Read Online Carla Kelly by Borrowed Light - Free Book Online Page A

blessings all the while that it was granite wear, just as Miss Farmer insisted upon in the recipe.
    Taking a measuring cup from Mr. Otto, she portioned six cups of hot water from the stove's reservoir into the pot, and set the pot on the cookstove. In a brief time, she heard the hiss of water heating.
    Alice had returned with the eggs. Glancing at the recipe, Julia took the biggest one and cracked it into a bowl, shells and all. She added precisely one half cup of cold water, and then the coffee, which Alice, at her instruction, measured from the tin. “Imagine such a thing as cups to measure with,” the woman murmured. “We do live in a modern age.”
    “Level measures, too,” Julia said. “I can't tell you how many times Miss Farmer had us run a knife just so across the top of a measuring cup or a teaspoon.”
    When the water was boiling, Julia added the coffee and egg mixture to the pot and stirred vigorously, as the recipe indicated. To her dismay, the coffee was cloudy. Please be right, Miss Farmer, she thought. After another glance at the cookbook, she set the pot on the range and adjusted the damper again for a hotter fire.
    “Do you have a pocket watch, Mr. Otto?” she asked.
    Her employer drew back in mock alarm. “I cannot believe Fannie wants you to add my watch to the brew,” he said, even as he handed it to her.
    She sighed and looked at the watch. “The coffee is to boil exactly three minutes, Mr. Otto.”
    “Egg and all?”
    “Certainly,” she replied, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. Why on earth would anyone put an egg in coffee? she asked herself. And shells, too?
    While they all watched the three minutes pass, Marlowe joined them in the kitchen, draping his arm compan-ionably over his wife's shoulder. He looked from one of them to the other, a grin on his face. “Is absolute silence part of the recipe?” he asked finally. “Paul, I think we had more fun in here the night that Doc splinted my leg on this table.”
    “And certainly more brandy,” his wife commented.
    “Doc does appreciate an occasion,” Mr. Otto said, not taking his eyes from his watch. “Three minutes, Darling. What happens now? Should we stand back? Duck?”
    She ignored him. With her heart pounding just under her apron bib, she carefully removed the calendar page that Mrs. Marlowe had given her to plug up the spout. After another glance at the cookbook, she added the remaining half cup of cold water and held her breath. Heavenly Father, she prayed to herself, please let this coffee be wonderful. Her petition almost made her gasp. What am I thinking? More to the point, what on earth is Heavenly Father making of my petition?
    “The colder water carries the grounds to the bottom,” she said, wishing for an authoritative ring to her voice, which sounded childish to her ears.
    “Egg shells, too?” Mr. Otto asked, peering into the pot.
    I most earnestly hope so, she thought. “Now we set it on the back of the range for precisely ten more minutes.”
    “Exactly ten minutes?” he asked.
    “Precisely,” she said, crossing her fingers.
    He shifted in his chair to look at her. “How can you really predict anything done on a cookstove?”
    “Cooks do it all the time, Mr. Otto. It helps if you lay the fire right and then use good coal or the right wood when it catches,” she explained as she sat down beside him. “I looked at Mrs. Marlowe's fire, and it was fine.”
    “Little River used to just heave in a log or two when the mood was on her,” he said. “I've seen her stuff a log through the stove lid and let it burn down.”
    That does not sound promising, she considered, remembering Charlie McLemore's disparaging remarks about the Double Tipi's kitchen. “Is … is Little River still there?” she asked, hopeful of denial.
    Her employer handed her four cups. “Funny thing about that, Darling. When I told her that I was getting a cook, she left the next day.” He smiled. “Makes me wish I