on the sunflower seeds. The bird swallowed the seeds whole, cocked her head at Lila and squawked for more. Lila laughed. “Totally cute,” she said. “I can see why you love her!”
“Back to sleep, you little rascal!” said Miss Hastings, draping the black cloth over Matilda’s cage. “Come into the kitchen, dahrrrlings, and we’ll get you poor things something to eat, too!”
In the large, eat-in kitchen, Rebecca and Lila were met by a blast of dry heat from an antique black wood cookstove. A copper tea kettle steamed merrily atop the stove, while a pot of corn chowder, which had been set expectantly on the bun warmer, sent the sweet scent of buttery corn throughout the kitchen. A round oak table with matching pressed-back oak chairs was set cheerily for three diners.
Lila dropped her overnight bag onto the aged-gold linoleum floor, and leaned toward the scorching woodstove. “Ahhhh, I could get used to this!”
Miss Hastings wagged a knobby index finger toward a Canadian rocker, judiciously situated between the woodstove and a kitchen window. The rocker was piled high with soft green cushions. “Sit right there, Lila,” said Miss Hastings. “You’ll have toasty toes in no time!”
Without waiting to be invited twice, Lila unbuttoned her pea coat, slipped it off and plopped into the rocker. “Wake me when it’s breakfast time,” she said.
“Shouldn’t we take our boots off?” worried Rebecca.
“OOoo, don’t be silly! I want you to be perfectly at home, dahrrrling,” said Miss Hastings, as she moved spritely about the kitchen, preparing to put the meal on the table.
“Rebecca DOES take her boots off at home,” interjected Lila.
“Rebecca! Yes, my poor dahrrrling,”said Miss Hastings, removing a pitcher of cold milk from the fridge and setting it on the table. “I know all about you! Well, you can take your boots off if you want to.”
Rebecca stepped onto a red braided rug, pulled off her neat ankle boots and set them next to the front door. “Oh?” she said, in a curious manner. “What has Lila tweeted about me ?” She shrugged out of her coat, and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“OOoo, I know EVERYTHING, don’t I, Lila?!” said Miss Hastings, cackling gleefully again. “I know all about that mean old boss, calling you into her office this morning and giving you the boot! After 16 years!”
“At least she helped me carry my things to the car,” Rebecca said smiling. “That’s more than Joe Kelly, our vice president—he didn’t even say ‘goodbye’!”
“Tight-fisted old twit!” sympathized Miss Hastings. “We’ll show him, won’t we, Lila?”
“Totally!” said Lila. She stretched her long legs luxuriously, like a cat, and contentedly surveyed the mustard-colored room. The kitchen sported brightly figured red and yellow curtains that matched the table cloth, and was decorated with chicken and rooster themed knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Lila felt completely at home.
“Isn’t there something I can do to help, Miss Hastings?” asked Rebecca. “We didn’t mean for you to go to so much trouble for us!”
“OOoo, please call me Jan, dahrrrling!” replied Miss Hastings. “Nobody calls me Miss Hastings, except for my former students – which – haaaahaaa! - are most of the people in Sovereign!” She cackled again. Her voice had the full-bodied richness of an opera singer.
“Mike Hobart told us EVERYONE calls you Miss Hastings,” Lila said.
“That dahrrrling boy!”
“And I think ‘Miss Hastings’ is lovely,” added Rebecca. “It has such old-fashioned charm to it—that’s what I’m going to call you!”
“Me too,” said Lila.
The modest meal went off splendidly. Homemade corn chowder was complemented by a loaf of Amish-made whole wheat bread and farm butter. When the supper things were cleared away, Lila retreated to her rocker by the stove while Rebecca and Miss Hastings settled in at the kitchen table over dainty teacups
“Back to sleep, you little rascal!” said Miss Hastings, draping the black cloth over Matilda’s cage. “Come into the kitchen, dahrrrlings, and we’ll get you poor things something to eat, too!”
In the large, eat-in kitchen, Rebecca and Lila were met by a blast of dry heat from an antique black wood cookstove. A copper tea kettle steamed merrily atop the stove, while a pot of corn chowder, which had been set expectantly on the bun warmer, sent the sweet scent of buttery corn throughout the kitchen. A round oak table with matching pressed-back oak chairs was set cheerily for three diners.
Lila dropped her overnight bag onto the aged-gold linoleum floor, and leaned toward the scorching woodstove. “Ahhhh, I could get used to this!”
Miss Hastings wagged a knobby index finger toward a Canadian rocker, judiciously situated between the woodstove and a kitchen window. The rocker was piled high with soft green cushions. “Sit right there, Lila,” said Miss Hastings. “You’ll have toasty toes in no time!”
Without waiting to be invited twice, Lila unbuttoned her pea coat, slipped it off and plopped into the rocker. “Wake me when it’s breakfast time,” she said.
“Shouldn’t we take our boots off?” worried Rebecca.
“OOoo, don’t be silly! I want you to be perfectly at home, dahrrrling,” said Miss Hastings, as she moved spritely about the kitchen, preparing to put the meal on the table.
“Rebecca DOES take her boots off at home,” interjected Lila.
“Rebecca! Yes, my poor dahrrrling,”said Miss Hastings, removing a pitcher of cold milk from the fridge and setting it on the table. “I know all about you! Well, you can take your boots off if you want to.”
Rebecca stepped onto a red braided rug, pulled off her neat ankle boots and set them next to the front door. “Oh?” she said, in a curious manner. “What has Lila tweeted about me ?” She shrugged out of her coat, and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“OOoo, I know EVERYTHING, don’t I, Lila?!” said Miss Hastings, cackling gleefully again. “I know all about that mean old boss, calling you into her office this morning and giving you the boot! After 16 years!”
“At least she helped me carry my things to the car,” Rebecca said smiling. “That’s more than Joe Kelly, our vice president—he didn’t even say ‘goodbye’!”
“Tight-fisted old twit!” sympathized Miss Hastings. “We’ll show him, won’t we, Lila?”
“Totally!” said Lila. She stretched her long legs luxuriously, like a cat, and contentedly surveyed the mustard-colored room. The kitchen sported brightly figured red and yellow curtains that matched the table cloth, and was decorated with chicken and rooster themed knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Lila felt completely at home.
“Isn’t there something I can do to help, Miss Hastings?” asked Rebecca. “We didn’t mean for you to go to so much trouble for us!”
“OOoo, please call me Jan, dahrrrling!” replied Miss Hastings. “Nobody calls me Miss Hastings, except for my former students – which – haaaahaaa! - are most of the people in Sovereign!” She cackled again. Her voice had the full-bodied richness of an opera singer.
“Mike Hobart told us EVERYONE calls you Miss Hastings,” Lila said.
“That dahrrrling boy!”
“And I think ‘Miss Hastings’ is lovely,” added Rebecca. “It has such old-fashioned charm to it—that’s what I’m going to call you!”
“Me too,” said Lila.
The modest meal went off splendidly. Homemade corn chowder was complemented by a loaf of Amish-made whole wheat bread and farm butter. When the supper things were cleared away, Lila retreated to her rocker by the stove while Rebecca and Miss Hastings settled in at the kitchen table over dainty teacups
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