I prepared a heaping bowl of pancake mix. After the horrible evening, I figured that would be one way to boost the smiles on the boys’ faces. Bunny pancakes, like Martha made. Or maybe, snowmen or . . .
The boys came thumping down the stairs. Their voices seemed light and cheery even without the knowledge of the morning treat. They came dashing into the kitchen to say good morning, and in their wake, Martha entered, looking restored by her night of sleep (and Willow’s purring, because my kitten familiar seemed to have excellent powers of healing.)
“Pancakes?” Martha asked, peeking into the bowl as if she had any doubts with the pan already on the burner heating up.
“May I make them?” she asked.
“Yes, yes!” the boys shouted out.
“With bunny ears?” Carlo asked.
Martha smiled down at the two little boys, her face revealing that she was as excited as they were.
Martha hadn’t been cooking anything for months, not since she was so sick that we feared to lose her, but this morning, she donned her kitchen apron and set to work.
The boys scurried to set the table. Carlo liked to place the cloths under the silverware. Francis was old enough now even to put out the plates and pour the milk.
The first batch of pancakes was on their plates a few minutes later. I’d fried some eggs to go with the bacon, and there was fruit salad left from dinner. It was a nice spread for only the four of us. For a moment I missed not having Dr. Stevens and Frank sharing a meal with us, but since they hadn’t arrived yet, I assumed they were both working.
I poured Martha and me some coffee and had just sat down to eat a Martha bunny when a knock sounded at the front door. By its nature, it was easy to tell that it wasn’t either of the men. I stood up and went to greet our company, knowing already that it would be the grouchy ogre.
Yes, I hear you Old Mother, I said to myself. Old Mother would be telling me to feel empathy for Sheila, and definitely not be calling her ugly names, (even if that was only in my mind.) But, I’d never said I was perfect.
I opened the door and was just about to invite Sheila in when she pushed past me without a word, almost, in fact, barreling me over.
“Mother, I’m here,” Sheila called out.
I closed the front door gently, (although, yes, I was tempted to slam it,) then returned to the table. Sheila had already invited herself to breakfast and looked like she was impatiently waiting for me to serve her.
I went to get Sheila a plate, utensils, and a mug of coffee, and had pushed the platters of food in her direction when Carlo looked over at Sheila and said. “Are you going to be mean again?”