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.
***
When Rebekah emerged from the kitchen with the steaming food in hand, she discovered six quivering boys, with forks and knives at the ready, staring at her expectantly. A smile tilted her mouth ever-so-slightly. “Thanks for setting the table, Jeremiah.”
Almost as soon as she’d placed the food on their plates, it was inhaled.
After her multitude of brothers were served, Rebekah retrieved the tray she’d wisely reserved for her and Elnora and took to the stairs.
After a light knock on the door with her elbow, she heard her mother’s weak voice. “Come in.”
“Ma, are you all right?” Rebekah tried to keep the worried tone from coloring her words. She placed the tray of flapjacks, salt pork, and buttermilk on the wooden nightstand Pa carved for her ma as a wedding present. In the sole drawer, crude block letters spelled out Samuel and Elnora Stoll 1864. The year they married.
“Thank you, Rebekah. I am a lucky woman to have such a sweet daughter.” Elnora’s voice strained as she tried to push herself up in the bed.
“But are you all right.” Rebekah eased down on the bed to avoid any jostling her mother unnecessarily. She didn’t ask the question so much as stated it as if that would assure its truth. “Right? Ma?”
Her mother’s lips thinned as she reached for the cup of buttermilk.
Oh no. Her fingers are trembling.
“Here, Ma, I’ll get it.” Worry creased her brow as she passed the frothy liquid to her.
