Authors: Mackenzie Morgan
Fenway snorted. “Heat some grease, put a little batter on the fish, and pop them in. What’s so hard about that? And I watched Callie make cornbread one time. All she did was mix up cornmeal, water, and salt and drop it by spoonfuls in a pan of hot grease. She said it was the easiest meal she made. You should be able to handle it.”
Ainsley sighed. “Any idea what she put in the batter?”
Fenway thought for a moment and shrugged. “Probably the same stuff she put in her cornbread.”
“Well, I’ll give it a try. Can’t be any worse than the stews I’ve made, or the bread.”
After Fenway left, Ainsley put more wood in the stove and stoked up the fire. She took out two big frying pans, set their lids on the counter, put enough lard in them to have at least an inch of grease in the bottom, and set them on the stove to heat. Then she started cleaning the fish.
While she cleaned fish, the kitchen got hotter and hotter and soon she was dripping with sweat. She opened the window over the sink to try to cool things off a bit and started on the batter. She wasn’t sure what to put in it, but her father had said cornmeal, so she started with that. She scooped out several cups of cornmeal, added some water from the pitcher she kept on the table, and started stirring.
An acrid smell caught her attention, so she glanced at the stove. A thick smoky steam was coming off the grease. She couldn’t remember Callie’s stove smoking, or the acrid smell, but the few times she’d bothered to look at the pan when something was frying, the grease had been bubbling. Ainsley nodded to herself. The grease should be boiling by the time she was ready to add the fish.
Ainsley added a little more cornmeal to her batter, then a little water. When she thought the consistency was about right she picked up a piece of fish from the tray. Right as she lowered the fish into the batter, she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. She yelped when she realized one of the frying pans had caught fire. Before she could move, there was a second flash as the other pan flared up.
Ainsley grabbed her pitcher and threw the water towards the two frying pans. As soon as the water hit the grease, a huge ball of flame leapt towards the ceiling, igniting the curtains as well as the towels stacked near the stove. Smoke and steam filled the room and poured out the open window.
Marcus and Rigel were on their way to Doreen’s when Marcus heard a loud whoosh and caught a whiff of smoke. He checked out the surrounding buildings with his seeing eye and spotted a smoky cloud coming from a back window at Fenway’s. As he started running, he yelled, “It’s Fenway’s. Check the front. I’ve got the back.”
As Rigel ran towards the front door he saw Fenway walking towards his tavern. “Fenway! Where’s Ainsley?” Rigel yelled as he ran towards the older man.
“She’s in the kitchen. Why?”
“Your building’s on fire!”
Fenway dropped the bucket of eggs he was carrying and jumped towards the door, but Rigel grabbed his arm before he could open it. “Wait. Marcus should be around back by now.”
“Let go of me!” Fenway yelled as he struggled to get away from Rigel. Smoke was seeping out around the front door. “Ainsley’s in there!”
Rigel shook his head. “If we open that door, we may make it worse. Let Marcus handle it.”
Fenway looked back and forth between Rigel and the door, and then took off running towards the back of the building.
Meanwhile the fire ball had forced Ainsley back across the room. As the cloud of smoke and steam began to dissipate, she picked up a towel and tried to fight her way through the cloud to get to the stove. She was planning to pick up the burning pans and dump them in the sink, but before she could get there, Marcus crashed through the back door and yelled, “Ainsley! Get back!”
Then, as Ainsley watched from the sidelines, Marcus used his outstretched hands to deal with the fire. The lids floated over to the stove and slid on top of the frying pans. Then Ainsley saw a bag of flour float from the storeroom to the stove, tilt, and dump flour all over the top, smothering flames from the grease that had sloshed out of the pans. Once the fire on the stove was out, the bag of flour plopped down on the floor as the burning curtains were ripped off the wall and dropped into the sink. A moment later, the smoldering towels toppled on top of the curtains and steam rose as water poured out of the pump. Once the fire in the kitchen was out, the frying pans rose off the stove and floated out the door.
Marcus put his arm around a tearful and coughing Ainsley and led her outside as Fenway and Rigel came around the corner of the building.
The first thing Fenway saw was a dark haze of smoky steam and two frying pans floating in the air. “What in the...?”
