Page 41 of Brian and Cora
“Is it…?” Cora debated how to tactfully ask.
“Because she’s not quite right?” Brian’s scowl was back and his tone sharp.
“The medical term is Mongoloid. Jewel has Mongolism,” Cora said tartly. “And, in my admittedly little experience from volunteering at the foundling home, in comparison to the children I’ve interacted with who have Mongolism, Jewel seems to be doing quite all right.”
Cora’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Jewel seemed to stun Brian into silence, although he didn’t appear sullen this time.
Jewel pointed to the dishes on the table. “Jewel wash?”
Cora looked at him, wide-eyed in obvious astonishment. “Should I let her?” she whispered.
“Jewel’s a bang-up dish washer. Lately, whenever she comes over, she’s taken on this task.
Just set her up with soapy hot water in the dry sink, rinse water in a tin bucket—” he pointed to underneath the dry sink “—and towels.” Brian hesitated, looking toward where he stored them. “Who knows where they are? Hopefully, still there.” He pointed to the drawer.
Following his finger, Cora moved to the kitchen cabinet and opened the drawer, lifting out a snowy white towel.
“That’s not mine,” he grumbled.
She laughed. “When Delia saw the condition yours were in, she relegated them to the rag bin.” She pointed to a square tinunderneath the dry sink next to the bucket. “So, you’ll still be able to use them as pen wipers.”
“Can never have too many pen wipers.” He gestured to the front door. “Before you heat more hot water, crack that open. Her father will be here any minute, petrified out of his mind.”
“Should I go find him?”
“A foreign woman trying to talk to him will make the situation worse.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Foreign?”
“You know what I mean,” he said gruffly.
With a laugh and a pat on Jewel’s head, Cora moved to the door and cracked it open a few inches, and then got everything ready for Jewel to wash the dishes.
The child picked up the sea sponge and held it up. “New.”
“You’re right.”
With a smile and look of concentration, Jewel dipped the sponge into the dish water and squeezed, seeming to enjoy the act, for she repeated it several more times.
Intrigued by the child, Cora stood close and supervised for a few minutes, as the girl painstakingly washed a plate, scrubbing far more than needed.
When the plate apparently was clean to her satisfaction, Jewel held it up to Cora. “Pretty dish. New.”
“Would you like me to dry that?”
“No.” Jewel lowered her head and didn’t stop, keeping her focus on her task, her mouth slightly open, tongue slightly out.
So earnest. Utterly adorable. Cora chuckled. “You are such a big helper.”
Jewel looked up and beamed, her eyes almost scrunching up. “Jewel good wash-er.”
“You are indeed.”
Whirling back to Brian, Cora assessed his condition. He’d eaten every bit of his breakfast, a gratifying sight.
Irritated, he waved her away. “Stop fretting over me.”
“It’s my job to fret over you.” Even though she had experience with difficult patients, there was something exhilarating in her back and forth with her curmudgeonly patient—almost like they played a game of badminton. He bats the shuttlecock to me, I bat it back. So far, I feel like I’m winning.
