by Danni Roan
"Does she come to town often?"
"Oh, my yes. I'm surprised they haven't asked her to start cooking at the Grist Mill as much time as she spends there."
A gentle knock on the door drew both women's attention "I'll get it. It's bound to be Quill," Sara said, rising quickly and heading down the hall. "She's always right on time for tea."
A few moments later Sara returned with another woman who stood a few inches taller than Sara, and had the same bright green eyes. This woman, however, had brown hair streaked with gold and a serious line to her mouth.
"You must be Rebecca," she spoke kindly on entering the kitchen. "Sara said how delighted she was that you'd come to look after the boarding house. We'll all miss Polly and George while they're gone, but it's nice to know things are in capable hands."
"Hello," Rebecca offered rising from her chair. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Sara explained earlier that you're her oldest sister, Aquila."
"Just call me Quill like everyone else does," the young woman said. "I see I'm in time for tea," she added with a grin.
"Then you must call me Becky," Rebecca offered.
"Becky it is, then," Quill said this time smiling for real. "Now what's for tea? I'm starving."
"Starving? You only ate breakfast an hour ago," Sara grumbled.
"It must be this cool snap," Quil offered, settling at the table and pouring herself a cup of tea. "I'm famished all the time."
"We have some biscuits left over from breakfast if cookies aren't enough." Becky rose again.
"Mmm. That sounds lovely."
Sara took her place once more and topped up her cup with milk, the whole time shaking her head at her sister.
"I know I practically lose my appetite completely in the heat." Becky's words were soft as she lay the biscuits, butter, and jam on the table.
"It can get quite warm here in the summer but nothing like the south, though I think at this point Mr. Grady wishes it would heat up a little." Quil was thoughtful.
"At least you can always go for a ride into the mountains to escape the heat in the summer. It's always cool under the trees." Sara seemed almost dreamy for the nearby hills.
"Was it terribly hot where you come from?" Quil asked, picking up a biscuit and adding a generous amount of butter and blackberry jam.
Rebecca Carol chewed her bottom lip for a moment before replying. "Actually, where I was most recently was very warm. I joined my sister and her husband in Panama in a small mission."
"Panama!" Sara gasped. "That must have been thrilling." Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "How long were you there? Was the journey terribly difficult? What are the people like?"
"Sara, stop nattering." Quil's sharp voice cut her short.
"It was very warm," Rebecca said simply, "and terribly humid."
"How long were you there?" Quill asked. "You must have a very big heart to travel to another country to share the love of God."
Rebecca dropped her eyes slightly. "I'm afraid I was only out for a little more than a year before I had to return home due to poor health."
"You poor dear," Quil said, patting her hand. "That must have been distressing to you. Your sister must miss you terribly."
Rebecca let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding at the acceptance in the tone of her companions.
"Well, I for one am glad you came here to Biders Clump," Sara said, her eyes cheery. "I can't imagine what I'd get up to keeping house for Ms. Polly all on my own."
"Hallooo!" another voice called down the hall. "The door was open, so I came right in." A somewhat plump young woman with blonde curls made her way into the kitchen, a large basket in her hand.
"Oh, Prissy!" Sara said brightly, "What did you bring us?"
The young woman moved to the table, plunking her basket down unceremoniously. "I have lovely things from the bakery." She offered a smile, revealing a dimple in her rounded cheek.
“Do you have those scone thingies?” Quil asked around the biscuit in her mouth as she strained to see inside the basket.
“Yes, I have scones,” the blonde spoke, placing a hand on a somewhat rounded hip, and looking askance at her sister.
“I’m Priscilla by the way,” she said, looking at Rebecca. “I’m the middle Adams’ girl, not that anyone can bother to introduce me or anything.” She slapped Quil’s hand away from the basket distractedly and began unpacking items onto the table.
“I’m Becky,” Rebecca offered, smiling at the banter between the sisters.
“Rupert packed up some of his new blueberry scones, lemon curd, and a few tarts as well,” Prissy continued, laying out each item. "And of course, there's that funny cream he makes."
“You’d better not let Mama hear you calling that baker by his first name,” Quil, said, placing a thick, triangular baked good on her plate and reaching for the jar of tart, yellow pudding.
“You’d better mind your own business,” Prissy snipped back, “and stop talking with your mouth full. Becky will think we have no manners at all.” Her green eyes sparked as her older sister blushed.
Across the table, Sara was trying to hide a chuckle behind a sip of tea, which only meant that the milky drink dribbled down her chin.
Even in the midst of the bickering, there was a warmth of affection between the sisters that would make anyone smile. It was a bittersweet display for Rebecca as her only sister was so far away.
With the basket finally unpacked, Priscilla settled onto a chair and smoothed her skirts, sliding the lemon curd toward Quil. “If you keep eating like this, you’ll be borrowing clothes from me to cover your fluff,” she said, splitting a scone down the middle and spreading it with a thick white cream.
“Fluff?” Becky could not help but ask.
“Pris’ insists that she’s not plump, only fluffy,” Sara said, a wicked twinkle in her eye.
