Free The Hull Home Fire by Linda Abbott Page A

on a pot of tea. She toasted one slice of bread to quell her nausea. Her
     stomach churned even more at the first nibble.
    Dot strolled into the kitchen. “How are you today ?” she asked, her eyes on the
     toast Mary had hardly touched. “Still don’t have much of an appetite ?”
    “Has Mr. Hull brought up the inspection to you ?” Mary said,
     lowering her voice.
    “I see you’re not ready to admit what’s really troubling you,” Dot said.
     “That’s fine for now.” She looked down the hall. “By the way, there’s no need to
     whisper.”
    Mary’s face relaxed. “Mr. Hull doesn’t like me to meddle in his
     business.”
    “If the Home closes it will matter to us all.” Dot poured a mug of tea and took
     a sip. “Mr. Hull’s not spoken a word to me. He doesn’t appear worried either.”
     She moved the cup back and forth between her hands. “With what was printed in
     the paper, I’d be a little more anxious in his place.”
    Mary nibbled at a corner of the dry, crusty toast. “Is he here ?”
    “Stayed all night again. He made breakfast and left when he received a call
     from his wife.”
    Mary stopped chewing. “She’s gotten bad news about the Home !”
    “Not at all,” Dot said. “Mrs. Hull has the sniffles and wanted Mr. Hull to
     fetch some cough syrup.” She chuckled. “Mrs. Hull demands immediate
     attention.”
    Nurse Jean Baker entered the kitchen wearing an extra sweater. “The rooms are
     hard to keep warm in the winter,” she said, taking two mugs from a rack on the
     sink counter. “I don’t want Sheila Vickers to catch pneumonia on top of
     tuberculosis. Hot tea and toast will do the trick.”
    “How is she ?” Mary asked.
    “Dr. Kennedy stopped by earlier to see her. He’s pleased with her
     progress.”
    Dot retrieved a tray for the nurse. “The poor darling wants to be home by
     Easter.”
    “That isn’t likely to happen,” Jean said. “She’ll be here until
     Christmas for sure.”
    Dot placed milk and sugar on the tray. “Susan enjoys mystery books. I’ll go by
     the library to take out a few for her.”
    “She’ll appreciate that,” Jean said, and left with the tray loaded down with
     tea, gingersnap cookies, and toast.
    “Now, Mary,” Dot said once they were alone again. “Did you get an opportunity
     to talk to Henry ?”
    Mary rinsed her cup. “Yes. I told him to go to Toronto and not give me another
     thought.”

    BY NOON , MARY HAD SCRUBBED the upstairs hallway
     in the main house and made all the beds, including those in the Annex. She found
     it easy to avoid Henry, as he rarely left the office. Her stomach had settled
     down by one o’clock. The hunger pangs which had gnawed at her all morning drove
     her to the kitchen. She hadn’t packed a lunch and helped herself to a bowl of
     the tomato soup simmering in an oversized pot on the stove. She crumbled a
     handful of salted crackers into the thick red liquid. The first taste burned the
     tip of her tongue. She blew on the next one before gingerly putting it into her
     mouth.
    Mary slurped at the last dregs of soup in the bowl when Mr. Hull returned.
     “Good afternoon,” she said. “I hope your wife is doing better.”
    Mr. Hull passed the table without a word or a glance at Mary. He stirred the
     pot, his eyes glued to one spot on the wall.
    Mary stood up. “Mr. Hull. Are you all right ?”
    He turned around. “Oh. Mary. I didn’t see you there.” Soup dripped from the
     ladle to the floor. He didn’t notice even when several drops found his
     shoe.
    Mary carried her dirty dishes to the sink. “Is anything the
     matter ?”
    “Not a thing,” Mr. Hull said, resuming the task at hand.
    Mary wiped crumbs from the table. “I’ll see if the residents are ready for
     dinner.”
    Mr. Hull opened a loaf of baker’s bread. “Good idea,” he said, again not
     looking at her.
    Mary glanced back at her employer as she left the kitchen. He swayed slightly
     and stirred the