“It was either learn or starve. A good neighbor to the south where I used to live was kind enough to give me lessons. She bottled the meat for me.”
Listening to Shorty helped pass the time.
Addie’s gaze slid past him to the window. When would Nash return?
The onions gave off a savory scent. She chopped the potatoes and added them along with enough water to make a sufficient amount of soup. In Shorty’s cupboard, she found an assortment of spices and added a touch of rosemary and thyme. When the potatoes were cooked, she mashed them, leaving the soup lumpy. She liked a little texture though she knew some preferred it smooth.
The meal was ready. Should they wait for Nash and Hawk?
Shorty leaned over the pot and sniffed. “It smells quite good. Is it ready?”
“It is.” She filled bowls for them and left enough for Nash and Hawk. There’d be enough for Mother, too, if she could be persuaded to take some.
Joining the men at the table, Addie glanced around. “Who is going to ask the blessing?”
Mr. Bertrand’s grunt gave his answer.
Mr. Zacharius managed a wheeze.
That left Shorty. If he refused, Addie would do it, but she’d prefer he did.
He cleared his throat. “I remember a grace I heard many years ago.” He bowed his head. “God is great. God is good. Let us thank Him for this food. Amen.”
“Amen,” Addie echoed. “I have also heard that prayer a time or two.”
Shorty turned his attention to the food. “This is good soup. I watched you make it, so now I know how.”
“Glad to be of service.” Her words startled her. Service. She’d planned to spend her life in the service of others, helping the Stones, in large part to repay their kindness. Not that they’d ever suggested she owed them. Had God sent this delay so she could enjoy Nash’s company and maybe even consider another direction for her life? Not that Nash had given her any reason to believe it possible. But he had the house he’d built. Wouldn’t he need someone to keep it clean and prepare meals for him?
Everyone had finished their food, and she hurried to the cupboard to wash dishes.
She’d been building an imaginary life on a nonexistent foundation. All because of that book she was reading. Nothing but fantasy. Yet as soon as she’d dried the last dish and put it away, she returned to the story, anxious to see how it turned out.
A rattling sound outside jerked her from her reading. Nash and Hawk back?
But the door didn’t open. Shorty limped over. “It is Nash. He is cleaning mud off his boots.”
Addie put the book aside, preferring real life to the imaginary one she’d found on the pages.
Nash stepped in and glanced around. “Hawk’s not back?”
“He has not yet returned,” Shorty answered.
“I made soup.” Addie filled a bowl and put it on the table.
“Smells good.” Nash sat on the bench.
“Are you going to tell us what you found?” Mr. Bertrand demanded in more of an order than a question.
Nash scooped two more mouthfuls before he answered. “It’s as Hawk feared. The landslide has covered the road on the back trail. It will take men and horses several days to clear it.”
Mr. Bertrand harrumphed. “Well, at least it’s not the direction we need to go.”
Nash finished his soup. “Thanks. I enjoyed that.”
Addie took the bowl, washed it, and put it away.
“Would you like to see your surroundings without rain obscuring the view?” Nash asked when she’d finished her task. “Shorty’s picked a nice spot.”
