Cakes & Kisses: Chaparral Hearts

By Kathleen Denly

Will she sacrifice her marriage to regain what she's lost?

 

Cecilia and Henry Davidson met and married in 1839 but the tragedies of their past have kept them from forming a union of the heart. 

 

After fifteen years of companionable partnership, Cecilia—desperate not to relive the most terrifying years of her life—feels forced to take actions her conscience abhors. 

 

But her choices destroy Henry's trust.

 

Previously rejected and betrayed by his first love, Henry struggles to find a reason to give Cecilia another chance. 

 

As the holiday season draws near, Henry and Cecilia are forced to reconsider what really matters and whether the chance at true love is worth the risk.

 

A tale of fear and forgiveness, Cakes & Kisses is an interquel novella for the Chaparral Hearts series. It takes place between the events of Waltz in the Wilderness (Book 1) and Sing in the Sunlight (Book 2). As such, it contains major spoilers for Waltz in the Wilderness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Denly
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215530542

Kathleen Denly

Kathleen Denly writes historical romance to entertain, encourage, and inspire readers toward a better understanding of our amazing God and how He sees us. She enjoys finding the lesser known pockets of history and bringing them to life through the joys and struggles of her characters. Sunny California, a favorite setting in her stories, is also her home. She lives there with her loving husband, four young children, two dogs, and nine cats. As a member of the adoption and foster community, children in need are a cause dear to her heart and she finds they make frequent appearances in her stories. When she isn’t writing, researching, or caring for children, she spends her time reading, visiting historical sites, hiking, and crafting. Kathleen is also a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and the award-winning author of the Chaparral Hearts series. Always happy to hear from her readers, you can email Kathleen and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Book preview

READ THIS FIRST!

Dear Reader,

Ordinarily I write my novels and novellas such that you can read them in any order without fear of significant spoilers. (I don’t think many romance readers are shocked to discover that the hero and heroine from a previous book wound up together.) However, while writing this particular novella, I found it necessary to return to key scenes in Waltz in the Wilderness and show them from Cecilia Davidson’s point of view—something we never get in Waltz in the Wilderness. Because of this, Cakes and Kisses contains major spoilers for Waltz in the Wilderness. Consider yourself warned.

Sincerely,

Kathleen Denly

Chaparral Hearts Series Order

Chronological:

Ribbons and Beaus (prequel novella ~ 1832-1834)

Waltz in the Wilderness (book 1 ~ 1854)

Cakes and Kisses (interquel novella ~ 1854)

Sing in the Sunlight (book 2 ~ 1858)

Harmony on the Horizon (book 3 ~ 1865)

Murmur in the Mud Caves (book 4 ~ 1873)

Shoot at the Sunset (book 5 ~ 1874)

TBA (book 6 ~ 1875)

Release Date:

Ribbons and Beaus (prequel novella) Released Jan 4, 2020

Waltz in the Wilderness (book 1) Released Feb 4, 2020

Sing in the Sunlight (book 2) Released March 2, 2021

Harmony on the Horizon (book 3) Released Jan 4, 2022

Cakes and Kisses (interquel novella) Released Dec 1, 2022

Murmur in the Mud Caves (book 4) Coming May 16, 2023!

Shoot at the Sunset (book 5) Coming 2024

TBA (book 6) Coming 2025

Note:

Ribbons and Beaus is available for free exclusively to Kathleen’s Readers’ Club Members.

Visit www.KathleenDenly.com to join and download your copy.

Dedication

To my parents, who taught by example that sometimes marriage is difficult and it takes work to make it strong, but the incredible blessings it brings are so very worth every bit of struggle. Thank you for showing me how beautiful true love can be.

Philippians 4:6

"Be careful for nothing;

but in every thing by prayer

and supplication with thanksgiving,

let your requests be made known unto God."

