“Samuel loves to make woodworking his priority,” Elnora offered in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Her black covering was crisp and spotless despite a smudge of flour below her eye. The hungry buzz returned as bowls, plates, baskets, and dippers were passed to and fro about the table.
Rebekah accepted a bowl of pickled radishes from Jeremiah. After helping herself to a few and passing the bowl on to Joseph, she glanced at the window.
Perhaps Peter is just late.
Unable to let talk of the Englishman end just yet, she piped up once more. “It’s still odd he hasn’t returned for his wheel.”
“That’s the trouble with the English,” Samuel muttered before filling his mouth with a buttery bite of bread.
As she accepted the basket of fresh bread from Joseph, Rebekah glanced out the window again to see if the Englishman had indeed broken his promise to return.
Chapter Three
A choir of hungry boys congregated around the breakfast table as Rebekah came in from milking Butter. The sun had barely begun to peek over the easternmost horizon, but little tummies were already a-rumble in the Stoll household.
“Have you seen Mama?”
“I haven’t seen Mama, have you seen her?”
“I’m hungry. My stomach’s growling.”
“I thought I smelled flapjacks this morning.”
“Someone made flapjacks? Where are they?”
“Who made flapjacks?”
“Can you make us flapjacks, sister?”
Rebekah fielded the flying questions as she set the bucket of fresh milk on the table.
“I’ll get the dipper,” Jeremiah offered with a gap-toothed grin.
“Happy for a break from the chaotic questioning?”
Jeremiah exhaled a breath he had probably held for quite a while.
Ma must be sleeping late. She always gets tired late in her pregnancies.
Rebekah picked her way through the throng of boys until she reached the kitchen. She passed Jeremiah on his way back in. “I believe flapjacks are the popular choice for breakfast.”
“Yep,” he agreed. “Today and every day.”
Rebekah located the deep wooden mixing bowl, sifter, and measuring spoons. As she gathered the cooking instruments, she began to sing the rhyme Elnora taught her for remembering the ingredients, so long ago.
Into the sifter dry things go,
To make our flapjacks, ho ho ho.
To four cups of flour sifted fine,
Add four teaspoons baking powder—one at a time.
A whole cup of sugar and two teaspoons salt,
Brings this part
To.
A.
Halt.
She sat the dry mixture aside and wiped up the sprinkling of powder from the countertop. Grabbing the wooden bowl, she continued the rhyme.
Ask your hen for a pair of eggs,
Beat it well with a peg.
Then two cups of milk from the cow.
“Jeremiah,” Rebekah called. “Can you bring me the bucket of milk from the table, please?”
A moment later, he appeared with the half-full bucket of fresh milk.
Her eyes widened. “The boys are thirsty this morning, I reckon?”
Jeremiah turned and dashed from the room as though he had somewhere extremely important to be. “Well, it’s mostly me, sissy!”
Rebekah shook her head. She added the two cups of milk before continuing the rhyme.
Get your dry mix, add it now.
A half-a cup of shortening, melted thin,
Drizzle it:
In.
In.
In.
While the flapjacks sizzled on the griddle, Rebekah placed the skillet on the woodstove. In it, she placed several thick slices of salt pork.
The boys will like this meal. I will take a plate up to Ma, too.
***