“I had to remind Rock of that very thing today.” Prissy nodded, nibbling on the scone as she watched Quil spread the lemon custard on to her blueberry scone.
“What did he do this time?” Sara asked, leaning toward her sister.
Priscilla rolled her eyes as she recounted the tale.
***
“Miss Priscilla, are you sure you don’t want me to hook up the wagon for ya?” the ranch hand known to everyone as Rock, looked up at her where she sat upon her tall, flea-bitten white horse.
“Rock, you know very well I used to carry lunch out to all the hands in these paniers many a time,” she said impatiently, turning to glance at the well=packed, wide baskets that draped her horse’s flanks.
“Ya, but you’ve kinda come up a bit since you was a girl,” the big man rumbled.
Prissy’s eyes snapped, but her voice was bright. “Rock, I am not fat, I’m simply fluffy,” she said, tipping her head, “like a raccoon.”
“A raccoon?” the boulder-shaped cowboy spluttered in shock.
“Yes, raccoons look big and plump until they get wet, then they’re just skinny little critters with a bandit’s mask.”
The cowboy scratched his head, not sure what to say, as he pondered the comment. It was not a good idea to rile the young woman who did most of the cooking for the ranch and did it so well, but her words were confusing.
“You ain’t a racoon,” he finally commented.
“No, I’m not a raccoon, but I’m just like them. I’m slim as a wraith under my fluff.” Sticking her nose in the air, she touched her heels to Sugar and trotted away, her mischievous giggle echoing in the morning air.
The big man rubbed his chin, still pondering the comment as he watched the horse disappear down the trail.
***
“Did you really tell Rock you’re a raccoon?” Sara spluttered again.
“No, I simply explained that I’m not fat, I’m fluffy.”
“You always say your fluffy,” Quil, said still nibbling her scone with the bright golden topping.
Prissy wiggled in her chair, making her ample bosom shimmy as she huffed, then grin
ned.
A new knock on the door drew everyone’s attention, but before anyone could rise the door opened and a heavy tread moved down the hall.
“Is it safe to enter this hen party?” a man’s voice called as a lean, dark-haired cowboy moved into the warm kitchen.
“Just about.” Quil was the first to speak. “Prissy was telling us about how she tried to convince Rock she’s a raccoon.”
“I did not say that. I told him I’m fluffy like a raccoon.”
The cowboy stepped up behind Aquila and placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “Second breakfast?” he asked teasingly.
“Ah huh.”
“Cameron Royal,” Sara stepped in, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Becky Carol.”
“Ma’am.” The man offered his hand, his dark eyes welcoming.
“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?” Becky offered, half rising to her feet.
“No thank you. Unlike my wife here, a single breakfast seems to be enough for me.” He grinned, taking any real criticism from his voice. “You almost done with your visit?” he continued, turning back to Quil. “The boys and me are moving Herman and the herd toward the hills today.”
“Let me try one of these tarts,” Quil said, lifting one from the table. It was small, almost bite sized, but she took a delicate nibble and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh,” she said, putting it back on her plate. That doesn’t taste good at all.”
“Mine was alright. They’re blackberry.” Prissy said.
Quil took her last sip of tea and rose to her feet, but Cameron reached for the tiny pie and popped the whole thing into his mouth. “Mm, tastes good to me,” he offered with a shrug. “Your taster must be off.” He grinned, wrapping an arm around her.
“It was nice meeting you, Becky,” Quil said, disregarding her husband’s mildly annoying comment. “I’m sure we’ll see you on Sunday at church.”
“Of course,” the other woman replied. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“See you at home, Prissy,” Quil added, letting Cameron usher her toward the front door.
“I swear, she gets fussier every day.” Prissy sighed, leaning back in her chair and lifting her cup in one hand. “Last night she said my creamed eggs weren’t salty enough, and then she went and ate half a jar of pickled beets for a snack.”
Sara shrugged. “Quil’s the oldest. Who can figure out how her brain works?”
“So, what were we talking about when I came in?” Prissy asked, taking one of Polly’s pinwheel cookies and dunking it in her tea.
“Becky was telling us about being a missionary in Panama, weren’t you Becky?”
“Huh?” The young woman blinked at the sisters as she pulled her gaze away from the doorway. “Oh, yes. You see my sister and her husband are missionaries and I went out with them.”
“Pastor Dalton is going to love you,” Prissy said. “I’ll bet you have some wonderful stories.”
“I don’t know about that. It was rewarding work, and I know my sister is happy to continue it.”
“Your parents must be so proud.”
Rebecca squirmed slightly on her hard seat. “They were very happy when we started out.”
“I’d think they must be relieved to have you home,” Sara countered. "I know Mama would worry herself to bits if one of us went so far from home."
“Well yes, actually, I really should write a letter home soon and let them know how I’m doing here. Mothers do tend to fuss." Again, her eyes fell as she picked at her scone.
“You’ll have to tell us all about your time in Panama one day, but right now I need to get back to the Mill. I promised to show them how to make that baked spinach I brought to the last social.”
