Robin by Julane Hiebert Read Free Book Online Page B

blowing through the open window above the sink, and open shelves flanked either side. The work surface of the lower cupboards was oak, worn smooth, doubtless from years of wear. The curtains covering the shelves below were—Robin shook her head—blue . Well, Uncle John. I’m sure the flour is here somewhere, I just have to find behind which blue curtain you meant.
                   She hung her bonnet on a hook beside the door then searched until she found the flour. By the time she’d found the ingredients and a bowl to mix them in, Jacob had returned with eggs cradled in his shirt pulled above his waist.
                  “We got lots of ‘em, Miss Robin. See?” He counted six eggs and laid them on the counter. “Will you fry ‘em?”
                  “I will. Thank you.” She peered around the boy. “Where’s Uncle John?”
                  Jacob shrugged and plunked down in a chair at the table. “Can I watch you fry ‘em?”
                  “You may. But we’d better wait for Mr. Wenghold. Why didn’t he come in with you?”
                  Jacob scratched his head. “He said he had some business to tend to. That’s all I know.”
                  “Well, I imagine he’ll be in before long. You go wash your hands, please, then you can set the plates on the table for me.” Robin measured the ingredients for the biscuits.
                  Jacob followed instructions, then sat at the table and rested his head on his arms.
                  “You’re tired, aren’t you? As soon as Uncle John comes in I’ll pop these in the oven.” The heat from the big cookstove was stifling. She’d need to remember to do her baking in the morning instead of so late in the day. That is, if Uncle John let her stay. Surely he wouldn’t turn the boy out, would he? “Jacob, was my uncle with you when you came from the chicken coop?”
                  He propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. “No, ma’am. He already left to do something different.”
                  “Did you remember to latch the door?” As a child she’d failed to shut the gate to the chicken coop and, consequently, chased chickens all through their neighborhood, much to the dismay of their uppity neighbors.
                  “I don’t remember. Should I check?”
                  “That would be good. You should always remember to latch doors behind you so wild animals won’t get into the buildings.”
                  A few minutes later, Jacob returned, puffing. “I runned real fast and did what you said. I latched every single door I found.” He settled back in his chair and swung his legs. “Can we eat yet?”
                  “ Ma y we eat?”
                  Jacob cocked his head, a frown deep between his big green eyes. “I just asked you that.”
                  “I know. I was correcting you . Ma y is the correct way to ask that question. No t ca n . Did you see Mr. Wenghold when you went outdoors?”
                  “Did I see him?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I didn’t see him.”
                  Robin busied herself looking through cupboards. It would take some time to learn what supplies Uncle John had on hand and what she would need to purchase on the next trip to Cedar Bluff. When the sun slipped below the trees that shaded the west side of the house, she lit a lamp and tried to still her imagination. If only she had checked on her uncle sooner . What if he’s hurt? How would I get help?
                  Jacob was sound asleep at the table with his head on his arms. She moved the braided rug from in front of the sink, then gathered him in her arms and laid him atop of it so he wouldn’t fall. He tucked one hand under his cheek and drew his knees closer