-Philippians 4:6

CHAPTER 1

Farthest rural edges of New York City, New York

January, 1839

Shivers woke Cecilia Northcott in the darkened hovel her family was forced to reside in, nearly a day’s ride from the glamour and warmth of their previous home in New York City. The skin around her eyes crackled as she pried them open, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed after she cried herself to sleep. Her body ached from hours spent in the rickety wooden chair beside Mother’s bed. Cecilia stretched and the chair groaned loudly in the silence of the room. She stilled.

Mother’s coughing had stopped.

Icy dread stole Cecilia’s breath as she leaned over Mother’s emaciated form. She couldn’t be gone. Not yet. She was sleeping, that was all. Mother hadn’t slept peacefully in days. This was a good thing. Cecilia reached toward Mother’s shoulder, then hesitated, reluctant to wake her. Instead, she held her hand over Mother’s mouth.

Weak coughing erupted, sending shudders through Mother’s entire body beneath the thin sheets.

Cecilia jerked her hand away, her own breath whooshing from her lungs. She tried to speak, but her throat was too dry, her lips cracked. She worked to bring saliva to her mouth and tried again. Mother? She cupped Mother’s cheek, turning her for a better look at her face.

Mother’s eyes fluttered open, staring blindly into the space between them. Her blue lips stood stark against her pale skin, opening and closing several times before uttering a sound. Cec— Another cough cut short the soft sound of Cecilia’s name.

Shh. It’s alright. Don’t try to speak. Cecilia stroked her thumb across Mother’s paper-thin cheek. Just rest. I’m here.

Mother’s eyes closed, but she coughed for several more minutes before returning to a fitful sleep.

Cecilia leaned back in the chair, then straightened, lest Mother awaken and find her slouching. Fatigue threatened to close her eyes. Resisting its lure, she ran her gaze around the room. The small fireplace sat as empty and cold as the wood floor space once occupied by her siblings’ pallets.

When their deaths followed Father’s yesterday, she’d sold their coverings to purchase kindling for a fire and begged a bone for broth from the butcher. Her faced twisted. She ought to have kept the blankets for Mother, but she’d been so sure a warm meal would make the difference. Now, there seemed little hope of changing course. Any moment, Mother would follow Cecilia’s brother, sister, and Father to the graveyard. And there was nothing Cecilia could do about it unless—

The building’s in terrible shape, of course, and must be torn down. A strangely familiar male voice carried through the thin walls. But given a few years, I’m confident the land beneath it will more than double your investment.

Another man’s voice joined the first. You said the family has all died of influenza?

All but one. I’m told the eldest daughter survived. At least the speaker had the grace to sound sorry about her family’s fate. Though his facts were wrong. Wait. She leaned toward the voices. Were they discussing selling this shack?

Surely she’s not still living here. The other man spoke again as Cecilia struggled to stand and shuffle toward the door.

She pressed her forehead against the thin plank and lifted her voice to carry through it. She is and she doesn’t appreciate the disturbance.

There was a brief silence followed by that oddly familiar voice. Our sincerest apologies, Miss.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she cracked the door open. Careful to remain hidden in the shadows, she peered out. Recognition sent her senses reeling. She sucked in a deep breath, refusing to faint.

The men turned to leave.

Wait! Mr. Astor, please. She raked her fingers through her curls, ruing the decision not to pin her hair this morning. Then she smoothed her hands across what was once the most complimented gown of New York’s season, though it was now stained and torn in several places. The yearning for a more presentable appearance nearly stole her courage, but another cough from Mother straightened Cecilia’s spine. She stepped over the threshold, her chin high. What a pleasant surprise.

John Jacob Astor’s eyes widened. Miss Northcott. I— Words seemed to fail him as his gaze took in her appearance, bounced to the hovel behind her, and then settled on her eyes. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.

Her cheeks warmed despite the bitter chill in the air. Of course you didn’t. Father was much too proud to make our misfortunes known. Though he had eventually caved to his family’s needs and asked for help from several of his friends, none had been willing to do more than buy them a meal or two. In truth, most hadn’t bothered responding to Father’s letters after he’d lost their fortune to the Panic of ’37. She didn’t believe Father ever reached out to Mr. Astor, though. Father had deemed their acquaintance too new to be called upon. Yet here stood one of the wealthiest men in the state, if not the country. Cecilia could not allow this opportunity to pass by without at least trying.