“Thank you for coming, Prissy,” Becky said, “and for the lovely treats.”
“Don’t let Sara convince you I have an over-developed sweet tooth,” Prissy said, preparing to leave, “but do talk her into making some fudge for you.”
Becky smiled at the easy relationship between the sisters.
“I’ll give your love to Mama,” Prissy finally shot back as she left the kitchen. “Toodles.”
“Why don’t you go write your letter,” Sara said, picking up the empty cups. “I’ll wash up the dishes. Besides you’ve already got dinner started so we’ll have a nice, easy day.”
For a long moment, Rebecca pondered the offer. She had been hired to take care of the household chores.
“Don’t even think of refusing,” Sara said, placing the dishes in the sink, “My mother would pinch me black and blue if she thought I was the reason you didn’t write to your family.” She grinned, showing the jest.
“Alright,” Rebecca finally replied, “and thank you. I think we’re going to get along wonderfully.”
Dear Mother,
Rebecca stared at the blank page, wondering what she could say after parting on rather bitter terms with her mother. She could talk about her train journey or the house or perhaps the people here in the little town.
It was never easy dealing with her mother, and with her sister far away, their relationship had become more strained until it seemed unbearable for Rebecca to remain at home. Her decision to leave and come west had been fraught with long nights of prayer and sorrow.
Only the fact that she’d traveled on her own before and faith had given her the strength to pack her bags and answer the letter from Polly Esther.
Still her mind drifted back to the day she’d left her mother’s beautiful home.
***
“I do hope you’ll be able to live up to the expectations of that woman at the boarding house.” Her mother’s voice was sharp. “You’re lack of physical strength could well mean you’ll be running home to your father and me again.”
“Mrs. Olson has indicated that the work is generally light, and I am much improved, after my rest.”
Her mother pinched her mouth into a harsh line. “You’re not like your sister; your lack of faith has left you weak and vulnerable. I don’t know what you’ve done to displease God, but…” her words drifted off as she turned away. “And no husband for you, either.” She shook her head, leaving the room.
Hot tears came to Rebecca’s eyes as the barbs settled into her soul. She had never measured up. What did she have to do to be good enough?
“Hurry up now. You don’t want your father to have to wait, do you?” Her mother’s voice carried down the hall.
Rebecca dashed the tears from her eyes, wishing she could dispel the disappointment and confusion as easily. She had given her heart and life to God when she was young and all she had ever wanted to do was serve. Going to the mission field had seemed like the perfect opportunity to be useful.
“Well no use crying over what isn’t,” she snapped, hefting her bag in her hand. “At least I won’t have to deal with mother’s disappointment in Biders Clump.”
She’d been surprised at the relative ease of the journey by train. She’d had a comfortable berth paid for by her father, but even that had left her washed out and exhausted at the end of the line. It was nothing like the grueling journey she had experienced two short years before.
The clatter of dishes downstairs drew her mind from the stately home on a hill outside Chicago and back to the roomy boarding house. It was not where she had expected to end when she’d placed her ad with the agency, but she was thankful for it nonetheless.
Letting her pen trace over the letters, once more she began to pour out her thoughts.
I hope this letter finds you well and that it brings you some comfort in the knowledge that I have arrived safely.
I am well situated here at the boarding house in Biders Clump. The older couple for whom I work are kind and cheerful people who have now gone on their trip to see their children and grandchildren. The work is not too strenuous, as the house is in good order and well stocked.
A young, newly married couple have come to stay at the house while the owners are away to ensure a sense of respectability. As the only guest currentl
y living here is the schoolteacher, a gentleman from the Deep South, it is fortuitous to have chaperones available.
My work generally consists of cooking and housework. I will do the laundry on Monday of this week and hope to keep everything much as it is.
On Sunday, I will meet the congregation of the community. I hope that we will have a good message, but I do not anticipate anything as inspiring or enthralling as the services that Moody Chapel offer, or the rousing tent meetings of Mr. Sunday. I do hope that the worship service will be soothing and that the pastor is not too poor a speaker.
I miss you and Father, but feel comfortable and confident in my place here. Perhaps being in service to this older couple will allow me to regain my strength over time and be of some real use.
I will write to Ethan and Mary soon for I know how they long for any news from home.
Please give Father my love and I hope to hear from you soon.
Your loving daughter,
Rebecca
Placing her pen in the little writing box, Rebecca rubbed her eyes. She thought she had finished with crying over her situation, but tears threatened even now.
The sound of a door opening and closing reminded Rebecca of her duties and she quickly straightened her dress and prepared to take on the rest of the day.
Chapter 4
“Something smells good.” Grady stepped into the kitchen, smiling at the delectable aromas drifting toward him.
“I’m making cinnamon rolls,” Rebecca replied, sliding a large dish of the fluffy white disks into the oven. “I’ll have sausage and eggs ready soon as well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” the teacher said, his eyes bright as he anticipated a hearty breakfast. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, actually, I’m surprised you’re up so early on a Sunday.”
“I’m so used to getting up early; I never seem to be able to sleep in.”
“Would you like some coffee? I’ve just made some."
