by Tina Mikals
Chapter 30
The Lady of the House
"Come on now, for the last time, let me up," came Mrs. Carlisle's plea from the kitchen.
"Now, now, Cora. Couldn't ya spare just one more wee little kiss?"
"You've had more than enough," said his wife. "I have to get back to my baking now."
"Let the baking wait. When I woke up this morning, I thought I was dreaming. I think I must still be."
"You're a silly man."
"I know."
"Let me up."
"No," said the lady's husband stubbornly. "I told you. I'm not lettin' ya off o' my lap until I get another kiss."
"Mr. Carlisle," said Cora, with anger more feigned than felt, "as ye can see, I am quite covered in flour and sugar."
"Really? Why Mrs. Carlisle, don't you know that just makes you taste even better? I'll have to insist on two kisses then."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed."
May stopped short at the bottom of the staircase to the loft, spun around in an attempt to silently scramble back up the stairs and collided into Sheila who had just turned around to do the same. Sheila banged her head against the side of the wall then knocked her shin loudly on the next stair riser up.
From the kitchen, they heard the screech of chair legs then a few of Carlisle's long, quick strides on the wooden floor followed by the sound of the front door closing.
When they ventured to look around the doorjamb into the kitchen, there was a round, flat pie dough on the surface of the table, and Mrs. Carlisle had a teapot in her hand ready to pour the steaming tea inside it into four delicate teacups in a row. Her face was as red as a poinsettia.
The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and apples. May was starving.
"I was beginning to wonder when you two were getting up," said Mrs. Carlisle, briefly glancing up from pouring tea. "You poor dears were so tired. We didn't want to wake you. Would ye like some breakfast? Please sit down. Mr. Carlisle's just gone to get some water. He'll be back shortly."
"Yes, ma'am," said May. "Um—but first I kind of need to—"
"Not a word more. It's right out back dear. And there's soap and water by the back door as ye come in."
On her return she was greeted in the living room by Sheila heading in the opposite direction. "It's rustic," May warned her.
She entered the kitchen just as Mrs. Carlisle was arranging the top crust on a fat apple pie, and Carlisle was lifting the edge of the pastry to sneak out a sugar and cinnamon covered apple slice. Without a glance from what she was doing, his wife smacked the back of his hand, and the apple slice flew from between his fingers and landed on the table. Amused, he picked up the slice and popped it into his mouth.
He spotted May at the door, stood up and smiled widely. "Good morning."
With a paring knife, Mrs. Carlisle made some small cuts to the top crust of her pie. She sprinkled it with a spray of sugar and wiped her hand on her apron. "I apologize about the mess. I usually have this cleaned up by now," said Mrs. Carlisle, casting a disparaging look at her husband.
She slid the pie off the edge of the table, caught the bottom of it with her other hand then carried it to the stove.
"You didn't have to go to any trouble on our account," said May.
"This? It's not any trouble at all, dear. Though, I'm sorry to say, I got a late start on the bread this morning. I'm afraid supper will probably be a wee bit late today." Her husband got another disparaging look for that.
"Mrs. Carlisle, you worry too much," he said, brushing off flour from his brown linen suit. He gestured to May to take the seat opposite him, which she did. "The bread will be fine," said Carlisle, addressing his wife.
"Indeed. Well, if it's all the same to you, Mr. Carlisle, I think I'll be the judge o' that," said the lady of the house. Protecting her hand with the hem of her apron, she opened one of several small doors in the stove and placed the pie inside.
As she wiped her hands on a clean dish cloth, Mrs. Carlisle looked out the window into the yard. She went and hung up her towel on a peg and came back to pour fresh tea into an empty cup in front of May who thanked her.
"You look so much better," May said to Carlisle before taking her first sip of tea. "What time did the fever break?"
His wife answered for him while she brushed remnants of pie dough and flour into a bowl she held under the table. "Sometime last night, dear. I'm sorry I don't know the exact time. The cuckoo clock's been broken for a long while now."
Mrs. Carlisle put the bowl on the sideboard next to the stove. She returned with a dish, piled high with scones, and set it down on the table. Gazing out the window again, Cora continued in a distracted fashion, "I will say he seemed quite a good deal recovered this morning. He insisted on getting up. In any event, he certainly seemed to be vigorous enough, so I can't see there's any harm in it."
"Your color is a lot better," said May, watching Carlisle turn red.
Cora Carlisle took her eyes off the yard, glanced at her husband and bit her lip. She deposited a heavenly smelling wedge of pastry on a plate in front of May. "Have a scone, dear?" she said to her cheerfully.
"Thank you, ma'am," May said before taking a bite. The scone was delicious. Unfortunately, as she soon discovered, it also had nuts. Lots and lots of them. Lots and lots of walnuts.
"I'm sure taking off that bandage helped," said Mrs. Carlisle, making a face as she scrubbed the table with a clean rag. "I've heard of that happenin' sometimes. That's why it's so very necessary to change the bandages regularly."
