“No, I never tried it. I’ve heard some say they cook it that way, but I don’t know how. Do you? I don’t see how that would be any different from stewed ham.”
“Oh, but it is! It’s delectable. If you can get the things quickly, I’ll fix it for you. You’ve just about time if you want dinner at five. It has to bake an hour. Have you plenty of milk? And mustard?”
“Loads of milk. We have a cow, and mustard, too, but what do you want with mustard?”
“You’ll see,” said Joyce. “Cut the ham in thick slices, as much as you want. My! That’s nice ham, nice and pinklooking and good and big. How many people? Yes, I guess you need two slices. Can I use these two iron frying pans? I think it bakes best in iron. You light the oven, please; turn it on full power. Now, see, I take a handful of mustard and rub it into the meat, all over thickly, and put it into the pan. Then fill it up with milk till it almost covers the meat. Put it into the oven and bake it just an hour, a good hot oven, and it will be the sweetest, tenderest thing you ever put into your mouth. There, there’s just room enough for both pans, and you needn’t worry about meat. They’ll like that, I know. I found the recipe in an advertisement of ham in a magazine and tried it. Everybody loves it. Now I must go, but I just wish I could wait and help you to make up for spoiling those chops. You don’t know anywhere I could go that they would rent me a piece of land, do you?”
“Well, no, I don’t just know, but suppose you wait till tomorrow morning and my husband may know of something. He might be able to find you just the right thing. If you’d be willing to stay and help me here a little while, I’d pay you well, and I’d help you with all my heart.”
Joyce smiled sorrowfully. “That would be too late. I’ve got to have a place within a few minutes now or I’ll lose the house. The man said they couldn’t wait but an hour and ten minutes, and I must have used up more than three-quarters of it now. I’d love to stay and help you, and if I can possibly get through what I have to do, I’ll come back and help you. Perhaps I could get here in time to wait on the table if you’d like me. I wouldn’t want any pay. I feel as if I owe you something. But I just can’t stay now. I must save this little house. It’s the only place I could ever hope to have for a home that I could afford, and I’ve really bought it, so I must find a place to put it.”
“For pity’s sake! Bought a house and must have a place to put it right away. Why, I never heard of anything so unreasonable. Couldn’t you buy the land it was on? Where is it?”
“No, the man wants to clear his land. When I came on them, they were breaking it up into kindling wood, and it’s the dearest little place, just big enough for one. It’s about four blocks away from here on the edge of a big place.”
“Oh! The land office. That is pretty. Yes, I heard someone had bought that old house and was going to fix it up. Why—but that’s not a house. It’s only a room. That wouldn’t take up much room. I should think most anybody would be willing to let you have enough land for that. If that’s all, maybe Papa wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t sell any land, but he might rent it.”
“Oh,” said Joyce, clasping her hands eagerly, “where can I find him? I’ll go right away. Perhaps I’ll be in time if I hurry.”
“Why, no, you can’t find him anywhere. He’s gone to the city. He won’t be home till the folks come. He went to meet them. But if you’re in such a hurry as all that, I suppose you could bring your house here for the night anyway, and then we could see about it tomorrow. About how much were you figuring to pay? Could you pay as much as a dollar a week?”
“Oh, I think so,” said Joyce, relieved. “I’m expecting to get a position right away.”
“Well, you can bring it here tonight, and if it doesn’t look too much in the way, we’ll try it. Our missionary society is getting up a fund to get some chime bells for our church, and each one of us has to earn some extra money some way. If I choose to earn mine by giving up a piece of backyard, my husband won’t object. The house is really mine anyway. You can come and try it, and we won’t promise anything on either side till we see how it goes. Now. Can’t you hurry right back and help me? I’m almost distracted with all there is to do, and I’m all shaken up with that fire and all.”
“I certainly will,” said Joyce with almost a shout of glee in her voice, as she turned and fairly flew back the four blocks to her little house, straining her eyes as she came nearer to make sure it still stood whole and fair before her. Yes, there it was, all vine clad. How dear and sweet. But the vine would have to go, of course. It could not survive. What a pity. Of course those men would think that was all nonsense. If she only had a little time, perhaps she might have managed to get the root loose and maybe it would live, but there wasn’t time, and she mustn’t think of it. She must hurry, hurry back to that woman who had been so good, and help her with all her might.
