mavis? I didn’t see anyone at the desk when I came in.”

“No. I sent Mavis over to Bree’s house.”

“You did?” One corner of her mouth twitched as she arched an eyebrow and looked at him. “She was that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Are you sure you’re not just looking for Susannah, Jackson? Because anyone and everyone will pale by comparison if you—”

“She told me I wasn’t going to drink coffee anymore, Emma.”

“She what?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shook his head and chuckled. “She brought me apple cider instead.”

“Did she say why?”

“Oh, yes. She was very clear about that.”

After thinking it over, Emma asked, “Was it good? The cider?”

He wondered if she might be joking. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t taste it?”

“No, Emma,” he chided, semi-horrified that she would ask.

Really? Did I taste it?

“You don’t have to get ornery with me, Jackson. I just wondered. I mean, honestly, it wouldn’t kill you to drink a little less coffee now and then.”

Jackson straightened and stared at her until she flinched.

“Fine. Sorry. Poor you. Cider. Are they going to send someone else over?”

He narrowed his eyes and continued to stare her down for a few beats before he shook his head back to the moment. “Yes.”

“Well, chin up, Jackson. I’m sure this one will be a regular coffee-drinking joe who types a hundred words per minute and rivals Susannah in every way. You know, I’m having lunch with my mother and Aunt Sophie today. Maybe one of them can fill in.”

She grinned at him, and his lips had just parted with a retort when a soft knock sounded at the office door and a smartly dressed African American woman stepped in.

“Mrs. Troy?” Emma greeted her. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m Emma Rae Travis, and this is the owner of the hotel, Jackson Drake.”

“The hotel is lovely,” she commented, shaking their hands. “I almost don’t blame the child for wanting to call it home. Where is she?”

Emma chuckled. “That’s the question of the hour. When I told her you were coming, she took off again, and we haven’t been able to locate her.”

“We feel fairly certain she’s still in the hotel somewhere,” Jackson added. “And we’ve got the cavalry out searching. Meanwhile, though, we thought we could have a conversation with you about the next steps for her welfare.”

“Hildie,” Emma remarked. “Her name is Hildie.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Troy,” Jackson suggested. “Can we get you some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” she said as she sat in one of the chairs opposite Jackson’s desk. “I’ve gone way over my limit of caffeine already today. Why don’t you tell me what you know about Hildie’s circumstances? Then we can address your questions, and I’ll answer them the best I can.”

Emma perched on the edge of the second chair, wringing her hands, tentative and somewhat fidgety. “Well, as I told you on the phone, Hildie and her mother had been living in a temporary shelter in downtown Atlanta when her mom died. Rather than end up in the system, Hildie took off.”

“Any idea why she came here to The Tanglewood?” the woman inquired.

Emma’s cell phone jingled at just that moment, and she took a look at it. “Fee may have found her,” she announced. “Why don’t you two continue talking, and I’ll see if I can hogtie her and bring her back up here.”

“Good luck with that,” Mrs. Troy teased.

Once Emma had gone, Jackson explained, “It seems that Hildie’s mother had become rather intrigued with the publicity surrounding the opening of the hotel. When the girl found herself alone, she ran to the only familiar place she could find, and we were it.”

“Sad,” Mrs. Troy commented.

“So what are the next steps for her?” he asked. “Will you place her in foster care?”

“Ideally,” she replied. “We’ll evaluate her, investigate whether there are any other family members willing to take on her care. If not, we’ll try to place her.”

“How long will all that take?”

“There are a lot of variables, Mr. Drake. I can’t be certain.”

“And in the meantime? Where will she stay?”

“We have emergency shelters where we place children such as Hildie. If we can’t place her in a foster home, we also have some transitional living programs that we can look at.”

“These emergency shelters,” Jackson said. “Are they safe?”

“We make every effort to protect and care for our children.”

“I’m sorry. Emma has really taken a liking to this girl, and I know these are the questions she’d ask if she were still in the room.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Troy assured him. “Every year, there are more than a million and a half children in this country who join the ranks of runaways and the homeless. Hildie is categorized as an unaccompanied youth, which means a child under the age of eighteen who is on her own without at least one parent or older sibling. In an urban environment like Atlanta, you can imagine the challenges we face trying to provide even very basic needs for kids like Hildie. That being said, we do have programs in place to help us with our efforts.”

“That’s good to know,” he said.

But would it be good enough for Emma? Jackson couldn’t be sure.

“Hildie?”

The girl spun completely around from the waist up, her chestnut eyes sparkling with confusion, fear, and something else besides.

“Emma Rae!” Aunt Sophie exclaimed from her spot on the floor next to Hildie. “Have you met this remarkable young girl? Her name is Hildie. Isn’t that delightful?”

“I have met her,” Emma said as she scooped Sophie under the arms and helped her to her feet. “But neither of you should be sitting on this cold floor, Aunt Soph. There are five hundred chairs in this room. I want you both to sit down on a couple of them.”

She dragged over a ladder-back dining chair with a thick upholstered seat and helped her aunt down to it. When Sophie appeared settled, Emma turned back toward Hildie.

“Honey, I’d like you to come and talk to Mrs. Troy with me. Just hear her out, okay?”

Hildie remained cross-legged on the floor, her chin pressing against her chest as she shook her head adamantly.

Emma squatted down beside her and rubbed Hildie’s shoulder. “You’re kind of running out of options here. And I’d like to see you get a few of them back.”

When she lifted her head, the girl’s face glistened with fresh tears. “Nobody’s going to want me, Emma. People want babies. I’m eleven. All my bad habits are already starch-pressed in.”

“No!” Sophie cried from behind Emma. “That’s not true. You come over here and sit by me. Right this minute.”

Emma looked on, amazed, as Hildie hopped to her feet, scraped a chair toward Sophie, and obediently sat down next to her.

“If nobody wants you at age eleven,” Sophie said, “does that make me completely discardable at fifty-two?”

Emma suppressed the chuckle rising in her throat.

“You’re only fifty-two?” Hildie asked, suspicious.

“Well. No,” she admitted. “But I feel fifty-two, so why can’t I just stay there?”

Hildie giggled. “No reason, I guess.”

“Anyway, do you think I’m discardable, Hildie?”

“Of course not. But you’re different than me.”

“None of us are different. Not one of us!”

Emma hadn’t seen her aunt so worked up in years. The lines around her eyes stretched longer as she narrowed her eyes and looked at Hildie with a serious and steadfast glimmer.

“Every one of us is flesh and bone and spirit. It doesn’t matter about our age or the color of our skin or where we live or what we like to eat. We’re just plain flesh-bone-spirit. Not one of us is expendable. Not one of us is without worth to other human beings.” Sophie snatched Hildie’s hand and held it to her heart. “Those other people want babies. Good for them! But somebody wants a free-thinking eleven-year-old with a crazy hive of beautiful hair, without a single allergy to anything at all.”