May quickly swallowed the bite of scone in her mouth. The nuts scoured her throat all the way down. She began with a depreciating smile, "Well, actually ma'am–"
But she stopped mid-sentence when she saw Carlisle look up from his dish with his thick brows knit and his lips clamped together. He made short, furtive shakes of his head at her.
So with the words trapped and burning on her tongue, she stuffed in another bite of walnut-laden scone and rankled inwardly at how good it tasted, nuts and all.
Mrs. Carlisle, on her way back to the stove, retrieved her husband's napkin off the floor, placed it next to his plate and patted him on the shoulder. Noticing him tipping back in his chair, she pushed him forward so that he landed on all four chair legs with a whumping noise and an expression of surprise on his face.
With a glance at Carlisle's empty, crumb filled dish, Mrs. Carlisle grabbed it without comment, plunked another scone on it and placed the dish on the table in front of him again. She took off her apron then sat down finally to her own plate and cup.
Carlisle picked up his butter knife and looked around the table with a frown of disappointment.
Noticing him, Cora got up again and opened a wooden larder right next to him. She set on the table a thick pottery bowl in which was a fist sized mound of butter. She went back around him and sat down again.
"Thank you, dear," her husband beamed, looking at the butter as though it had just dropped down from heaven.
His wife patted his hand. "Would you like some more tea, dear?" she asked, turning to May suddenly, holding the top on the pretty flowered teapot with a linen napkin.
Still dazed by the woman's rapid movements, May said, "Um—yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you."
"Cream and sugar?" her hostess asked.
"Don't bother, I'll get it," she said.
Cora poured some tea into her husband's cup and then into her own.
"Mrs. Carlisle," said her husband. "What have I told you before? You've gone and given yourself my favorite cup again." He switched his own cup with hers, turning the nick on the rim discreetly towards himself.
Cora went a shade of pink over the state of her best china. She put one lump of sugar and a dash of cream into her husband's tea and whisked it with a spoon until the tea twirled around merrily. She placed the teacup in front of him and then attended to her own.
Her husband watched the whirling tea and smiled. "Thank you, dear," he said, before taking a sip.
Sheila joined them at the table. She sat down across from Mrs. Carlisle who had her back to the window.
"Would ye like some tea, dear?" Mrs. Carlisle asked her.
"I'd love some," Sheila answered.
"Why dear, look how blue your eyes are. I didn't notice last night. Don't they just sparkle in the sunshine," Cora said as she poured tea into Sheila's cup. "Don't she just put you in mind of your sister-in-law, Mr. Carlisle?"
Carlisle blinked at Sheila two or three times and set his chair back down on all four feet. "Your mean your sister, Grace?" He seemed to see Sheila with renewed eyes. "I suppose so, now that you mention it. Huh. Come to think of it, she sort of looks like you, too, I guess."
Cora said, "My sister's eyes were just that dazzlin' blue, though her hair was the color of milkweed, God bless her. Didn't she turn heads."
"Oh, not any more than you, Mrs. Carlisle," said her husband, leaning back in his chair again. "I always found her a bit pale, myself."
"Grace married Mr. Carlisle's brother, Seamus," Cora explained, taking her husband's knife off his plate and buttering his scone with it.
With a look of scorn, Carlisle snorted lightly.
Mrs. Carlisle lowered her brow as though delivering confidential information. "I'm afraid their marriage was not always a happy one."
"She made my brother miserable. The truth of it is, she was a—"
"Mr. Carlisle, they'll be no disparagin' words about my own sister at this table," said Cora firmly.
May said, "Wait a minute. Hold on. Let me get this straight, Mr. Carlisle's brother married your sister?"
"Dear," said Mrs. Carlisle. "What a look you have on yer face. It isn't as though we planned it that way. These things happen sometimes as the good Lord wills it." She dropped the buttered scone back on her husband's plate.
"How did you all meet, ma'am?" asked Sheila.
About to take a large bite of scone, Carlisle said, "Oh, you don't really want to hear that, do you?"
His wife continued, undaunted. "Through a misfortune, I'm afraid, dear. Grace and I were orphaned when we were girls not any older than you two are now. We came to stay in America with my Aunt Shannon and Uncle Tomas. Their daughter had got the measles a number of years earlier, poor lass. They were left childless and agreed to take us in."
Carlisle shifted in his chair.
"Ooo," exclaimed Cora, turning to her husband. "Watch it dear. You've quite stepped on ma foot."
"Sorry, dear." He drank some tea.
May asked, "Mrs. Carlisle—you and Mr. Carlisle—you wouldn't happen to be cousins, would you?"
Carlisle put down his teacup. It clattered noisily against the saucer. "Twice removed," he said indignantly.
"Just so, dear," said his wife, patting his hand.
May said, "It's just a good thing you guys never had any—"
"May, why don't you have another scone," shrieked Sheila next to her, practically throwing one on May's empty plate.
"But I don't like—oh, right! Wow, you know, I really am hungry this morning," she said. "Thank you so much, Sheila. That's probably a really good idea." And she made sure to take an enormous bite.
"They really are delicious, Mrs. Carlisle," said Sheila. "Please don't stop. I'd love to hear the rest of the story."
