Page 33 of The Gift of Seeds
In the morningof Christmas Eve, Hester lingered in bed as long as Lucy allowed. She sent a fond glance at the pup, curled up under the afghan at her side.
Pearly light filtered through the frosty windows, outlined with snow, on the ledge, making it difficult for her to figure out the time.Not that the time matters.
Hester could see her breath fog and was grateful for the knitted nightcap keeping her head and ears warm, but her nose was cold. She pulled the covers up to shield her face from the chilled air.
How she missed the radiators at Mrs. Ransome’s house. She’d even had a small one in her room.
Lucy stirred but didn’t show signs of needing to get up.
Hester still felt lethargic from yesterday’s ordeal of going to town and tried to give herself encouragement to rise, with a reminder that baking strudel had always been so fun. But the bed was so warm and comfy….
Lucy poked her nose up and glanced at Hester, as if wondering why her mama wasn’t moving.
“I don’t suppose you could go make a fire for us?”
Lucy just cocked her head.
Hester let out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe we’ll just lie here for a while and the room will magically heat up.” She snuggled deeper under the covers.
I can lie here all day, if I want.
She proceeded to half-doze. Her thoughts kept straying to yesterday, and she resolutely banished them, trying to fully succumb to sleep.
Finally, the urgent need to use the chamber pot, drove her to sit up. She fished her quilted dressing gown and crocheted slippers from under the covers, where she kept the garments warm with her body heat. Shivering, she pulled the robe on over her nightgown and the slippers over her stockinged feet, and then used the chamber pot in the corner.
Lucy sat up, looking comical with the afghan draped over her like a hooded cloak.
“Come on, girl, your turn.” Carrying the chamber pot, she led the dog down the back hallway to where she’d spread a thick layer of newspapers over a rectangular piece of brown linoleum placed in front of the door. She kept a metal bucket near the door for both of their bodily wastes when the temperatures dropped too low to use the outhouse.
Crouching, she patted the floor. “Do your business here.” In the previous snowstorms, she’d worked on training the dog to use the newspapers, so neither one of them needed to go outside.
After Lucy did her business, Hester held her breath at the smell, balled up the newspapers, and placed them into the bucket.
Then she rushed to the kitchen, her hands already numb with cold. Shaking, she fired up the stove and pushed the kettle toward the front of the top, wanting hot water for tea and to wash up.
Since it was Christmas Eve day, Hester decided to be lavish with wood, so she went to the fireplace and lit a fire. Lingeringin the scant warmth, she smoothed the doilies draped over the backs of the two chairs.
Once she heard the water boil, Hester washed her hands and face in the basin, dried them, and quickly moved back to the stove, preparing a cup of tea and stirring in some honey, another holiday extravagance. Taking the cup and saucer back to her bedroom, she set the tea on her nightstand and crawled under the covers.
Lucy jumped up on the foot of the bed.
Hester flipped open the bedding so the dog could pad over to lie next to her. “We’ll have to keep each other warm. But this isoursecret, you hear? No telling people I’m allowing you to sleep in my bed.”
She cuddled with Lucy, relishing her relaxed state and thinking how this time of year had always been so busy. Mrs. Ransome liked to throw a lavish holiday party. Beforehand, Hester cooked and baked for several weeks, starting with fruitcakes so they had time to age in rum.
Hester never liked the taste of fruitcake, and she was glad to be shed of that chore. Thinking of baking made her remember that if she was going to keep two fires burning today, she would have to haul in more wood.
Later,she promised, not wanting to leave her warm nest. But she did bestir herself to sit up enough to sip her tea.
The dog whined, a feed-me sound.
Hester stroked the sleek head. “I don’t suppose you’ll make us breakfast, either?”
When no offer for cooking came from her companion, Hester forced herself to rise again. “I’m not getting dressed yet,” she told the dog. “Maybe I’ll even go back to bed athirdtime, my Christmas Eve indulgence.”
Lucy wagged her tail and looked expectant.
Because today was special, instead of her usual oatmeal, Hester scrambled eggs and fried bacon for them, sprinkling grated cheese over the eggs.
