Joe laughed.
“Listen to this girl.
No respect for her elders.”
“You still want the coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She filled his cup.
He left two pennies beneath the saucer.
Emily slipped them into her apron pocket with quiet gratitude.
Across the room, Clara watched everything.
When Emily stopped to help an elderly customer adjust his chair, Clara called her over.
“The third table is waiting.”
“I was just—”
“I can see what you were doing.”
Emily stood with her hands folded.
Clara lowered her voice.
“You are paid to serve customers, not to involve yourself in every little trouble that comes through my door.”
“He was having difficulty standing.”
“Then he should have asked for assistance.”
“He did.”
Clara’s eyes hardened.
“Do not argue with me.”
Emily swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She returned to the tables.
It was not the first such conversation.
Clara believed the café must maintain its reputation as a respectable establishment.
She wanted clean boots, proper manners, and customers who could pay.
When a wandering laborer came in asking for leftover bread, she sent him away.
When a farmer’s wife asked whether she might settle her bill after selling eggs at the Saturday market, Clara refused.
Emily understood that a business could not survive by giving everything away.
Her mother had explained that often enough.
But Emily could not understand why a little gentleness always seemed to make Clara angry.
Once, during the previous winter, Emily had given a hungry traveler a bowl of soup she intended to buy with her own wages.
Clara discovered it.
“You make us look like a charity house,” she had said.
“I paid for it.”
“That is not the point.”
Emily had never understood what the point was supposed to be.
Still, she needed the job.
So she learned to hold her tongue.
As the morning continued, rain fell harder.
The street outside became a dark river of mud.
Wagon wheels sank deep into the ruts, and horses lowered their heads beneath the cold water running from the roofs.
Inside, the café grew warm and noisy.
The windows fogged.
The iron stove glowed.
Emily’s apron became stained with coffee, flour, and a little gravy.
At half past ten, Clara called her into the narrow office behind the counter.
A small wooden desk stood beneath the window, covered with ledgers and unpaid invoices.
Clara sat down.
“Close the door.”
Emily obeyed.
Something about the manager’s tone made her stomach tighten.
Clara opened a ledger.
“Your work has been slower lately.”
Emily stared at her.
“I’ve been doing everything you asked.”
“You left two cups on the counter yesterday.”
“The kitchen was short of water, so I carried—”
“And you forgot to bring fresh napkins to the corner table last Thursday.”
“I was helping Mr.
Wallace with the stove.”
Clara tapped the ledger.
“Always an explanation.”
Emily folded her hands tightly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Clara leaned back.
“I know your family has had difficulties.”
Emily felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“My family is doing its best.”
“I’m sure.”
The words were polite, but the tone was not.
Clara continued.
“I have a business to run.
Sympathy does not pay the butcher or buy coffee beans.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Emily looked at the floor.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Clara closed the book.
“I will overlook these matters for now.
But I expect you to follow instructions without question.”
Emily nodded.
Then Clara said something that hurt more than the criticism.
“You should remember that girls in your position are easily replaced.”
Emily stood very still.
She thought of her mother beside the kitchen table, trying not to show how much her back hurt.
She thought of Thomas asking whether they would lose the farm.
She thought of the tax notice beneath the sugar tin.
“I understand,” she whispered.
Clara waved her toward the door.
“Then get back to work.”
Emily stepped into the kitchen.
Mr.
Wallace glanced up.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her face.
“Emily.”
She forced a smile.
“Just a busy day.”
He did not press her.
Instead, he placed a clean dishcloth beside the sink.
Sometimes, that was how people showed kindness.
They did not demand explanations.
They simply made the next difficult thing a little easier.
Near noon, the café became crowded again.
Travelers arriving on the morning train filled the tables.
Several ranchers had come into town to purchase supplies before the weather worsened.
A family with two young children took the table closest to the stove.
The younger child, a little girl in a red wool dress, accidentally dropped her spoon.
Emily bent to retrieve it.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you,” the girl whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
The girl’s mother smiled.
“She’s been traveling since dawn.
She’s a little tired.”
