Read Online Voices Carry by Mariah Stewart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mariah Stewart
Ads: Link
zoom.”
Genna laughed.
“Now, get dressed and come sit down and eat some of this delicious French toast I’m about to make.”
“I’ll gain ten pounds here,” Genna pretended to complain. “I always do.”
“You could stand to gain a little.” Patsy told her as she returned to the kitchen. “And you haven’t stayed here long enough to gain ten pounds since you were in high school.”
“Touché.” Genna stood up. “Give me five minutes. I’ll take a cup of coffee now, though.”
“No, you won’t. It’ll slow you down. You can have your coffee with your breakfast.”
“Tyrant,” Genna muttered just loud enough for Patsy to hear, smiling as she did so, and went to her room to dress.
“Think we can get in a sail today?” Genna asked when she arrived in the kitchen and sat down at the small counter where plates had been set for two.
“Maybe. The clouds look a little iffy, but they could pass over.” Patsy handed her a plate upon which she’d piled fat slices of French toast, golden from the frying pan and wearing a sprinkling of white powdered sugar.
“Heaven. Sheer heaven.” Genna smiled. “And worth every blessed calorie, and every bit of cholesterol, fat. . .”
Patsy smiled and poured orange juice and coffee for them both, then sat down next to Genna.
“I used the last of the eggs for the French toast,” she commented. “I don’t usually go through a dozen so quickly, but between the cake I made for last night and the toast this morning, I went through that carton in less than a week.”
“If I’d known, I could have picked some up yesterday.”
“No matter. I can make a quick run this morning.” Patsy shrugged. “I was thinking about making a lemon soufflé for dessert, so I will need the extra eggs.”
“How is Mrs. Frick doing?”
“Well, she’s old as the hills, as you know. Must be in her nineties. Spry little devil, though. Still raises her hens and sells her eggs and works on those quilts of hers, though she doesn’t make as many as she used to, and they seem to take her longer these days.”
“Maybe I’ll go with you,” Genna said, pleased that she wouldn’t have to wait too long for an opportunity to visit the farm. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, most days I don’t go up to the house anymore.” Patsy sipped at her juice. “I just buy from the stand. Unless I’m having something made—a baby quilt or something—that I have to talk to her about.”
“Actually, I was thinking about just that. A baby quilt, that is.” Genna hadn’t been, but she was now that the opportunity presented itself.
“Oh? Who’s having a baby?”
“John Mancini’s sister. Angela. And she already had it.” Genna concentrated on cutting off a piece of toast with her fork, not wanting to look at Patsy’s face and having to see that spark of hope she knew she’d find there. Patsy had adored John and had been very vocal about where she hoped that relationship would eventually lead.
“She had a boy, by the way,” Genna added. “Carmen Anthony DelVecchio the second.”
“Oh. How nice. And nice of you to think of having a quilt made for her son. You’ll be seeing her, then?”
“The baby will be christened next Sunday, so I doubt there’s much time to have a quilt made. With luck, Mrs. Frick will have a few already made up for me to choose from. And yes, I’ve been invited to attend the christening.” Genna’s mouth twitched at Patsy’s attempt at craftiness.
“By Angela or by John?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re very nosy?” Genna fought a grin. “And not very subtle?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Patsy sniffed with mock indignation. “I’m always interested in everything you do.”
“Especially when it concerns what might loosely be referred to as my love life. Or lack of it.”
“Didn’t Angela just get married last summer?” Patsy chose to ignore Genna’s comment and forged ahead. “Have
Genna laughed.
“Now, get dressed and come sit down and eat some of this delicious French toast I’m about to make.”
“I’ll gain ten pounds here,” Genna pretended to complain. “I always do.”
“You could stand to gain a little.” Patsy told her as she returned to the kitchen. “And you haven’t stayed here long enough to gain ten pounds since you were in high school.”
“Touché.” Genna stood up. “Give me five minutes. I’ll take a cup of coffee now, though.”
“No, you won’t. It’ll slow you down. You can have your coffee with your breakfast.”
“Tyrant,” Genna muttered just loud enough for Patsy to hear, smiling as she did so, and went to her room to dress.
“Think we can get in a sail today?” Genna asked when she arrived in the kitchen and sat down at the small counter where plates had been set for two.
“Maybe. The clouds look a little iffy, but they could pass over.” Patsy handed her a plate upon which she’d piled fat slices of French toast, golden from the frying pan and wearing a sprinkling of white powdered sugar.
“Heaven. Sheer heaven.” Genna smiled. “And worth every blessed calorie, and every bit of cholesterol, fat. . .”
Patsy smiled and poured orange juice and coffee for them both, then sat down next to Genna.
“I used the last of the eggs for the French toast,” she commented. “I don’t usually go through a dozen so quickly, but between the cake I made for last night and the toast this morning, I went through that carton in less than a week.”
“If I’d known, I could have picked some up yesterday.”
“No matter. I can make a quick run this morning.” Patsy shrugged. “I was thinking about making a lemon soufflé for dessert, so I will need the extra eggs.”
“How is Mrs. Frick doing?”
“Well, she’s old as the hills, as you know. Must be in her nineties. Spry little devil, though. Still raises her hens and sells her eggs and works on those quilts of hers, though she doesn’t make as many as she used to, and they seem to take her longer these days.”
“Maybe I’ll go with you,” Genna said, pleased that she wouldn’t have to wait too long for an opportunity to visit the farm. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, most days I don’t go up to the house anymore.” Patsy sipped at her juice. “I just buy from the stand. Unless I’m having something made—a baby quilt or something—that I have to talk to her about.”
“Actually, I was thinking about just that. A baby quilt, that is.” Genna hadn’t been, but she was now that the opportunity presented itself.
“Oh? Who’s having a baby?”
“John Mancini’s sister. Angela. And she already had it.” Genna concentrated on cutting off a piece of toast with her fork, not wanting to look at Patsy’s face and having to see that spark of hope she knew she’d find there. Patsy had adored John and had been very vocal about where she hoped that relationship would eventually lead.
“She had a boy, by the way,” Genna added. “Carmen Anthony DelVecchio the second.”
“Oh. How nice. And nice of you to think of having a quilt made for her son. You’ll be seeing her, then?”
“The baby will be christened next Sunday, so I doubt there’s much time to have a quilt made. With luck, Mrs. Frick will have a few already made up for me to choose from. And yes, I’ve been invited to attend the christening.” Genna’s mouth twitched at Patsy’s attempt at craftiness.
“By Angela or by John?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re very nosy?” Genna fought a grin. “And not very subtle?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Patsy sniffed with mock indignation. “I’m always interested in everything you do.”
“Especially when it concerns what might loosely be referred to as my love life. Or lack of it.”
“Didn’t Angela just get married last summer?” Patsy chose to ignore Genna’s comment and forged ahead. “Have
Similar Books
