A Beau For Katie. Emma MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
glanced Jehu’s way. “Later on, I’ll show you one you might not know, but right now I better get to work.” She turned back in the direction of the kitchen appliances. “I can see I’m desperately needed. There’s splatters of milk all over the floor near the stove, and I see ants on the countertop.” She removed her black apron and took an everyday white one from the old satchel she’d brought with her.
“It sounds as if Katie has her day’s work cut out for her.” Sara clapped her hands together. “I’d best get on my way and leave her to it.”
Ivy glanced out the window. “I see she’s driven her own buggy.”
“Ya,” Katie confirmed. “We came in two vehicles.”
“Katie lives in Apple Valley with her mother and brother,” Sara volunteered. “Too far for her to drive back and forth every day. I have all those extra bedrooms since I added the new addition to my house. It seemed sensible that she should stay with me.”
Especially since my brother just brought home a wife, Katie thought. Patsy deserved to have the undisputed run of her kitchen. Katie was quite fond of Patsy, who seemed a perfect wife for Isaac. But Katie didn’t need to be told that an unmarried sister was definitely a burden on a young couple, so taking this job and living away for a while would give them time to settle into married life. Plus the money she earned by her labor would be put to good use.
“No need for you to run off so quick,” Ivy told Sara. “Won’t you take a cup of tea over at my place?”
Ivy Kemp was a neat little woman, plump rather than spare, tidy as a wren and just as cheerful. Again, Katie only knew her from intercommunity frolics and fund-raisers, but she seemed pleasant and welcoming.
“Tea?” Jehu got to his feet with more vigor than Katie would expect of a man near seventy. “Tea would hit the spot, Ivy. You don’t happen to have any of those raisin bran muffins left over, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Ivy beamed, heading for the door. “But I won’t promise they taste as good as they did yesterday when they came out of the oven. You will stay for tea, won’t you, Sara? I do love a chance to chat with someone from another church. I hear you made a good match for that new girl with that young man—what’s his name...”
In less time than it took Katie to locate a broom, she and Sara had made their goodbyes, and the three older people had left to go next door to the grossmama haus for their tea and muffins. Ivy had invited Katie, too, but she’d declined. There was too much to do in Freeman’s house and she wanted to get busy.
“I imagine you’ll be wanting dinner at noon,” she said to Freeman, careful not to look directly at his face and into those striking golden eyes. “Do the doctors have you on a special diet?”
“Oatmeal,” he said testily. “I’ve been eating a lot of oatmeal.”
Katie cut her eyes at him. “Odd thing for a sickbed.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Ya, you said that.” She opened the refrigerator and grimaced. “I hope the milk and eggs are fresh.”
“And why wouldn’t they be?”
“If they are, they would be the only thing in that refrigerator that is. It looks as if a bowl of baked beans died in there. The butter is covered in toast crumbs and it looks like there’s a hunk of dried up cheese in the back.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pretty pitiful fare.”
“Spare me your humor.” Freeman shut his eyes. “Just cook something other than oatmeal or chicken noodle soup. Anything else. My grandmother has served me so much chicken soup it’s a wonder I’m not clucking.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She closed the refrigerator door, thinking of the cut-up chicken that Sara had insisted they bring in a cooler. Chicken soup had been one of her options, since she’d known that Freeman was confined to bed and recovering from a bad accident. But she could just as well fry up the chicken with some dumplings. Providing, of course, that there weren’t weevils in the flour bin. She’d have to take stock of the pantry and freezer, if Freeman even had a freezer or a flour bin. If they expected her to cook three decent meals a day, she’d have to have the groceries to do it.
She decided that cleaning the refrigerator took precedence over the sticky floor; she’d just sweep now and mop later. Once that was done, she decided she’d better do something about the state of the kitchen table. The tablecloth was stained and could definitely use a washing. Someone had washed dishes that morning and left them on the sideboard to dry, but dirty cups, bowls and silverware littered a side table next to Freeman’s bed. A kitchen seemed an odd place for a sick man to have his bed, but she could understand that he might want to be in the center of the home rather than tucked away upstairs alone. And it could be that the bathroom was downstairs. She hadn’t been hired for nursing, but, if she knew men, doubtless the sheets could stand laundering.
“That wasn’t kind of you,” she remarked as she cleared the table and stripped away the soiled tablecloth. “Chastising your uncle when he wanted to show me his string game. You should show more respect for your elders.”
Freeman opened one eye. “He’s blind, not slipping in his mind. Cat’s cradle is for kinner. It was him I was thinking of. I wanted to save him embarrassment if you assumed—”
“I hope my mother taught me better than that,” Katie interrupted. “I try not to form opinions of people at first glance or to judge them.” He didn’t answer, and she turned her back to him as she scrubbed the wooden tabletop clean enough to eat off. She would look for a fresh tablecloth, but if none were available, this would suffice until she could do the laundry.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Freeman said. He exhaled loudly. “I didn’t know you were coming—didn’t know any housekeeper was coming. It was my uncle’s idea.”
“I see.” Katie moved on to the refrigerator. The milk container seemed clean and the milk smelled good so she put that on the table with whatever else seemed salvageable. The rest went directly into a bucket to be disposed of. “It’s been a good while since anyone did this,” she observed.
“It’s not something that I can manage with my leg in a cast.”
“Six months, I’d guess, since this refrigerator has had a good scrub. You don’t need a housekeeper, you need a half dozen of them if you expect me to get this kitchen in shape today.”
“It’s not that bad.” He pushed up on his elbows. “Neither Uncle Jehu nor I have gotten sick from the food.”
“By the grace of God.” The butter went into the bucket, followed by a wilted bunch of beets and a sad tomato. “Do you have a garden?”
Freeman mumbled something about weeds, and she rolled her eyes. Sara’s garden was overflowing with produce. She’d bring corn and the makings of a salad tomorrow. A drawer contained butter still in its store wrapping. The date was good, so that went to the table. “Is there anything you’re not supposed to eat?” she asked.
“Oatmeal and chicken soup.”
She smiled. He was funny; she’d give him that. “So you mentioned.”
A few changes of water, a little elbow grease and the refrigerator was empty and clean. Katie started moving items from the table, thinking she’d run outside and get the chicken to let it sit in salted water.
“Butter goes on the middle shelf,” Freeman instructed.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not where it says butter?” She pointed to the designated bin in the door with the word printed across it.
He scowled. “We like it on the middle shelf.”
“But it will stay fresher in the butter bin.” She smiled sweetly, left the butter in the door and went back to the table for the milk.
A scratching at the screen door caught