Rigel put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Wait a minute. It’s Marcus, and he has Ainsley.”
Marcus looked at Fenway and asked, “Where do you want me to put the pans? They’re still pretty hot.”
Fenway glanced around and pointed to a bare area near the shed. “Over there.”
Marcus set the two frying pans down in the dirt. “I think Ainsley needs to be checked out. I don’t think she got burned, but she inhaled a lot of hot smoke.”
“Fenway, if you want to stay here, I’ll take her to the chapel for you,” Rigel offered.
Fenway, who was still a bit stunned, nodded as he looked at Marcus. “How bad is it?”
“I’m not sure. Let it air out a minute and then we’ll look, but I don’t think it’s too bad. I doubt you’ll be opening before Friday, but we may be able to have you back in business by the weekend.”
“I hope so,” Fenway said quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Father,” Ainsley squeaked between coughs. “I don’t know how it happened.”
“It’s all right.” Fenway put his arm around his daughter. “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”
When she tried to say something else, Fenway shook his head. “Don’t try to talk. Go see the sisters and let them fix you up. I’ll be over there in a bit to take you home.”
As Rigel led Ainsley away, Fenway said, “I need a mug of scog. Want one?”
Marcus nodded. “But I’ll get them. Just tell me where it is.”
Ten minutes later, a much calmer Fenway sat at one of the outside tables talking to Marcus. “If we have to tear out the back wall, how hard do you think it would be to make the kitchen five feet longer?”
Marcus looked at the building and shrugged. “Not all that hard, but if we do that, you won’t be opening this week.”
Fenway nodded. “If we don’t have to rebuild the back wall, we’ll leave it where it is, but my wife and Callie both said they wished it was five feet longer so they could have a second work table in there. If we have to build a new wall anyway, I might as well make it larger.”
“Has Ainsley said anything about wanting it larger?”
Fenway laughed. “All Ainsley wants is out of that kitchen, and after today, I agree with her. If I can’t find another cook, we’ll just serve scog. I’m not asking her to cook anymore, not after today. She can go back to waiting tables. She likes that and she’s good at it. Not every woman’s meant to be a cook.”
“You know, some men are pretty good cooks. If you’re looking for a new cook you might want to consider hiring a man.”
“I don’t care who it is as long as they can cook, but I don’t know of any man around here who isn’t already doing all he can, and most of the women are too busy to take on a new job, too.” Fenway fiddled with his mug for a moment. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone in Miranda’s kitchen who might like to try her hand at running her own kitchen, is there?”
Marcus thought about Miranda’s kitchen staff. “I don’t think so. Carrie could, but she’s not going anywhere. Shana might have been a possibility six months ago, but not now. I doubt she’d be willing to give up being Laryn’s housekeeper. As to the others? They mainly do as they’re told from what I’ve seen. They’re not ready to be in charge.”
Fenway sighed. “That’s what I figured. Guess I’ll forget about serving food for a while. If we find someone later, fine. If not, so be it.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Ainsley was coughing and her eyes were watering when she and Rigel got to the chapel. Rigel turned her over to Sister Agnes and left to go on out to Doreen’s.
After Sister Agnes examined Ainsley and determined that the coughing was clearing her lungs nicely, she treated the few burns on her hands and wrists from grease splatters. None of them were bad enough to leave scars and with the thick coat of aloe Sister Agnes applied, there wouldn’t even be any blisters.
After she was done, Sister Agnes put her hands on Ainsley’s shoulders and said, “A kitchen can be a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re doing, and you, my dear, don’t. You need to either find someone who can teach you how to cook or stay out of that kitchen.”
Ainsley nodded, thinking Sister Agnes was absolutely right, especially about staying out of the kitchen.
Once Sister Agnes was satisfied she’d done all she could for Ainsley, she took her to the kitchen and asked Blair to fix her something that would be soothing on her throat. Blair had some creamy potato soup she’d prepared the day before and put up in sealed jars, so she opened one of the jars and poured the thick soup into a pot to warm. While it heated, she cut off some of the bread she’d fixed earlier and warmed it. Ten minutes later, she set a bowl of soup and a plate of bread in front of Ainsley. “After you’re done with that, I have some strawberries and cream you might like. The strawberries are cut up, so they won’t be hard to swallow.”
