Read Online Carla Kelly by Borrowed Light - Free Book Online

looked over her shoulder. Mr. Otto was leaning against the door frame and regarding her with what, even in her extremity, looked like a kind expression. After Alice's comment, she knew that his expression would change when she confessed that she had no clue how to create coffee. She gazed back, but his expression did not change. She took a deep breath.
    “Mr. Otto, I have another confession,” she said. “Do sit down.”
    “I can't take bad news on my feet?” he asked, but again, it was not unkind. “So far I have managed to bear your confessions with some fortitude. I promise not to stagger around and tear at my hair.” He sat down anyway and looked at her for a long moment. “I overheard Alice. I suppose you are going to tell me now that you can't make coffee.”
    She could tell from his expression that he was joking with her. She avoided his eyes to concentrate on the intricacy of the tablecloth's design. She looked up. He was frowning now.
    “You can't make coffee,” he said in a flat voice.
    She shook her head, thinking with what panache she had created bisque of lobster and bombe glace in that practice kitchen. Why could you not have that instead? she thought. You want something as ordinary as coffee.
    “I can't make coffee,” she echoed, fearing that he might say something she really didn't want to hear, and who could blame him?
    Mr. Otto was quiet for a long moment. In misery, she listened to him drum on the table with his long fingers.
    “Could you try, Darling?”
    She looked up, wishing that he were not so inscrutable, or his voice so level. I wonder if he is angry, she thought. How do I tell? Either he is the soul of patience or more desperate for a cook than any man living. She could have been mistaken, but as she worked up the nerve to look at him, she imagined that he wanted her to succeed.
    “I mean, I just make it with a handful or two of coffee beans and water with no tadpoles.”
    He obviously wanted her to try. She nodded. “I have my cookbook in the crate, and there is a recipe for coffee.”
    Brave man, he did not waver. “Get on your shoes, and show me which crate. The wagon's by the barn.”
    When she went outside, Mr. Otto was already standing in the wagon bed. He had removed the extra tarpaulin that Marlowe had pulled over everything last night, shaking off the water. He gave her a hand up into the wagon bed. “Which one?” he asked.
    She indicated the smaller crate. As he pried up the lid, she remembered how stiff Ezra Quayle could be when she disappointed him. She relaxed. Mr. Otto seemed perfectly at ease. He almost seemed to be enjoying himself.
    When he pried off the lid, she looked at the trunk. She sniffed; the oil of cloves bottle must have broken. She picked up the almond paste, wondering if everything would now smell of cloves. She picked up the extra copy of the Book of Mormon, sniffed it, and set it back.
    Mr. Otto picked up the Book of Mormon and ruffled the pages with his thumb. He put the book back into the crate. “While I do expect coffee, I hardly think it's worth too many frowns and certainly no tears.”
    Relieved, she searched through the straw until she found her cookbook. She turned to the recipe and handed Mr. Otto the cookbook. She continued to paw through the straw, which eventually produced a wet measure and two dry measures in one-quarter increments. She showed them to her employer. “These are measuring cups,” she explained, pointing to the markings on the side. “I have other cups with markings in thirds.”
    “Fannie Farmer doesn't just toss in a bit of this and that?” he asked after he replaced the lid on the crate and helped her from the wagon bed.
    “Heavens, no! She taught us scientific cookery, Mr. Otto. Don't look so dubious,” she added.
    “I can't help it.” They walked back to the kitchen.
    Mr. Otto held the measuring cups and looked at them while she took Mrs. Marlowe's coffeepot to the sink and rinsed it out, counting her