“ORDER IS READY FOR TABLE nine,” Hellen called from the kitchen.
“I got it,” Bridgette called enthusiastically as she skidded to a stop in front of the serving window. Hellen eyed her as she carefully picked up both plates, each full of food.
“Please, don’t drop anything this time,” she pleaded as she dabbed the sweat on her brow. Despite the heat of the kitchen, Hellen’s dark hair was perfectly pinned back into a low bun. Even her clothes and apron even looked pristine. Bridgette had no idea how the woman managed to look so put together all the time, even while being the cook and owner of the restaurant.
“Don’t worry, I am watching where I step, so yesterday’s disaster won’t happen again,” Bridgette assured with a bright smile.
“It better not,” Hellen said as she prepared another plate. “I cannot afford to replace dishes and give customers their money back every day.”
Bridgette’s cheeks heated as she remembered the red-faced customer from the day before. She had tripped over her own feet and dumped plates of food into their lap. Then in complete humiliation, she had backed up into a fellow server with a tray of full wine glasses. Bridgette had spent a good two hours after closing trying to pick up all the glass pieces and scrubbing the red stain out of the wooden floorboards. Unfortunately, the stain was still there. “Understood,” she said before taking the plates to the dining area.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Watch for the uneven threshold. Don’t catch your toe on the rug. Side step to get out of Alice’s way. You got this, Bridgette, she thought to herself.
“I thought for sure she wasn’t going to let you serve today,” Alice whispered.
“So did I, but I didn’t let her have a chance to tell me I couldn’t. I am going to prove myself worthy of this position. She can’t fire me; I need the money,” Bridgette said, making sure she didn’t tip the plates.
“I know,” Alice said, giving her a kind smile. “I like having you here. I better go get the next order.”
Bridgette made it to table nine and delivered the plates to a lovely older couple. “Can I get you two anything else for your lunch this beautiful afternoon?”
“I have heard good things about your lemonade,” the woman said.
“Ah yes, The Golden Pear’s famous pear lemonade,” Bridgette said. “I will fill up two glasses right away.”
She fluttered over to the drink counter without incident and pulled two glasses from the cupboard. The bell that hung on the front door jingled as someone entered the restaurant. Bridgette looked over her shoulder to make sure the customer was greeted. It was Anne, a young woman the same age as Bridgette who also lived in Cold Stone Hollow. Her shoulder length brown hair bounced as she skipped to a table full of other girls their age. Deciding that Anne didn’t need any help, Bridgette reached for the fresh pitcher of pear lemonade.
“So how did it go? Did they hire you?” she heard a girl named Laura ask Anne.
Bridgette filled one glass.
“Yes,” Anne said with excitement. “I only met the butler, but he said he thinks I will fill the position nicely. I start tomorrow, and they offered me double what I was paid by my last employer.” The girls expressed delight at their friend’s success.
Bridgette filled the second glass.
“So what is the story behind Lord Thornwood? Did the butler give you any details? Is he young?” a girl named Julia asked.
“Is he handsome?” Laura asked. They all giggled.
“The butler said I would meet Lord Thornwood tomorrow, so I will let you know about the young and handsome part after that. He did say that his master was the quiet type and tended to keep to himself. He came out here to his uncle’s abandoned estate to separate himself from family drama.”
Bridgette shook her head as she walked the full glasses to table nine. She heard all sorts of gossip being a waitress at The Golden Pear. If she wasn’t careful, her thoughts would distract her enough to make her clumsy, and she couldn’t afford that. She gave the couple their drinks and wished them a happy meal.
The Golden Pear was the nicest place to eat in the southern half of Oakwater Kingdom. Though the restaurant was located in one of the smallest towns on the map, they still had a lot of traffic because people were willing to travel for a good bite to eat.
A group of young men stepped through the door, and Alice flew from the kitchen to greet them. Bridgette smiled as she picked up a stack of dirty dishes at a vacant table. Alice was always the first to greet the young single men who came through. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Bridgette couldn’t understand how the girl hadn’t been snatched up by an eligible suitor yet.
Bridgette carefully placed the dishes into a basin of soapy water. She frowned at the cold temperature. “Can you fetch a new bucket of water to heat up for the dishes?” Hellen asked from her place by the stove. The bell rang from the dining room. Bridgette frowned again. It usually slowed at this hour, so they only had two waitresses and Hellen until an hour before supper, then two more waitresses were scheduled to show up.
