Page 76 of Beyond Montana's Sky
“I wondered what you’d done with them,” she said, feeling a flash of pride.
“Part of me enjoyed tonight’s festivities, but part of me was outside everything watching and not particularly liking what I saw.”
“What did you see?” she asked curious where he was going with this conversation.
“I saw a spoiled family. Asadone, but a spoiled one.”
She recognized his insight. “Perhaps some of the spoilingisbecause of the sadness—a way to compensate for George and your father’s absence.” Edith certainly had bought far more presents than she’d needed to for that very reason.
“I suppose you’re right.”
His glum expression made her heart hurt. Determined to cheer him up—to cheer up both of them—she tapped his knee. “I have an idea. Let’s go down to the kitchen and make hot chocolate.”
His eyes widened. “But—”
Edith held up a hand. “I know, we’re supposed to leave the kitchen to the servants. By now, they should have retired to their rooms.”The servants must be exhausted after preparing, serving, and cleaning up after the Christmas Eve feast.She lowered her voice, as if imparting a great secret. “Sometimes, your father and I snuck down and made hot chocolate. Your grandparents never knew.”
He bounced up and grabbed Edith’s hand to pull her to her feet. “Come on.”
Without letting go, he towed her out of the room and along the hallway to the servants’ staircase, which took them down to the kitchen. Like naughty children, they descended the stairs, whispering and giggling and trying to keep their footsteps light. This part of the house didn’t have electricity, so they had to switch on the gaslights at each turn of the stairs and when they moved into the empty kitchen.
Edith glanced around the room, curious. Nothing much had changed, although the walls were painted a sunny yellow instead of the earlier pea-green.Definitely an improvement.The wooden floors, though, were more scuffed than she remembered.
A wide soapstone sink next to the stove gleamed dully. An oilcloth in a Christmas holly pattern covered the rectangular table in the middle of the room, with a scattering of wooden chairs around the perimeter.
The five-burner, cast-iron stove, set into a brick surround, occupied two thirds of one wall. A rectangle of brick tile was inset into the floor in front, and the back of the stove, with the big oven on the left, rose almost to the ceiling and the hood curved over. On the stovetop, the scents of rosemary, bay leaf, and fowl came from a huge pot. “The cook’s simmering the goose carcass,” she told Ben. “That means we’ll have hot water in a few minutes.”
Edith bent to open the firebox, where the coals were banked for the evening, but they still threw off warmth. Using the poker, she prodded them to life, scooped more coal from the nearby shuttle, and tossed the pieces inside. Closing the door of the firebox, she straightened and moved the teakettle, already full of water, from the back of the stovetop to the center.
Ben pointed toward the icebox. “I’ll get the milk and cream.”
“I’ll find everything else. Hopefully, Cook still keeps her supplies in the same place.”
She walked into the pantry, rummaging through the open shelves for cocoa powder, sugar, salt, vanilla extract, and cinnamon sticks. Loading her arms, she carried everything into the kitchen and placed them on the table.
Ben set two bottles on the table.
Returning to the pantry, Edith picked up a glass measuring cup, a whisk, and measuring spoons, and took down a saucepan hanging from a hook on the wall. She brought everything into the kitchen and over to the stove.
With a smile, she turned to Ben. “Do you remember the measurements? We haven’t made hot chocolate since last winter.”
He tapped his forehead. “Yes, and I remember we forgot to clean out the saucepan, and Mrs. Graves was annoyed with us. We won’t make that mistake tonight.”
“Cook and the maids don’t need the extra work tomorrow.”
Ben picked up the tin of cocoa and held it up. “One third cup.”
She nodded.
Still holding the cocoa, he tapped other items. “Sugar, one-half cup. Salt, a pinch. Milk, three-and-a-half cups. Vanilla extract, three-fourths of a teaspoon. Oh, and one-third cup boiling water.” He flashed her a triumphant smile.
Edith chuckled and tilted her head toward the stove. “Go ahead.” She watched as Ben combined the cocoa, sugar, and salt in the saucepan, measured and poured in boiling water, and whisked everything together before adding the milk. He continued stirring with the whisk.
Satisfied Ben remembered what to do and wouldn’t scorch the milk, she went to the pantry in search of the pressed glass coffee mugs, which she preferred for these late-night forays rather than the diminutive chocolate cups and saucers the family used at other times. Bringing two back to the table, she uncapped the cream bottle and poured three-quarters of an inch into the bottom of the cups to cool the beverage enough to drink.
“Chocolate’s ready.”
Edith inhaled the sweet scent. “I can tell.
