Manroot Read Free Page B

murmured.
    Satisfied that the right wood was being fetched and the girl was stirring properly, the woman left to fetch more spices from the kitchen. When she returned, Jesse appeared, laden with sticks. She took the wood, and piece by piece carefully placed it under the kettle. “Can’t let the wood touch the bottom of the kettle or it’ll ruin the apple butter.”
    From her apron pocket, she retrieved several cinnamon sticks and dropped them in the middle of the bubbling mixture. “Now stir faster, girl. Faster. I’m making this batch out of last year’s dried apples, and it can be tricky. That’s better, but not quite it.” Again rushing off to the kitchen, she returned with a smallish crock. She poured some thick syrup into the kettle and watched it bubble. “Sorghum…it needed more sorghum. It’s tricky working with dried apples instead of fresh.”
    The woman circled the pot again, sniffing loudly. Reaching over, she removed the wooden spoon from Katherine’s hand, took a bit of the apple butter, blew on it and finally touched it to her lips. “That’s it,” she said confidently. “That’s right…now I’ve got the best darn apple butter in Castlewood, if I say so myself.”
    They stood in silence as Katherine continued stirring the bubbling mixture. Sweat formed on her forehead from the effort. Frieda watched carefully, occasionally nodding her head to indicate that everything was okay.
    Once again tasting the mixture, she pronounced it ‘done.’ Handing Jesse two large quilted pot-holders, she told him to bring in the kettle.
     
    They followed her into the kitchen. Jesse’s neck bulged as he maneuvered the heavy, scalding pot. She indicated a low porcelain table. “Put it there…it needs to cool.”
    The kitchen was spotless, large and bright. A black wood stove took up an entire corner of the room, and on the wall above it hung bright copper pots of various sizes. The bottom half of the walls were wood painted apple-green, and the top half was papered, in a busy design of trellis with ivy leaves winding through that made the room seem like a covered garden. On the window-sills clay pots of herbs thrived, filling the air with a thick spicy scent. The table was oblong and spread with a cloth of immaculate white linen. The chairs were covered by seat cushions tied to the rungs, and on the back of each chair was a carefully applied decal of fuzzy yellow ducks splashing happily in a puddle. The linoleum shone brightly with numerous waxings and its pattern was one of a real wood floor. You could feel the woman’s pride in the kitchen; she ruled here. Firmly she placed her hands on her ample hips.
    “ Now,” she said, looking from one to the other. “What do you want?”
    “ Work,” answered Jesse, fighting his urge to say too much.
    She gave him a piercing glance. “We do need a handyman – it’s almost the season. Last handyman we had just took off, that’s why I was using the dummy, but we don’t need any maids,” and she looked toward Katherine.
    “ That’s all right, ma’am,” Jesse spoke up eagerly. “That’s my girl, Katherine. You’ll get two for the price of one,” and he listed his skills rapidly, lying through his teeth.
    Frieda looked from him to her sternly. Her heart softened as a mother who had lost her only child. She was drawn to the girl. She studied Jesse’s face carefully. She had seen his kind before – he was a drifter, she’d bet her life on it. She knew the answer before she asked the question, which she put in the form of a statement. “We don’t tolerate a drinking handyman ‘round here.”
    Watching the girl, she saw her eyes drop to the floor.
    The smell of something burning forced her decision. “Forgot the biscuits on account of that dummy.” She drew open the stove and brought out the trays to cool. The biscuits were far darker than she would have liked.
    “ Wait here,” she commanded, and left them standing in the kitchen.
    “ Bitch,” he