“I will, after I help them,” Bridgette said politely and hurried to the door. It was a middle-aged couple dressed in very fine clothes. They held themselves with an air of importance. Bridgette’s stomach fluttered. From her two and a half weeks of working at The Golden Pear, she had learned that the best dressed customers were the hardest to impress; however, if she could impress them, they tipped very well. “Welcome to The Golden Pear,” she said as she curtsied. “Have you dined with us before?”
“We have not,” the gentleman said. “But we hope we like it enough to come back.”
“Very good. We will do everything we can to make that happen. Right this way, please.” Bridget led them to table twelve, which sat by the side window that offered a nice view of an old, but pleasant pear orchard with a small creek that ran through the middle. The trees had stopped producing pears long ago, so the landowner had sold his property to Hellen’s grandmother, who had turned the humble house into her unique restaurant. Since then, Cold Stone Hollow had built itself around the place. Bridgette handed them each a menu and said, “I recommend the lunch special this afternoon, which is a summer salad with lemon chicken, fresh strawberries, and a tasty, red-wine dressing. But I will give you two a minute to look over the menu and decide.”
Bridgette sprinted to the kitchen and grabbed the bucket by the back door. “If you get the water heated, I can do the dishes so you have time to clear the tables,” Hellen said.
Bridgette nodded, then exited the hot kitchen into the cool fresh air. She sighed with relief as she set the bucket on the edge of the well. She unlooped the end rope from where it was held by a nail at the side of the well and tied it to the bucket. She let it drop and smiled at the satisfying splash it made in the water below. Bridgette waited for the bucket to be fully submerged, then grunted as she pulled the rope with both hands and used her body weight to lift it out of the water. With effort, she brought the bucket back up to the edge of the well and untied the rope, which slipped through her fingers. She yelped and flung her arm frantically around, but the end of the rope fell out of reach.
“Curse you, Bridgette! If it falls into the well, you will be fired for sure,” she said out loud to herself.
Bridgette extended her arm as far as she could, but the rope hung precariously out of reach from the wooden beam that was built above the large well. With a huff, she pushed up on the well’s edge and got her feet up onto the stones. With shaky hands, she slowly reached and grabbed the end of the rope. Bridgette smiled, then glanced down and felt her stomach drop to the bottom of the well. She scrambled back before she had the chance to fall in. Her feet hit solid ground, and she laughed in triumph as she stepped back from the well. As she did, her elbow hit the bucket and knocked it off the wall, splashing water down the front of her dress and soaking her shoes.
She took a deep breath and forced it out through her teeth. “Bah!” she yelled with frustration, but then she calmed herself. “No. No time to get upset, Bridgette. Just refill the bucket.”
She refilled the bucket as fast as she could and made sure to rehook the rope on the nail. Finally, she walked back into the kitchen where Hellen looked a combination of flustered and angry. “So sorry, I tipped the bucket over by accident.”
“I will take the water. Just change your apron and get back out there,” Hellen said, taking the bucket from her.
Bridgette threw off her soaked apron and tried to dab her blue serving dress with a dry dish towel. It did little good, so she put a clean white apron on, grabbed a notepad and charcoal stick, and hurried to her finely dressed customers. Her wet shoes squeaked as she stopped at their table. They looked grumpy. “So sorry about that wait. Have you decided what you would like to order?”
“We would both like the lunch special, and make it quick. We have an appointment to get to,” the woman said in an impatient tone.
“Right away, and I will get you both a complimentary drink for the delay.”
Bridgette jotted down the order as she walked to the serving window. Alice passed her with plates full of food, eyeing her wet dress, then gave her a knowing look. Bridgette gave her a sheepish smile and slapped the order on the counter for Hellen. She hurried to the drink counter and poured two glasses of pear lemonade, then went back to the couple. In her haste, Bridgette didn’t notice the water on the floor until she slipped on it. She managed to stay on her feet and keep hold of the drinks, but watched in horror as some of the lemonade flew out of the glass and onto the gentleman’s lap.
Bridgette set the drinks on the table as the man cursed. “I am so sorry. Let me get you some towels.”
“What about our food?” the woman asked impatiently.
“Yes, yes. It is coming. Right away.” Bridgette slipped again as she turned to leave. A trail of water led out of the kitchen to where she was standing. She must have tracked it in with her wet shoes. The table of young men stared at her as she made her way back to the kitchen. Bridgette made a conscious effort to keep her breathing even.
It’s okay. This can be fixed. It will all be fine, she told herself.
