over the cleaning assignment.
“I’m not certain yet,” Joseph said. “But I can’t make anything until I clean this up.”
“I can help, Papa.” Emma’s look was so earnest, Joseph couldn’t bring himself to turn her away. But letting her continue to help would only make the mess bigger.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, trying to sort out the difficulty. Until Katie had left he’d never really asked either of the girls to do chores. His late wife had absolutely recoiled at the idea of her daughters doing “servants’ work.” But they no longer had any servants, and there was still plenty of work to be done.
A knock echoed through the kitchen.
“Me! Me!” Ivy rushed to the door.
Joseph tried to catch her before she answered it. Ivy was hardly in any state to be greeting visitors. He reached her just as she opened the door.
Katie, of all people, stood on the back porch. Why did she have to come right at the height of this failure? She’d see how entirely they’d undone the work she’d accomplished during her time there.
Her eyes seemed to take it all in: Ivy’s sticky face and hands; his own less-than-pristine state; Emma, standing behind him, with her dress caked in goo; the kitchen, filthy and chaotic.
Slowly, a smile blossomed across her face. Then she laughed. She laughed so hard and deep that she struggled for breath.
Ivy pressed her messy hands to her mouth and giggled. Joseph glanced back at Emma to find a smile on her face as well.
“We’ve been making dinner,” Joseph explained, feeling equal parts foolish and amused.
“You ought to make it in a mixing bowl like a right regular person, Joseph Archer, instead of stirring it on the floor.”
“Is that the step I missed?” Even in his humiliation, Joseph found he could laugh.
“If you’ve any appetite left, I’ve brought you a plate of sweet rolls.”
Ivy immediately began jumping up and down making almost desperate sounds of longing.
“Please, Pompah. Please can we have them? Please?”
Joseph patted the top of her head, about the only part of her that wasn’t dirty. “I think that would make a fine dinner.”
Such relief crossed Emma’s face that Katie started laughing all over again. She stepped gingerly inside, somehow managing to avoid both the mess on the floor and Ivy’s gluey fingers. She set her plate, with a dishtowel over it, on the countertop near the pile of dishes Joseph hadn’t yet gotten around to washing.
She crooked a finger at Emma and Ivy, drawing them closer. She held Ivy’s hands over the sink and pumped water. As she washed the mess from Ivy’s hands, she spoke to the girls. “I want the both of you to go up to your bedroom, being ever so careful not to touch a single thing, and slip out of your dresses. Put on your nightgowns and come back down. Bring these dresses back with you. Can you do that, now?”
The girls nodded solemnly.
“Off with you, then.”
They rushed out, an eagerness in their movements, no doubt inspired by empty stomachs and the promise of Katie’s famous sweet rolls.
“Do I dare ask just what this concoction is down here?” Katie looked warily at the mess on the floor.
“Broken eggs, spattered milk, and spilled flour.”
She seemed to ponder that a moment. “Eggs, milk, and flour. Was it to be pancóga for dinner tonight?”
“ Pancóga? ”
She winced dramatically, no doubt at his horrible attempt to pronounce her Gaelic word. “ Pancóga is . . . drop scones.” She shook her head. “No. That’s the Scottish word. I can’t remember what you call them here.”
“Pancakes?” Joseph suggested.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“We were trying to make pancakes, but the girls were a little too eager to help.”
Her eyes returned to him. He couldn’t say if he saw more laughter or empathy in her face. “Bless your heart, Joseph Archer, but you do have your hands full.”
“Two more weeks, Katie. In two weeks I’ll take my grain to the station to
“I’m not certain yet,” Joseph said. “But I can’t make anything until I clean this up.”
“I can help, Papa.” Emma’s look was so earnest, Joseph couldn’t bring himself to turn her away. But letting her continue to help would only make the mess bigger.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, trying to sort out the difficulty. Until Katie had left he’d never really asked either of the girls to do chores. His late wife had absolutely recoiled at the idea of her daughters doing “servants’ work.” But they no longer had any servants, and there was still plenty of work to be done.
A knock echoed through the kitchen.
“Me! Me!” Ivy rushed to the door.
Joseph tried to catch her before she answered it. Ivy was hardly in any state to be greeting visitors. He reached her just as she opened the door.
Katie, of all people, stood on the back porch. Why did she have to come right at the height of this failure? She’d see how entirely they’d undone the work she’d accomplished during her time there.
Her eyes seemed to take it all in: Ivy’s sticky face and hands; his own less-than-pristine state; Emma, standing behind him, with her dress caked in goo; the kitchen, filthy and chaotic.
Slowly, a smile blossomed across her face. Then she laughed. She laughed so hard and deep that she struggled for breath.
Ivy pressed her messy hands to her mouth and giggled. Joseph glanced back at Emma to find a smile on her face as well.
“We’ve been making dinner,” Joseph explained, feeling equal parts foolish and amused.
“You ought to make it in a mixing bowl like a right regular person, Joseph Archer, instead of stirring it on the floor.”
“Is that the step I missed?” Even in his humiliation, Joseph found he could laugh.
“If you’ve any appetite left, I’ve brought you a plate of sweet rolls.”
Ivy immediately began jumping up and down making almost desperate sounds of longing.
“Please, Pompah. Please can we have them? Please?”
Joseph patted the top of her head, about the only part of her that wasn’t dirty. “I think that would make a fine dinner.”
Such relief crossed Emma’s face that Katie started laughing all over again. She stepped gingerly inside, somehow managing to avoid both the mess on the floor and Ivy’s gluey fingers. She set her plate, with a dishtowel over it, on the countertop near the pile of dishes Joseph hadn’t yet gotten around to washing.
She crooked a finger at Emma and Ivy, drawing them closer. She held Ivy’s hands over the sink and pumped water. As she washed the mess from Ivy’s hands, she spoke to the girls. “I want the both of you to go up to your bedroom, being ever so careful not to touch a single thing, and slip out of your dresses. Put on your nightgowns and come back down. Bring these dresses back with you. Can you do that, now?”
The girls nodded solemnly.
“Off with you, then.”
They rushed out, an eagerness in their movements, no doubt inspired by empty stomachs and the promise of Katie’s famous sweet rolls.
“Do I dare ask just what this concoction is down here?” Katie looked warily at the mess on the floor.
“Broken eggs, spattered milk, and spilled flour.”
She seemed to ponder that a moment. “Eggs, milk, and flour. Was it to be pancóga for dinner tonight?”
“ Pancóga? ”
She winced dramatically, no doubt at his horrible attempt to pronounce her Gaelic word. “ Pancóga is . . . drop scones.” She shook her head. “No. That’s the Scottish word. I can’t remember what you call them here.”
“Pancakes?” Joseph suggested.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“We were trying to make pancakes, but the girls were a little too eager to help.”
Her eyes returned to him. He couldn’t say if he saw more laughter or empathy in her face. “Bless your heart, Joseph Archer, but you do have your hands full.”
“Two more weeks, Katie. In two weeks I’ll take my grain to the station to
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