Horse Whispers by Bonnie Bryant Read Free Book Online Page B

have to try it next year,” Phyllis said. “It’s one of my favorites.” While they were chatting, Kate’s motherscooped cups of flour from a large canister. She showed the girls how to level the top with a knife to get an exact measurement. Then she gestured for them to do the same. “It’s no good if I cook and you watch, because you won’t really learn till you try it yourselves—and try it again and again. So each of us is going to make two or three pies,” she explained. “We’re lucky: The ranch kitchen is semi-industrial, meaning that it’s set up to produce dinner for fifty. Everyone can have her own measuring cups, mixing bowls, pie plates, et cetera. How’s that filling coming, Kate?”
    Kate groaned. “I always forget how long it takes to peel enough apples for even one pie. My hands are killing me.”
    “It’s good exercise,” Phyllis said briskly.
    Stevie and Lisa smiled at one another. The older Devines were no-nonsense parents. They believed that children should work hard and play hard. It was one of the reasons the ranch was so much fun: Everyone was expected to take part in the chores, whether it was mucking stalls or peeling apples. But then everyone joined in the celebrations, too. Kate rolled her eyes good-naturedly and picked up another apple.
    “Don’t you want to have the butter out getting soft?” Lisa inquired. She remembered that rule from making chocolate-chip cookies. It was easier to cream the butter and sugar if the butter had softened somewhat.
    Phyllis shook her head. “No. Butter for a crust should be hard and chilled. Otherwise you’ll have trouble cuttingit into the flour. If it’s warm and soft, it mushes into the flour, and it doesn’t create the texture you want.”
    “What is
cutting
, anyway?” Stevie inquired. “It sounds like you take a knife and hack up the butter.”
    “You do, sort of,” Phyllis said. “Although nowadays we can be a bit more sophisticated.” She first demonstrated the most basic cutting technique: slicing pieces of cold butter into the flour with two knives. “But there’s also a tool specifically intended for this task.” Phyllis reached into a drawer and held up a wooden-handled pastry blender. She demonstrated how to use the implement. “You see? It’s almost like having six knives cutting at the same time.”
    “So that’s what that is!” Stevie exclaimed. “My mom let my brothers and me use it with modeling dough, so I thought it was a—a modeling dough blender!”
    Kate flicked an apple peel at Stevie. “Ha-ha.”
    “Ha-ha yourself!” Stevie shot back.
    One thing is sure
, Lisa thought, eyeing her two friends,
with Stevie in the kitchen, we won’t lack for entertainment
.
    “Here, I’ll give it a try,” Lisa volunteered.
    “Great,” said Phyllis.
    Starting tentatively, Lisa began to cut her flour and butter. Soon she was mimicking Phyllis’s deft movements. The recipe said the flour and butter should “resemble coarse meal.” Lisa had no idea what coarse meal looked like, but pretty soon Phyllis stopped her. “Perfect. You seehow the ingredients are mixed? They’re not pastelike or gluey, which happens if you overmix them. Excellent job, Lisa.”
    Lisa glowed. It was such a little thing, but with Kate’s mother as her teacher, she already felt more confident in the kitchen. Phyllis had a relaxed style that made her a natural teacher. Lisa’s own mother was, like her daughter, a perfectionist. Mrs. Atwood kept the kitchen spotless, even
while
she was baking or making dinner. If she spilled anything—water, sugar, coffee grounds—she wiped it up that instant. And the Atwoods’ kitchen was so organized that it got on Lisa’s nerves. Yes, it was true that staples like flour and sugar were kept in labeled glass jars. But Lisa didn’t like to disturb them. She was always afraid she would spill something or make a mistake, like getting brown sugar mixed with white. That kind of thing drove her mother