Bridgette grabbed a few hand towels and returned to the table. She gave the gentleman one, and he grumbled a thank you. The water on the floor was next on her list. She didn’t want anyone else slipping. Bridgette dropped the extra towels on the floor and stepped on them. With as much grace as she could muster, she shuffled forward and mopped up the water. The young men were staring at her again, some with confused or appalled expressions. One boy, Charles, smiled kindly at her. Her cheeks heated, but she smiled pleasantly at them.
“Order is ready for table twelve,” Hellen called.
“Oh!” Bridgette hurried to the service window, leaving the towels on the floor. The summer salads looked perfect, and she grinned as she sprinted toward her impatient customers. The gentleman's eyes brightened when he saw his food coming. Yes, it is all going to be fine, she thought. She was almost to them when she stepped on the towel that sat in the puddle of water. Her feet flew out in front of her before she could form a plan. She hit the ground in time to watch the salad rain down on her and one of the dishes hit the back of Charles’ head. The other plate hit the wall and fell to the floor in pieces.
Everything is not fine.
Bridgette didn’t bother getting up. She closed her eyes and groaned internally. Quick, firm steps came from the kitchen. “I apologize for this, my lord, my lady,” Hellen said. “I will bring you out new plates at no charge.”
Bridgette peeked at the couple and wanted to melt into the floorboards. The man sat looking livid. The worst part was that the dirty, wet towel that Bridgette had slipped on now hung over one of the gentleman’s eyes. He grabbed the towel and threw it to the ground. He stood up and snapped, “No need. We have seen enough.” His wife stood, and together they left without another word. Hellen turned around but didn’t look at Bridgette, who still lay on the floor. Her employer took a deep breath and released it.
“Miss Meadowbrooke, will you please see me in the kitchen?” Hellen asked and stepped over Bridgette to the table of young men. “Charles, let me see if I have something cold to put on your head. I am so glad it is not bleeding.” Hellen hurried to the kitchen, and Bridgette gingerly got onto her feet and brushed chicken and spinach off her sleeve. She kept her eyes on the floor and went to the kitchen.
“I am so sorry, Hellen. I didn’t even know they were a lord and lady. I can’t believ—”
“It should not matter who they are,” she said sternly as she turned to face Bridgette, a lock of hair falling from her bun. Hellen looked calm, but there was a quiver of frustration in her voice. “Each guest in my restaurant is to be treated like a lord or lady. But you have the worst luck, and an actual lord and lady will tell all their friends how terrible their experience was, not to mention Charles’ injury. I am sorry, Bridgette. I know you need work and I need the help, but I cannot keep risking my business with you.”
Tears pricked Bridgette’s eyes. “Please, Hellen. I need the money. I promise I will try harder—”
“No, Bridgette, I already gave you a second chance. Please, clean up the mess. Then, I will give you your day’s wage and you can leave.” Hellen turned to the stove and stirred something in a pot.
Bridgette’s shoulders fell as she turned and left the kitchen. She passed Alice, who looked at her with pity in her eyes.
Well, you did it again, Bridgette. What will you do now?
She checked with Charles, who assured her that he was fine. She got down on her hands and knees and started gathering the broken pieces of plate and summer salad.
Don’t you dare cry, Bridgette. Don’t you dare cry.
The bell rang as someone entered The Golden Pear. Bridgette kept cleaning—Alice would help them. Technically, she didn’t work there anymore, so she didn’t have to worry.
“Bridgeet!”
Oh. No. Bridgette moaned to herself.
“Bridgeet!”
The young men burst into loud laughter as Birdie came bustling into The Golden Pear.
“Why now, Birdie?” Bridgette whispered to the broken pieces of plate. She got up and turned toward the door.
“Oh!” Birdie rushed to her. “Bridgeet! D-Doc is there. N-needs to talk.”
Bridgette put a calming hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. The doctor needs to speak with me?”
Birdie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, and the birds f-flew by the clouds, and they are not happy today. No, no, no,” she said loudly.
People around them murmured. Bridgette had a good idea what they were saying.
One of the young men, Jack, called out, “Hey, is that bird poop in her hair?” The young men at the table laughed again. Some of the other customers looked disgusted. Bridgette didn’t have to look; Birdie probably did have bird poop in her hair.
The next thing she knew, Hellen was putting coins into her hand. “You better go. We will take care of the mess. Just get her out of here.”
Bridgette pocketed the coins and escorted Birdie towards the door. “Hey, Bridgette, did the crazy bird lady teach you how to walk?” Jack yelled out in jest. Others laughed. “The Invalid and the Insane, what a perfect pair.”
Bridgette didn’t pay them any mind. She just smiled at Birdie and said, “Let’s go home and talk to the doctor.”