gonna put this old girl in her shed an’ then I’ll be in to set lunch on the table. If the roast smells burnt, get it out of the oven, would’ja? We don’t want to be eatin’ burnt offerings.”
Edythe nodded. “I’ll certainly see to the roast, and I’ll set the table so it will be ready when you return.” She swept her skirts to the side to avoid catching them on the wheel hub as she climbed down from the wagon. Then she hurried into the house, the enticing aroma of meat spurring her forward.
Just as she removed the roasting pan from the oven, someone tapped on the front door. She dashed to the door and threw it wide. To her surprise, she found Mr. Townsend, Johnny, and Robert on the porch. The boys beamed.
“Hi, Miss Amsel! We come for our cookies.”
Edythe blinked twice, confused. “Cookies?”
Mr. Townsend looked past her shoulder, as if seeking someone. “Where’s Miz Kinsley?”
“Out back with the mare. I shall retrieve her, and – ”
Suddenly, Mrs. Kinsley bustled into the room, waving her hand to the little group on the porch. “Bet you’re here for them cookies I promised the boys. I been carin’ for Gert an’ haven’t got ’em wrapped yet. I gotta wash my hands.” She whirled toward the washbasin. “Miss Amsel, entertain them fellas for me.”
Entertain them? How? She gulped and faced the little group. Heat flooded her face. They stood in a quiet circle, examining one another in silence. When Mrs. Kinsley bustled back into the room with a brown-paper-wrapped package in hand, Edythe slunk out of the way, relieved to allow the other woman control of the situation.
“There you go, boys. Fresh-baked yesterday, so they’re still nice an’ moist.”
The pair of towheaded, freckle-faced youngsters reached eagerly for the package. “Thank you!” Robert sniffed the air. “Mmm, smells good in here. What is that?”
Mrs. Kinsley laughed. “Roast, taters, and carrots. What’re you havin’ for lunch today, Robert?”
Robert wrinkled his nose. Three freckles disappeared in a crease. “Beans.”
Mr. Townsend gave the boy a slight nudge on the shoulder, frowning. “There’s nothin’ wrong with beans.” He released an embarrassed chuckle. “We probably do eat a lot of ’em. They don’t need much tendin’ while they simmer, so it’s an easy thing for me to cook.”
Mrs. Kinsley gestured to the kitchen. “Well, if you think those beans’ll keep a mite longer, you’re welcome to stay. I made plenty – can’t seem to get over my habit of cookin’ a big meal, even though Cyrus has been gone over three years now. Why don’t you an’ the boys sit at the table with Miss Amsel an’ me? We can set out extra plates quick as the shake of a lamb’s tail.”
Joel’s neck blotched red. “I appreciate the invitation, but the beans’ll be boiled down to a mess if we don’t get back soon.” Robert and Johnny groaned, but their uncle’s frown stilled their protests. He put a hand on each boy’s shoulder and turned them toward the door. “You ladies have a good day. Boys, tell Miz Kinsley and Miss . . . Miss Amsel bye now.”
The stammer surprised Edythe. Did he feel ill at ease around her?
“Bye, Miz Kinsley. Bye, Miss Amsel.” The childish voices held no enthusiasm.
Mrs. Kinsley followed them to the porch and waved as they climbed into their wagon. “You enjoy them cookies now, you hear?”
When the wagon rolled away, Mrs. Kinsley hurried back in and closed the door. “Well, let’s get set down to eat before – ” She paused, looking fully at Edythe. “What’s wrong?”
Edythe wrung her hands. “Mr. Townsend . . . he . . . he isn’t married?”
“Land sakes no. What gave you that idea?”
“He was at the mercantile yesterday purchasing a canning kettle. I just assumed . . .”
Mrs. Kinsley tipped her head. “Joel Townsend’s never been married. I heard speculation that – ” She clamped her lips together.
Edythe’s senses went on alert.
Edythe nodded. “I’ll certainly see to the roast, and I’ll set the table so it will be ready when you return.” She swept her skirts to the side to avoid catching them on the wheel hub as she climbed down from the wagon. Then she hurried into the house, the enticing aroma of meat spurring her forward.
Just as she removed the roasting pan from the oven, someone tapped on the front door. She dashed to the door and threw it wide. To her surprise, she found Mr. Townsend, Johnny, and Robert on the porch. The boys beamed.
“Hi, Miss Amsel! We come for our cookies.”
Edythe blinked twice, confused. “Cookies?”
Mr. Townsend looked past her shoulder, as if seeking someone. “Where’s Miz Kinsley?”
“Out back with the mare. I shall retrieve her, and – ”
Suddenly, Mrs. Kinsley bustled into the room, waving her hand to the little group on the porch. “Bet you’re here for them cookies I promised the boys. I been carin’ for Gert an’ haven’t got ’em wrapped yet. I gotta wash my hands.” She whirled toward the washbasin. “Miss Amsel, entertain them fellas for me.”
Entertain them? How? She gulped and faced the little group. Heat flooded her face. They stood in a quiet circle, examining one another in silence. When Mrs. Kinsley bustled back into the room with a brown-paper-wrapped package in hand, Edythe slunk out of the way, relieved to allow the other woman control of the situation.
“There you go, boys. Fresh-baked yesterday, so they’re still nice an’ moist.”
The pair of towheaded, freckle-faced youngsters reached eagerly for the package. “Thank you!” Robert sniffed the air. “Mmm, smells good in here. What is that?”
Mrs. Kinsley laughed. “Roast, taters, and carrots. What’re you havin’ for lunch today, Robert?”
Robert wrinkled his nose. Three freckles disappeared in a crease. “Beans.”
Mr. Townsend gave the boy a slight nudge on the shoulder, frowning. “There’s nothin’ wrong with beans.” He released an embarrassed chuckle. “We probably do eat a lot of ’em. They don’t need much tendin’ while they simmer, so it’s an easy thing for me to cook.”
Mrs. Kinsley gestured to the kitchen. “Well, if you think those beans’ll keep a mite longer, you’re welcome to stay. I made plenty – can’t seem to get over my habit of cookin’ a big meal, even though Cyrus has been gone over three years now. Why don’t you an’ the boys sit at the table with Miss Amsel an’ me? We can set out extra plates quick as the shake of a lamb’s tail.”
Joel’s neck blotched red. “I appreciate the invitation, but the beans’ll be boiled down to a mess if we don’t get back soon.” Robert and Johnny groaned, but their uncle’s frown stilled their protests. He put a hand on each boy’s shoulder and turned them toward the door. “You ladies have a good day. Boys, tell Miz Kinsley and Miss . . . Miss Amsel bye now.”
The stammer surprised Edythe. Did he feel ill at ease around her?
“Bye, Miz Kinsley. Bye, Miss Amsel.” The childish voices held no enthusiasm.
Mrs. Kinsley followed them to the porch and waved as they climbed into their wagon. “You enjoy them cookies now, you hear?”
When the wagon rolled away, Mrs. Kinsley hurried back in and closed the door. “Well, let’s get set down to eat before – ” She paused, looking fully at Edythe. “What’s wrong?”
Edythe wrung her hands. “Mr. Townsend . . . he . . . he isn’t married?”
“Land sakes no. What gave you that idea?”
“He was at the mercantile yesterday purchasing a canning kettle. I just assumed . . .”
Mrs. Kinsley tipped her head. “Joel Townsend’s never been married. I heard speculation that – ” She clamped her lips together.
Edythe’s senses went on alert.
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