Free 1416934715(FY) by Cameron Dokey Page B

out of the corner of my eye. “You may hold whatever opinions you like, Susanne, but in the future, I would appreciate it if you kept them to yourself. This house is troubled enough without your wild surmises.
    “Our mistress would like a cup of tea,” she went on in a more quiet voice. “Cendrillon, perhaps you would be so good as to make one and to take it to her.”
    “Of course I will,” I said, as I finished the last of the beans, gathered them up, and dumped them into their cooking pot. I set it on the back of the stove and put the tea kettle on to boil. Susanne was chopping once again, the sound of the knife informing all who heard it and knew how to listen that her nose was out of joint.
    “Susanne didn’t mean anything, Mathilde,” I felt obliged to say. “Nothing bad, anyhow. And she’s right, you know. Chantal de Saint-Andre does not look well. Do you think she has an illness?”
    Old Mathilde shook her head. “Not one that comes from any outside cause. As for the inside one, well . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    Steam began to rush from the spout of the kettle. I took it from the hob, poured a little water into the teapot to warm it. Then I emptied it out, added the tea, and poured the boiling water over all. I set it on a tray, then wrapped the pot in red flannel to help keep it warm. Once upon a time, I had been kept warm in much the same manner. The thought brought a sudden smile.
    “Didn’t you make seed cake this morning?” I asked Old Mathilde. She gave a nod. “Chantal likes that, doesn’t she? Perhaps I’ll take some of that along as well.”
    “That is very thoughtful of you,” Old Mathilde said, as I found the loaf of cake and began to slice it. “She is in the sun room.”
    The sun room was small and filled with light, even in winter. Tucked into a far corner of the main floor of the house, it had windows on two sides. One looked straight out over the ocean, the other, toward the tops of the trees in the orchards. Chantal often spent time there. It was her favorite room in the house.
    I cut two thick slices of seed cake and put them on my favorite plate, one with sunflowers painted on it. I fetched the cup and saucer to match, placed both upon the tray beside the teapot. Sugar in its bowl came next; milk in a sturdy little jug. I added a blue napkin, then hefted the tray.
    “That’s nicely done and no mistake,” Susanne said, her tone approving. “Lovely looking tray like that would cheer anybody up. Look sharp she doesn’t eat too much and spoil her dinner, mind you.”
    “I will, Susanne,” I promised.
    I carried the tray upstairs, careful to hold it level, then made my way to the sun room. Chantal de Saint-Andre was sitting in a chair, a shawl around her shoulders, her legs tucked under her like a child. One of her elbows rested on the arm of the chair. Shehad her chin on one hand, and her
eyes gazed
straight out at nothing.
    “I’ve brought your tea, ma’am,” I said from the open doorway.
    My stepmother turned toward me then. “Oh,” she said. “It is you, Cendrillon. I was expecting Old Mathilde.”
    I hesitated, uncertain whether I should go back or forward. “I could fetch her, if you like.”
    Chantal de Saint-Andre seemed to give herself a little mental shake. “No,” she said. “Of course not. You brought the tea, you said? Thank you. Tea will be most welcome. I know that it is spring, but I cannot seem to get warm.”
    I moved forward then, placing the tray on a low table near the chair. “I brought some of Old Mathilde’s seed cake,” I went on, as I began the ritual of pouring out. “But I fear we are both under strict instructions from Susanne. I am to make certain you don’t eat too much cake and spoil your appetite for supper.”
    At this, my stepmother actually smiled. “I seem to recall giving my daughters similar instructions, once upon a time. Tell Susanne that I will be a good girl.”
    I lifted the cup and saucer and extended it toward