Against the Season by Jane Rule Page A

Are you Miss Larson?”
    “Yes,” Amelia said. “I’m just getting back from the hospital.”
    “You’ve been there all night?”
    “Yes,” Amelia said. She was paying the driver. “Don’t get out, Freddy. Agate will get me out. Stand there, and give me one hand.”
    “Have you had breakfast?” Agate asked.
    “I don’t think I have,” Amelia said. “Now stand up ahead of me, two steps. That’s it. Thank you, Freddy,” she called over her shoulder. “Isn’t Cole home?”
    “Nobody answered the bell.”
    “He’s probably asleep.”
    “Shall I get you breakfast?” Agate asked.
    “You haven’t even seen the kitchen.”
    “Does it look different from other kitchens?” Agate asked.
    “I expect not.” Amelia unlocked the front door and went in.
    “Then why don’t you go right to bed and I’ll bring you something. Do you need help now?”
    “No. I’ll tell you,” Amelia said. “The kitchen’s right down the…”
    “I’ll find my way. What will it be?”
    “No coffee. I’d like juice, hot milk, perhaps an egg, whatever you want to do with it,” Amelia said, turning herself into the chair lift.
    Agate went off in the direction Amelia had indicated, the adventure of the morning modified by the concern she felt at the color of the old lady’s face. Maybe she always looked like that, but Agate doubted it. She wondered if, once she’d made Miss Larson breakfast, she’d better call the doctor. Poached egg, probably, and there were the eggs, the orange juice, the milk. The girl who had been keeping this kitchen was tidy. After Agate had opened cupboards to find pans and china and a tray, she poured herself a large glass of milk.
    “There you are,” she said to her stomach. “You’ll have to wait for more.”
    Within ten minutes she had the breakfast ready to take up and decided, at the bottom of the stairs, to give herself a ride. She pressed the button to recall the chair lift, then climbed aboard with the tray. It hummed steadily until it got to the landing where it strained and jerked a little, threatening the milk and juice. Agate, who had been reading the mottoes with amusement, had to turn her attention to the balance of the tray. Wouldn’t do to have the first thing she served awash in itself.
    “Did Rosemary Hopwood bring you over?” Amelia asked from her bed.
    “No, I walked.”
    “Walked!”
    “I like to walk,” Agate said, putting the tray in Amelia’s lap. “And I thought you had to have somebody to cook breakfast.”
    “It’s very nice,” Amelia said, “but your room isn’t ready…”
    “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find my way around.”
    “Perhaps when Cole wakes up …”
    “Do you want more butter?”
    “No, thank you. It tastes very good.”
    “You must be hungry.”
    “I’ll be down again in the early afternoon. Then we can have a real talk.”
    “Will you sleep?” Agate asked.
    “Yes, easily.”
    “What will Cole want when he gets up?”
    “Eggs and bacon, fruit, coffee, toast. He probably won’t be up before ten.”
    “I don’t know how to bake bread,” Agate said. “I notice that’s homemade.”
    “Thank fortune,” Amelia said.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, just very tired. Thank you, child. It’s a very kind thing you’ve done, getting here this morning.”
    The old lady was falling asleep as Agate took the tray. Probably that was all she needed. Agate needed food. The sooner she had some breakfast, the better. Seated at the kitchen table with a plate of eggs and toast, Agate felt relaxed and content.
    “Maybe what I’ve wanted all along was to be some old lady’s maid,” she said, and then she laughed.
    A large, ugly cat appeared and made a single, commanding noise.
    “Who are you, hideous?”
    She got up to look for the cat food she had seen in one of the cupboards, but the phone was ringing.
    “Larson residence,” Agate said.
    “Is that you, Agate?”
    “Yes, Miss Hopwood,” Agate answered in a tone she hoped would