The businessman cleared his throat and gestured to his companion. Have you met Mr. Davidson?

She moved her attention to the younger man and took in his well-fitted suit of the latest fashion, neatly styled curly hair, and wire-rimmed spectacles framing compassionate brown eyes. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. What brings you to this part of the country?

I’m considering purchasing some real estate and Mr. Astor kindly agreed to show me which lots he believes will be of most interest to me.

She offered a polite smile and looked him over once more. The man didn’t appear more than a handful of years older than her seventeen, yet he must be good friends with the millionaire to claim such time and valuable advice. Perhaps he had one of those baby faces that didn’t readily reveal his age. She opened her mouth to ask how long the two had known each other, but Mother’s loud coughing interrupted her.

Mr. Davidson looked past her and frowned. Are you not alone? His gaze returned to her, intense in its scrutiny. Are you in need of assistance?

She resisted the urge to squirm and turned back to Mr. Astor. Sucking in a breath, she clasped her hands and swallowed her last ounce of pride. In truth, my mother is gravely ill and I haven’t the funds to fetch a doctor. She blinked back her tears. She’s all I have left. If you could—

You poor dear. Mr. Astor stepped forward and clasped her hands in his. Of course we’ll help. He glanced at Mr. Davidson. Henry—

The younger man was already mounting one of the horses they’d left hitched to a nearby tree. I’ll have the doctor here as soon as I can. His warm brown eyes caught and held hers with deep sincerity. You have my word. He spurred his horse and in seconds was out of sight.

Two hours later, the doctor tugged the blanket to Mother’s chin and gestured for Cecilia to follow him to the door. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do at this point. The linseed poultice I applied should help, and if you can get her to take some of the whiskey I brought, that’ll help as well, but—he snapped his bag shut with a stern frown—you ought to have come for me sooner.

She fought down the rise in her throat. I— She swallowed her protest.

She’d wanted to go for the doctor from the first, but they had no money, nor anything to trade, and Father claimed the man wouldn’t come without pay. Cecilia pointed out that she still had the dress Father had ordered from Paris for her fourteenth birthday, safely tucked away in a box beneath the bed. It wasn’t too far out of fashion and the materials were fine. She could sell it for enough money to pay the doctor.

Mother was appalled. She insisted the dress was Cecilia’s only hope of catching a wealthy groom, and Father had agreed—refusing to consider her offer. Still, she refused to speak ill of her parents.

Father couldn’t have known what was to come.

The doctor heaved a sigh. I’m sorry. I know you’ve done your best, it’s just so difficult when— He clasped her shoulder with one hand. Never mind that. You try to get the whiskey down her, but brace yourself for the worst. Understand?

She nodded and he opened the door, then paused. Oh. He patted his coat, then withdrew a small card and held it out to her. I almost forgot. Mr. Davidson asked that I give this to you and extend his offer of assistance should you need anything further.

Stunned, Cecilia accepted the card and watched the doctor mount his horse.

Mr. Astor and his friend had departed upon the doctor’s arrival, citing an appointment elsewhere. At the time, she’d assumed the explanation to be no more than a fabricated excuse for their hasty departure. Not that she’d cared. Mr. Astor had paid the doctor in advance for his services and offered to pay for any additional care Cecilia or her mother needed. It was beyond generous. Expecting them to remain in a sick home with a destitute family was unreasonable.

She ran her finger across the printed name, Mr. Henry Davidson. A calling card was an open invitation for further association. He’d been under no obligation to extend such an offer. Yet he had. She looked down at her soiled gown. Why would he do such a thing?