“She’s a-comin’,” growled Tom as the sound of her swift footsteps drew near, “an’ she don’t sound discouraged neither.”
“What’d I tell ye?” growled the other. “The hour ain’t up fer ten minutes yet neither.”
“Mebbe she’s coming to ask fer more time,” urged Tom, squinting down the street speculatively.
“No,” said the other, “she wouldn’t come till the time was up to the minute ef that was it. Anyhow, look at her! She’s a-shinin’ like a robin just back fer spring. That ain’t no discouragin’ countenance, ur my name ain’t McClatchey.”
The big auto truck was just lumbering around the corner as Joyce arrived panting and triumphant. “I’ve found a nice place,” she said joyously, “just down this street three blocks, and one around the corner. It’s opposite the side of a row of stores, just beyond the store on the side street. There’s a fence, but I thought perhaps you could back right up to it and slide the house over it.”
“Most likely we kin,” said the boss, filling his pipe speculatively and straightening up to await the truck.
“What! Ain’t ya got the kindlin’ ready to pile on yet, boys? It’s ‘most quittin’ time now. You said—”
“Hold your clack!” commanded the chief. “This here is a house. It ain’t no load o’ kindlin’ wood. You made a mistake. I’ve sold this here buildin’, an’ it’s gotta be delivered ‘t once. You clamber down, Sam, an’ git them jacks an’ rollers from behind that hedge, an’ get busy.”
“Can you tell me how much it will be?” asked Joyce, anxiously remembering that this was a momentous question and might yet present an impossible barrier to her plans. She looked from the driver to the chief in a troubled way, and the chief spoke up gruffly. “Oh, you kin give him five bucks, too, ef you want, fer keepin’ his tongue still, but he has to do what I say, and I say this here house is goin’ to be moved t’night. Look out there, Sam. Don’t you knock that there hangin’ gardin off ‘n the end. That’s part of the proposishun, an’ don’t wantta be destroyed. Get me?”
“Oh,” said Joyce, quite childishly clapping her hands. “You’ve saved the vine! Oh, thank you so much!”
“Sure,” said the chief. “Sold it to you, didn’t I? Part o’ the house, ain’t it? I ‘low to keep my contrac’s. Now, you kin run ‘long, an’ be on the spot when we git thar to say where you want her put. This ain’t no place fer a girl. While we’re movin’ her, you might git hurt.”
“Shall I pay you first?” she asked, opening her little handbag.
“No,” said the chief quite crossly. “Don’t take no pay till we deliver the goods. Down across from the stores, you say? Stone house? Picket fence? Yep. I know the place. Ain’t but one picket fence in the place. Folks wouldn’t sell an inch of ground. You’re lucky! But then ennybody kin see you’re that kind. Run along. We’ll be along in a leetle while. You needn’t to worry.”
Chapter 10
On winged feet, Joyce retraced her steps and entered the dining room she had left a few minutes before as eagerly as if it were her own home.
“I’m so glad I could come back right away,” she said. “The
men have the truck all ready and said they would be along in a little while, and, oh, I’m so thankful to you. Now, what can I do first?
“I could see you were a little troubled about that ham, never having tasted it cooked that way. Is there anything else we could make to help make up for the chops? Or couldn’t I go somewhere and find the butcher and ask him to let me have some more for you? I’d pay for them myself, because I really burned them up, you know.”
“Well, you’re a dear child,” said the woman pleasantly. “No, you can’t find the butcher. He’s taken his wife up in the country for the afternoon, and he’s cross as two sticks anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t want him to know I had been so careless, and it’s none of his business anyway. But I was thinking if there was something else I could make.”
“Well, what have you on hand? Let’s look in the refrigerator,” suggested the girl.
“Not much. There’s some cold chicken. I was saving it for Jim, and he didn’t come home at noon.”
She hurried to the refrigerator and took out a bowl, which Joyce examined.