Ainsley nodded as she ate her first spoonful of soup. Her eyes opened wide as she ate a second spoonful. “Did you make this?”
Blair nodded hesitantly. “I can fix you something else if you don’t like it.”
Ainsley shook her head. “No. It’s wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever had potato soup that tasted this good. Thank you.”
Blair smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”
Ainsley broke off a bite of bread and sampled it. Perfect. She sighed and looked at Blair. She didn’t look like she was a sister. “Do you work here, at the chapel?”
Blair, who had moved to the sink to wash dishes, nodded without turning around. “I cook for the sisters.”
“That’s all? You just cook?”
Blair nodded again. “They took me in when I first got here. It’s the least I can do to pay them back for their kindness.”
“You’re one of the captives Myron rescued, aren’t you?”
Once more Blair nodded, but she didn’t offer any details.
“That must have been a horrible experience. I can’t imagine being attacked and dragged off like that. Those slavers deserve to be locked up, if not killed outright.” When Blair didn’t answer, Ainsley asked, “Do you still live here?’
Blair shook her head and turned back towards Ainsley. “I live in Doreen’s house now.”
Ainsley grinned. “That must be fun. Every time I see Doreen and Rhianna they act like they’re having a good time.”
Blair dried her hands. “Are you ready for some strawberries and cream now?”
Ainsley looked at her empty bowl. “Unless you’ve got some more soup in that pot.”
Blair picked up the pot and spooned the rest of the soup into Ainsley’s bowl. “While you finish that, I’ll fix your strawberries.”
Ainsley watched Blair as she finished the soup. She wondered what it would take to lure Blair out of this kitchen and install her in the one in the tavern. She thought about getting her father to approach her, but as she watched Blair, she decided that might not be such a good idea. Blair seemed shy, almost skittish. Maybe the first thing she needed to do was talk to someone who knew her, someone like Doreen.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fenway brought his buggy to pick Ainsley up at the chapel. Even though she insisted she was all right, he was determined she was going home to rest. He didn’t let her out of his sight until bedtime.
Wednesday morning when Ainsley woke up, her father was gone, so she got dressed and went next door to Doreen’s. Half an hour later, she and Doreen were drinking coffee and eating some of the best muffins Ainsley had ever tasted.
“Did you make these muffins? They’re delicious.”
Doreen laughed and shook her head. “Coffee and tea are the extent of my kitchen abilities.”
“Who made the muffins?”
“Blair.”
“Does she do all the cooking here?” Ainsley asked.
Doreen shook her head. “She does most of it. Nan and Neisha help out, but mainly they warm stuff up. Once in a while one of them will cook some eggs or something for lunch if Blair’s at the chapel.” Doreen reached for a second muffin. “She’s the best cook I’ve ever known.”
Ainsley nodded. “I ate some of her potato soup yesterday. I didn’t think anyone could beat Callie in a kitchen, but as much as I hate to admit it, Blair’s was better than Callie’s.”
Doreen nodded. “The first time I tasted her cooking was at the chapel. She was staying there, sleeping in one of the patient beds, so I offered to let her have a room here if she’d cook for us. She wanted to move in but she was already cooking at the chapel and didn’t want to give that up. In the end, we worked it out so she cooks some of the food here and some at the chapel. She takes some of what she makes here over there, and usually brings some leftovers home. It’s worked out so far.”
“So she’s cooking for them in exchange for food?”
Doreen shook her head. “She cooks for them out of gratitude. They gave her a place to stay, provided her with clothes, and helped her get out of a marriage her father had arranged. She lives here in exchange for making sure we have something in the house we can eat.”
“Oh.” Ainsley drank the last of her coffee.
“Why?”
“I was hoping we might be able to get her to take over the kitchen at Fenway’s. There’s no way I’m going back in there.”
“Can’t blame you there,” Doreen said with a small laugh. “I wouldn’t have made it as long as you did, but after that fire? No way. In fact, that fire was enough to make me swear off learning how to cook for good.”
“Me, too,” Ainsley agreed. “But unless we can find a new cook, Father’s not going to reopen the kitchen. All we’ll have is scog, and I’m not sure that’ll be enough to keep the tavern going.”