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walked toward the barn, side by side. I know you must be tired.
I am, a little, my father replied. He gave the seat of his pants a
rub, a rueful expression on his face. I m afraid I m not cut out to be
much of a rider. I m happy to stretch my legs a bit, to tell you the
truth
Now, my father continued briskly, as he pushed open the
barn s great sliding door. What is so important that you must
interrupt my tea for help?
It s back here, I said, as I led the way. I ve wanted to ask
about this ever since you left. I m just not sure I ve set up this room
quite right.
I reached the room I d worked so hard to keep secret, lifted the
latch, and pushed open the door, gesturing for Papa to go in first. I d
left a lantern burning, placing it carefully so that it was safe, and so
that it would illuminate as much of the room as possible.
What do you think? I asked. Did I do a good job?
My father took several steps forward, then stopped abruptly. He
pivoted in a complete circle on one heel, without making a single
sound. But I saw the way his eyes moved around the room, taking in
all the details. It was as close to his workshop in town as I could make
it.
You did this? he said finally.
I nodded. With Grand-père Alphonse s help. With everyone s
help, actually, for they all kept you busy.
My father let out a long, slow breath. Until that moment, I hadn t
realized I d been holding mine.
Thank you, Belle, he said. I have tried not to be selfish, but I
admit it gave me a pang to leave my workshop behind.
You are the least selfish person I know, I said. A selfish man
would not have given up his fine city house to care for the wives and
children of sailors.
Ah, but you forget, my father answered quietly. I am a sailor s
child. Without Alphonse, I d have had no fine things to give away. He
moved to me, and put an arm around my shoulders. Like him, you
have given me something that costs you very little, but counts for
much.
I leaned against him, putting my head on his shoulder. And
what is that? I asked.
Kindness, said my father. He dropped a kiss on the top of my
head. Now, let s go back inside. I think Celeste is making something
special for Alphonse s last night with us.
With his arm still around my shoulders, my father and I walked
back to the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grand-père Alphonse departed the next day, riding out shortly after
noon, beneath a cloudy sky. He promised to let us know the moment
there was reliable word on any of Papa s ships. Our tiny new house felt
large and empty after he was gone. And, though we had been working
hard at many different things, Grand-père Alphonse s return to the city
marked the true beginning of our new lives.
Our days soon fell into a rhythm, each day with its own chore.
on Monday, Celeste rose early to bake pies and bread. Tuesday, she
sat and sewed with Maman while April and I heated endless kettles of
water to do the washing. I quickly grew to dislike washing day. It was
exhausting work and my arms and back ached by the time we were
done.
Wednesday, Celeste baked again, while April did the ironing and
I worked outdoors.
In addition to the patch for vegetables, Papa and I were digging
flower beds, particularly outside the window of the room where Maman
sat and sewed. The gardens in our yard in the city had been her pride
and joy. She d brought blossoms indoors every day when the weather
was fine.
While I d been busy preparing a surprise for Papa, April had been
saving one for Maman: The trunk April had brought with her was filled
with rose cuttings, one from every bush Maman had had to leave
behind. At the rate things were warming up, I d be able to plant them
soon. For, though our days were often damp and chilly, we were all
well on our way to spring.
And we d discovered the reason the hills around us turned a
green so intense it brought tears to the eyes. It was because, during
early springtime, the weather drizzled almost nonstop.
I think I m beginning to grow mold, I remarked late on
afternoon as I came into the kitchen. For once, it wasn t raining, but
was still wet and muddy outdoors. Maybe that s why the hills get so
green. They re moldy too.
Celeste opened the oven door and peered inside. It was the first
day of April, our own April s birthday. Celeste was baking a cake, her
first, as a surprise.
You take those muddy shoes off before you set one foot in this
kitchen, Belle Delaurier, she said without turning around.
Thank you for the reminder, I said tartly. Celeste may have
gotten easier to live with, but she was still bossy. I sat down on the
chair that was kept just inside the door for precisely the purpose of
removing muddy shoes, though I made no move to take mine off.
This may come as a surprise to you, old and wise as you have
become, but I do know better than to track mud all over the floor.
Who s old and wise? April asked as she came into the room.
She had a big apron tied over her dress. It was her afternoon to do the
dusting, a task she d refused to relinquish, birthday or not.
Celeste, I replied.
April s eyebrows shot up. When did this happen? she inquired.
I d be careful, if I were you, Celeste remarked. She set the pan
with the cake at the back of the stove with a clank. Apparently, it was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]