Mother’s coughing reminded Cecilia that she stood with the door open, letting in the biting winter air. Quickly shutting it, she hurried to Mother’s side and poured a small amount of whiskey into their only tin cup. She slid her arm behind Mother’s shoulders and lifted her a few inches from the mattress, careful not to dislodge the poultice from her chest. Here, Mother. Cecilia pressed the rim of the cup to Mother’s lips. The doctor says you need to drink this.

Though her eyes remained closed, Mother’s lips parted and Cecilia dribbled a bit of the alcohol into her mouth. Mother coughed and spluttered, spraying the liquid across Cecilia’s face.

She fought back a sob and tried again.

This time Mother successfully swallowed and Cecilia returned her to the mattress. After setting the cup on the floor beside the bed, she wiped her sleeve across her face.

Cecilia? Mother’s soft whisper startled her.

She leaned forward, resisting the urge to take Mother’s hand, knowing the gesture would be unwelcome. Though she loved her children deeply, Mother had never been the demonstrative sort. Yes. I’m here.

Mother’s eyelids parted and her anguished gaze found Cecilia’s. I told you not to. Her voice cracked and she coughed.

Cecilia shook her head. I didn’t—

You promised.

To Cecilia’s horror, tears trailed from the corners of Mother’s eyes. She’d never seen her mother cry. I didn’t sell the dress. I promise. I— Mother would be just as devastated to know Cecilia had begged help from a man as prominent as Mr. Astor. A friend helped us. She clenched her fingers against the urge to reach out as Mother’s tears continued. Shhh, now. It’s okay. You’re going to get better.

Mother wheezed a deep breath. I’m not. And I want your promise.

Cecilia repeated her promise not to sell the silk dress as Mother coughed.

Mother shook her head with more vigor than Cecilia had witnessed in days. If you're on top, no one can knock you down. That was my mistake. Too complacent in the middle. She coughed again and Cecilia poured more whiskey down Mother’s throat. Promise you’ll do whatever you must to get there.

I don’t understand.

After another bout of coughing, Mother explained, Go back to the city. Wear the dress. Marry a rich man.

She was speaking nonsense. No one in the city would welcome Cecilia’s return. And no man would want her as she was now—skinny, filthy, and not a penny to call her own. Henry Davidson’s printed name flashed through her mind, but she dismissed it. An offer of assistance was far from an offer of marriage. Mother, you need to rest.

Mother gripped Cecilia’s hand, a strange light in her eyes. "Make sure he is good in business and kind to you, but most of all he must be rich and brilliant. She nodded as she fought another bout of coughs. A rich fool will be parted from his money soon enough, but a wise one... Mother seemed to sag into the mattress. Her eyes drifted shut and her voice faded so that Cecilia was forced to lean down to hear her whisper, He’ll provide what you need to claw your way up. No matter what it takes, you must make your way up. Mother gasped and wheezed, her eyes locking on Cecilia’s once more. Promise me you’ll be on top and I won't worry."

She held Mother’s gaze. I promise. Now rest.

Mother was gone by sunrise, and buried an hour later.

Once the last clod of dirt was tossed, Cecilia changed into her best dress and went to see Henry Davidson.

San Francisco, California

February 2, 1854

This couldn’t be happening . Cecilia Davidson kept her expression firm and unyielding as she stared down their manservant. Now, you listen to me, Frank. I know exactly where Mr. Davidson keeps your freedom papers, and I’ve a case full of matches. Do I make myself clear? What was she saying? She sounded like a monster.

Yes, ma’am. Frank’s defiant expression faded to a resigned fury.

Thank heavens. Good. You’re dismissed.

Frank pivoted and stormed from the study.

Knees weak, she followed to close the door and froze.

Their unexpected house guest, Alice Stevens, stood in the hallway watching Frank’s departure. How much had she heard?

Alice patted her curls, turned, and stilled, her eyes widening.

Cecilia smothered the urge to scream. Clearly the girl had heard more than she ought. Alice. Cecilia offered a cool smile. Do come in, won’t you?

Several minutes later, she pressed trembling fingers to the study door, closing it after her departing guest. Cecilia needed to be more careful. That