Free The Bridegrooms by Allison K. Pittman Page A

go on back to the kitchen where your Hazel is. I made some stuffed cabbage rolls, and if you’re wantin’ to eat today I’d make it quick. Never seen the girl tuck into nothin’ like I seen—”
    The woman’s oblivion to the fantastic scene around them proved too much for Vada’s patience. “Molly! Answer me!”
    Nobody—not even their father—ever spoke to Molly Keegan with anything other than subservient gratitude, and Vada immediately regretted her outburst.
    The Irish woman swelled up before them, like some mythic Celtic giant in a lace cap and starched apron. Her hands became meaty red fists at her side, and her eyes sparked, as if ignited by the tiny licks of flame at the tips of her ears.
    Vada felt Lisette cower behind her back.
    “And now
you
think ya can take that tone with me, missy? Well, I’ve got
this
to say to the lot o’ ya!” Her voice boomed above the din, and there was an immediate drop to silence, as if someone had lifted the needle off a phonograph cylinder. “It is my job to see to the needs of thesefour girls and their father. Do ya understand me? I’m not taken in this house to care for a bunch of ill-bred hooligans the likes of you. So don’t any of ya dare to ask me to fetch you
this
or tote your
that
. If you’re hungry, make your way back to the trough that slops ya, ’cause not one of ya’s under my lovin’ care.”
    By the time she had finished, her face was nearly the color of her famous strawberry compote, and her fisted hand was held high, as if inviting Irish maids everywhere to follow her cause.
    The skinny man at the parlor door dropped all pretense of making eyes at Lisette. In fact, he was staring at the brass spittoon in the corner when Vada noticed the telltale bulge in his cheek.
    “And as for this,” Molly said, making a straight line for him, his eyes growing wider with each approaching step until she was right in front of him. “I didn’t sign on here to spend my days washin’ your filthy tobacco stains. So you’ll not be spittin’ any of it near this house, and that includes the porch. Do ya understand?”
    She took her thick finger and pointed, then poked the man’s distended cheek, causing him to swallow, choke, and turn ghastly pale. There was a low ripple of laughter at this, and Molly’s face was a mask of triumph as she made her way back to the kitchen. Before leaving the hall, though, she turned to make one last stand.
    “One final thing.” She was no longer yelling, as by now even her softest whisper would probably strike fear into the hearts of anyone in the room. “If I catch any one of ya layin’ so much as a finger on any one of my girls, I’ll strip ya down and grind ya up for sausage. Startin’ with your feet so ya can watch the whole thing. And if you doubt me, poke yourselves into my kitchen and see how handy I am with a cleaver.”
    The next sound was that of a swinging kitchen door, and Vada, who had witnessed Molly’s finesse with a knife, shuddered on behalf of those on the tail end of the threat.
    “What in the blazes is all this noise?” Her father’s voice drifted from the top of the stairs.
    Finally, someone who could answer her questions. Vada tugged herself away from Lisette and hurried up the stairs, thankful for the relative privacy of the stairwell. “Doc, can you please tell me what’s going on?”
    As an answer, he beckoned her to follow him up the final steps and into the hallway to the first room on the left. Her room. The door was closed, but he opened it and stepped aside, allowing her to enter ahead of him.
    At first it seemed little more than a scaled-down version of the scene downstairs. Just three men were in the room, each wearing the signature knicker uniform. They stood with their backs to the door, one shoulder to another, their feet at a wide stance, their heads bowed, caps in hand.
    Doc cleared his throat. “Step aside, gentlemen. If you would.” Silently, the three stepped back and parted,