“There’s half a breast and a drumstick and both wings. There’s the gizzard, too. Why don’t we make some chicken salad? Have you any celery?”
“Yes, I bought a stalk the other day. I like the top leaves to flavor bean soup, but there isn’t much.”
“A little will do. I see you have some tomatoes.”
“Yes, Jim likes them. I say they aren’t very tasty this time of year, not worth the money, but Jim always asks for them.”
“Well, why don’t we stuff them with chicken salad? That would make a beautiful salad dish and make the chicken go further. Didn’t I see lettuce in the garden? A few leaves will do even if it isn’t very big. And how about mayonnaise?”
“Why, I make a boiled mayonnaise, but it’s late to get it cool, isn’t it?”
“Haven’t you any oil? That makes it so much nicer.”
“Yes. Mrs. Parsons brought over a can she had left when they moved away last week. There’s pretty near a pint in it, just had a few spoonsful taken out, but I can’t make real mayonnaise. It won’t get stiff for me. It separates. And it takes so long, doesn’t it?”
“Well, I can. No, it only takes a few minutes. I know a lovely recipe. Where’s the oil? Get me some salt and pepper and mustard and eggs. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy while you cut up the celery and chicken. Then we’ll fix it and put it on the ice all ready.”
The two were soon busily at work, and the mayonnaise whipped itself into a thick, velvety, yellow mass in no time under Joyce’s skillful hand. The worried hostess was delighted, and presently a tempting platter of scarlet tomatoes was set on the ice, filled to overflowing with the most delicious chicken salad that ever went to a feast.
“You’re going to have creamed potatoes and new peas out of your own garden. Isn’t that wonderful? What’s for dessert? Anything I can do about that?” asked Joyce as she turned away from the refrigerator.
“Why, I’ve ordered ice cream, and I made a cake. That’s all right. I just looked at it, and the icing is hardening nicely. You see, I just got the telegram at three o’clock that they were coming. It went first to the other Bryants up on the hill, and they were away. I ought to have got it yesterday. I wonder why that ice cream doesn’t come. They promised to have it here at four. I always order it earlier than I need it for safety. It’s twenty after four now. I believe I’ll call up to make sure.”
She went to the phone and in two or three minutes appeared in the kitchen door where Joyce was just putting on the peas with her face the picture of dismay. “What shall I do? They can’t send it. They say the orders have all gone out this afternoon, and mine wasn’t among them. There was some mistake.”
“Isn’t there some other place? I’ll run out and get some for you.”
“No,” said Mrs. Bryant in despair, “the other two places don’t have any fit to eat. I wouldn’t offer it to a cat! I haven’t even a pie on hand. Isn’t this simply awful!”
The poor woman sat down and dropped her tired face in her hands, looking as if she were going to weep.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Bryant. There’s always something one can do. Let me think. Have you any junket tablets?”
“Why, yes,” said the despairing housekeeper, “but what is junket? An invalid’s food!”
“Wait till you see mine. It’s caramel junket, and we’ll serve it with whipped cream. You haven’t some preserved cherries or a few strawberries or something to put on the top of each dish, have you? It’s the prettiest thing you ever saw. Where is the sugar, quick? We must hurry. Have you some individual dishes that will be pretty to hold it?”
Mrs. Bryant produced some long-stemmed sherbet glasses and a bottle of preserved cherries, saying dubiously, “It’ll never cool. It’s way after four now.” But she watched the deft fingers as they manipulated the sugar over the flame until it had reached the right perfection of caramel color and was stirred, fizzing, into the lukewarm milk.
“It won’t set,” said Mrs. Bryant. “Mine never does except in real cold weather.”
“Oh yes, it will. I put in an extra tablet to hurry it,” said Joyce. “Now, I want some cream. Can I take it off those two bottles? It looks rich enough to whip.”
“Yes, it whips, I guess,” sighed the woman, “but I never can get time for such frills. That’s why we’ve decided to sell the cow—it took so much time to tend to the milk. It’s really sold, but the man isn’t coming for it till next week.”
Joyce worked breathlessly, one eye on the clock, and all the while her heart watching for a little house to come riding down the street. Yet the time went by and no house appeared. Could it be that the men had gone back on their word, or that they had made a mistake and taken it to the wrong street, or that something had happened to the precious little structure on the way?