"Oh, no," moaned Carlisle, standing up.
Cora smiled up at her husband. She tugged on his sleeve until he sat down again.
"Well, Mr. Carlisle came with his father and brother to meet us at the ship." She smiled at her husband. "Back then he was so thin and shy, with his hands in his pockets skulking behind his father." She made a glowering face. "He went to get my bag, stepped on my best dress and ripped the hem. I liked him fine right then."
"Was it love at first sight?" asked Sheila.
"Oh, mercy, no," said Cora. "Dense as the fog. And I couldn't have made it more obvious if I'd tried. He ignored me totally."
"You were too young," said her husband.
"You were eighteen."
"Och, eighteen." He made a wry face. "You're right, dear, it was me that was far too young."
Cora went on with her story: "Indeed, after several years I had quite given up hope completely on Mr. Carlisle. Several months after my twenty first birthday, I talked to my aunt about joining a convent and asked her to help me to make arrangements. My aunt was beside herself and refused to help. She said she was heartbroken to think of me in such a bleak and cheerless place as that. But my aunt and uncle had done so much already, and they themselves not so well off either, I did not wish to be a burden any longer.
"The very next evening, out of the blue, who should come to call but Mr. Carlisle? He stood on the doorstep, white as a sheet and handed me a single red rose. Stiff as a statue and staring at his shoes, 'Miss O'Brien, may I court you please?' he says, just like that."
Carlisle stared at his shoes.
"How romantic," said Sheila.
"Indeed," said Mrs. Carlisle. "After seven years and not so much as the time o' day? I took the rose and slammed the door in his face."
Not looking up, he smiled and said, "But she did take the rose."
"The next day, I found that my aunt had invited him to dinner. A good thing, too, him with always such a lean and hungry look about him. I had no idea anyone could eat so much pie." She picked up the teapot. Smiling at her husband, she said, "Would you like another cup, Mr. O'Callahan?"
"What did you just call him?" asked May.
Cora stopped smiling at her husband and stared at him blankly with her mouth partially open. She took in a short breath.
"That's fine, dear," said Carlisle, patting her hand. He tipped back in his chair. "The money lenders were having a hard time rememberin' my name, so I thought it might be better to shorten it, if you know what I mean."
"Carlisle is his mother's maiden name," said Cora as if the good woman was afraid to be caught in a lie.
Sheila rushed up suddenly from her seat and threw both arms around Carlisle's neck. Still tipped back in his chair, his eyes rounded at Sheila's unexpected embrace as well as the terror of an impending impact with the floor behind him. He reached out, caught the underside of the table and set himself, the chair and Sheila upright.
"You really are my uncle," Sheila cried, showering his neck with affectionate little kisses and practically choking him.
Carlisle turned bright cranberry. "I am?"
"O'Callahan is my mother's maiden name. I thought you looked familiar. You really, really are my Uncle Frank." She let him go suddenly and flew around the back of his chair to Mrs. Carlisle and hugged her. "And you're my Aunt Cora."
"Ooo, isn't that wonderful, dear," exclaimed Aunt Cora, hugging her back.
Through the open window, May heard the low, rough bark of a dog and the patter of canine feet coming at breakneck speed towards the house. There was the sound of a loud concussion on the front door followed by furious scratching. A crash of porcelain came after as the door flew open and smashed against the living room wall.
Mrs. Carlisle, her face beaming with delight over the back of Sheila's shoulder, cringed.
Through the kitchen archway sprang a chocolate lab, tongue lolling, streaming slobber. It ran full tilt, clattering its muddy nails across the wood floor, and launched itself at Carlisle.
"Rufus? It's Rufus, Cora," cried Carlisle as the dog licked his face.
"Oh! Not that great, stupid oaf of a dog! You just mind he keeps far away from my chickens."
Carlisle looked insulted. "He hasn't even ever touched one of those scraggly chickens." He smiled down at his dog and scratched his ears. "Have you boy?" Then to his wife, he said, "Don't I always make sure to keep the fence mended?"
Cora shook her finger at Rufus threateningly. "I know he looks at them when I'm not around, and if he doesn't stop it, he won't be gettin' any more o' my beef stew."
The man said to his dog, "That sounds pretty serious." He turned back to his wife. "Mrs. Carlisle, if he really wanted to
get to those chickens, he would find a way. It's not like it's that difficult."
"Indeed. Well, he's probably just too stupid to figure out how."
"He seems clever enough to me," said Sheila, patting the dog's head as she walked back to her seat.
The dog thrust itself off Carlisle and jumped to the window, clacking its nails on the sill. It gave out two loud warning barks in the direction of the yard, dropped back to the floor and shot out of the kitchen. The dog barked all the way out of the house and down the walkway to the dirt road.
"Ma'am," said May slowly, looking out the window, "there's a wagon out there."
"I think you mean a wain," said Carlisle.
Cora twisted around in her seat. "Well, thank heavens. They were supposed to be here three weeks ago. Lord knows what could have tooken them so long."
"Maybe they just got stuck somewhere?" offered May.
