Read Online Prelude to Heaven by Laura Lee Guhrke - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Lee Guhrke
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gown of peach muslin and went downstairs, where she found him in the kitchen making tea. “Good morning. Thank you for the water.”
He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the worktable. “I have to bathe as well,” he said as he picked up the teapot and filled two cups. “It was no trouble.”
“And thank you for the clothes as well.”
He made no reply to that. Instead, he held out a steaming up to her, and when she took it, he pointed to a porcelain jar on the table. “Sugar’s there, if you want it,” he added and turned away. “I’m going to the garden. I’ll be back.”
He took a big basket from a hook on the wall and left the kitchen. While he was gone, she drank her tea and thought about him and about the girl in the portrait. She wanted to ask him about her, but it was not her business, and besides, Dumond's manner did not invite questions. Also, he might start asking her questions in return. They both had secrets, and she wanted to keep hers. So did he, it seemed.
The door opened and Dumond came in, bringing Tess out of her reverie. The basket he’d taken with him was now heaped with herbs and vegetables, and he brought it to the work table. “Are you ready to begin work?” he asked as he set it down.
“Of course.” Tess set aside her empty cup and her curiosity. “What dish shall we prepare?”
“Something simple. An omelet, I think. But first, we have other tasks. We must milk the goat and fetch the eggs. Come.” Taking one small pail and one large one from their hooks on the wall, he once again left the kitchen.
Tess followed him out into the bright morning sunlight toward the group of crumbling buildings she had passed on her walk the day before.
Dumond led her to the henhouse. He must have let the hens out of their night roost earlier, for they were in the pen, and they scattered as he walked past them toward the coop. Tess moved to follow him inside, but the smell that greeted her through the doorway made her want to retch. She was often queasy these days, and it had obviously been some time since the coop had been cleaned. Hand over her mouth, she choked, “I'll wait out here.”
“If you are to be the cook, tending the chickens will be your responsibility,” he answered. “Come.”
She felt her stomach turn and she was certain her face had gone green. “I can't.” She pressed her other hand to her stomach, fearing her tea was going to come back up. “The smell...”
He shrugged and turned away, entering the coop alone. When he reappeared, the small pail was filled with eggs, and he handed it to her. He then walked back inside, returning with a bucket of feed. He scattered a few handfuls for the hens, tossed the empty bucket back through the doorway and left the pen, picking up the larger pail he’d brought on his way out.
She followed right on his heels, glad to be away from the smell of the coop. They passed the barn and entered another fenced pen, where a gray and white goat bleated a greeting at them. Dumond paused, giving Tess a rueful glance over his shoulder. “You can't cook, you don't like hen houses. I don't suppose you've ever milked a goat?”
She shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid not.”
“You’ll have to learn.”
When he moved toward the goat, Tess set down the pail of eggs, entered the pen, and moved to stand beside him. He went into the connecting barn, returning with a length of stout rope and a stool. He tethered the animal to the fence with the rope and pulled the stool forward, then patted it with his hand. “Sit there,” he told her.
Tess complied. The goat, trapped between her and the fence, bleated again, butting her head against Tess's shoulder hard enough to tip the rickety stool.
“Stop that, goat,” Dumond ordered, pushing the animal's head away before she could do it again.
Tess grinned at his words. “Goat?” she asked. “Doesn't she have a name?”
He shrugged and placed the pail under the
He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the worktable. “I have to bathe as well,” he said as he picked up the teapot and filled two cups. “It was no trouble.”
“And thank you for the clothes as well.”
He made no reply to that. Instead, he held out a steaming up to her, and when she took it, he pointed to a porcelain jar on the table. “Sugar’s there, if you want it,” he added and turned away. “I’m going to the garden. I’ll be back.”
He took a big basket from a hook on the wall and left the kitchen. While he was gone, she drank her tea and thought about him and about the girl in the portrait. She wanted to ask him about her, but it was not her business, and besides, Dumond's manner did not invite questions. Also, he might start asking her questions in return. They both had secrets, and she wanted to keep hers. So did he, it seemed.
The door opened and Dumond came in, bringing Tess out of her reverie. The basket he’d taken with him was now heaped with herbs and vegetables, and he brought it to the work table. “Are you ready to begin work?” he asked as he set it down.
“Of course.” Tess set aside her empty cup and her curiosity. “What dish shall we prepare?”
“Something simple. An omelet, I think. But first, we have other tasks. We must milk the goat and fetch the eggs. Come.” Taking one small pail and one large one from their hooks on the wall, he once again left the kitchen.
Tess followed him out into the bright morning sunlight toward the group of crumbling buildings she had passed on her walk the day before.
Dumond led her to the henhouse. He must have let the hens out of their night roost earlier, for they were in the pen, and they scattered as he walked past them toward the coop. Tess moved to follow him inside, but the smell that greeted her through the doorway made her want to retch. She was often queasy these days, and it had obviously been some time since the coop had been cleaned. Hand over her mouth, she choked, “I'll wait out here.”
“If you are to be the cook, tending the chickens will be your responsibility,” he answered. “Come.”
She felt her stomach turn and she was certain her face had gone green. “I can't.” She pressed her other hand to her stomach, fearing her tea was going to come back up. “The smell...”
He shrugged and turned away, entering the coop alone. When he reappeared, the small pail was filled with eggs, and he handed it to her. He then walked back inside, returning with a bucket of feed. He scattered a few handfuls for the hens, tossed the empty bucket back through the doorway and left the pen, picking up the larger pail he’d brought on his way out.
She followed right on his heels, glad to be away from the smell of the coop. They passed the barn and entered another fenced pen, where a gray and white goat bleated a greeting at them. Dumond paused, giving Tess a rueful glance over his shoulder. “You can't cook, you don't like hen houses. I don't suppose you've ever milked a goat?”
She shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid not.”
“You’ll have to learn.”
When he moved toward the goat, Tess set down the pail of eggs, entered the pen, and moved to stand beside him. He went into the connecting barn, returning with a length of stout rope and a stool. He tethered the animal to the fence with the rope and pulled the stool forward, then patted it with his hand. “Sit there,” he told her.
Tess complied. The goat, trapped between her and the fence, bleated again, butting her head against Tess's shoulder hard enough to tip the rickety stool.
“Stop that, goat,” Dumond ordered, pushing the animal's head away before she could do it again.
Tess grinned at his words. “Goat?” she asked. “Doesn't she have a name?”
He shrugged and placed the pail under the
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