The junket set and the cream whipped in spite of the anxiety of Mrs. Bryant, and at ten minutes to five, both were on the ice, and the cherries were on a plate with a fork nearby to place them on their setting of whipped cream at the proper moment.
“You had better go and get ready yourself now,” said Joyce, smiling, as she lifted the potatoes and poured them through the colander, setting them to steam dry for a moment before creaming them. “I’ll see to the peas, and the ham is just perfect. I’ll have it all on the platter ready to take in and keep it hot. You don’t happen to have a white apron you could lend me, do you? That is, if you want me to wait on the table.”
“Oh, will you? I’d be so glad. I’m always nervous with city folks. Yes, I’ve got an apron. I’ll throw it down the back stairs. And I’ll just run up and change now, and smooth my hair. It won’t take a minute. They ought to be here anytime now. I’m real relieved. I think things are going to be all right. If you have time, you might cut the cake.”
Joyce, wearied almost to the limit, yet interested in what she was doing and eager to serve one who had so served her, turned back and put all the last little touches on the table that she well knew how to put, smoothed her own pretty hair as well as she could with only the tiny comb with which her handbag was fitted, washed her face and hands at the sink, and took off the big gingham apron Mrs. Bryant had loaned, to replace it with the white one that presently fluttered down the back stairs. She giggled to herself to think what a change had come over her life in twenty-four hours. Here she was at almost the same hour getting supper in another kitchen for an entirely different set of people, utter strangers. How strange and interesting! How wonderful to have the opportunity to thus work her way into a bit of land for her house! How good it was that she could cook and had the ability to help in this time of need!
But there was no time to meditate. The kitchen clock was striking with a businesslike clang, and the honk of an automobile horn could be heard coming down the street. Mrs. Bryant rustled down in a gray crepe dress with her hair fluffed up attractively. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks wore a pretty little touch of nervous color as
she looked out the door.
“I think they are coming!” she said eagerly, and then Joyce, glancing out behind her, saw looming clumsily in the distance, blocking up the street and grown to almost enormous proportions, her little vine-clad office riding down behind the bright little car that was speeding rapidly toward the Bryant gate.
“Oh, Mrs. Bryant!” breathed Joyce in alarm. “My house is coming, too, and you haven’t told me where to put it yet!”
“Your house?” said the preoccupied lady half impatiently. “Oh yes. Why, put it anywhere you like for tonight. Just don’t get into the garden. You won’t have to go out and see to it, will you? Because I can’t spare you now.”
“Only for a second,” said Joyce happily. “I’ve got to pay the men.”
“Well, wait till the mat is on the table and everything passed. Don’t forget the coffee. There they are. Now I must go.”
Joyce, starry-eyed, tired to death but smiling, began to take up the dinner and carry it into the dining room. She could hear the hum of voices in greeting, the people going upstairs, the splashing of water as the guests quickly freshened up, and all the time her senses were listening for the coming of the truck and trying to time her actions so that she might go out and tell the men where to put the house, and yet not interfere with any of her duties as waitress.
She flew out at last while the guests were being seated and told the chief about where she thought the house should stand.
“I’ve got to go right in,” she said confidingly. “I’m helping Mrs. Bryant with a dinner. She has company, and they’re going to catch a train, but you can put it right in there between those two trees, wherever it is convenient to you. Just so it keeps out of the garden. I suppose I’ll have to get someone to fix it steady, won’t I? I’ll be out again in a few minutes if you need me for anything.” And she flew in again and, straightening her white apron, entered the dining room with a plate of hot biscuits.
Mr. Bryant was a meek, apologetic little man with a retreating chin and kind eyes. He half arose when he saw Joyce, as if he thought this was another guest who had somehow got misplaced, but Mrs. Bryant incorporated her at once into the picture with a glance that placed her as a server, and Mr. Bryant slid back into his chair, his mouth the shape of an inaudible O, and addressed himself to this new and mysterious kind of ham that looked like roast veal and cut like chicken.
Not Under the Law Page 9