Speak Through the Wind by Allison Pittman Read Free Book Online

red curls. But this time the smile was waiting the minute Kassandra opened the door.
    “Hello, Kassie.”
    His name was Ben Connor. She’d learned that after their second meeting when he delivered a package of flank steaks that Clara pan-fried and served smothered in fresh mushroom gravy the next day. When he showed up with a dozen links of freshly ground sausage, she learned that delivering meat for the butcher on North Canal Street was just one of his many jobs—one he said he’d never enjoyed until that Friday afternoon when he walked a lamb into Reverend Joseph’s cellar. The next week, when Kassandra complained that the sausage had been too spicy for the reverend’s delicate constitution, he tried to make amends with an extra-nice piece of liver and the bejeweled comb that now sat on top of her head.
    “You’re looking particularly lovely this afternoon, my girl,” he said, taking off his cap as he walked past her into the kitchen. “Let’s see now … what’s different about you?”
    Kassandra closed the door and stood for a moment, her back to him, giving him plenty of time to notice her new hairstyle before turning to face him—briefly—and dropping her eyes to study her boots.
    “Is that a new dress you’re wearin’?”
    “No,” she said shyly, smoothing the pretty blue woolen skirt, wishing it were new.
    “And you haven’t grown any taller? Because if you did I’d never see the top of that pretty head of yours.”
    Kassandra smiled, looked up, and brought her hand up to check that her hair was still pulled back and smooth.
    “Well, it is your hair, then?” He deposited his packages on the kitchen table and, placing a hand on Kassandra’s shoulder, turned her around once, letting out a slow whistle before bringing her back to face him.
    “Does it look all right?” she asked.
    “Looks lovely. Like one of them little crowns a princess wears.”
    “A tiara.”
    Ben’s eyes narrowed a bit, losing their glint, though his smile didn’t waver. “What?”
    “That is what you call those little crowns. They are … urn … tiaras.”
    “Well, I guess that’s one of the benefits of such a fine, fancy education then, isn’t it? Knowing all kinds of fine, fancy words.”
    “Reverend Joseph, he thinks I should finish secondary school,” Kassandra said, her gaze once again on her boots. “He thinks I might be a good teacher some day.”
    “Oh, now, that’s a fine thing.” Ben reached out his hand and pinched just the tip of Kassandra’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. The smile was back—all of it—the gleam in the corners of his green eyes dispersing the momentary chill. “Why would he want to take such a lovely young girl and turn her into some old spinster teacher? Well, I can just see you now …”
    Ben let go of her chin and assumed the bent posture of an old woman, shuffling from the table to the stove, rattling pots and cutlery with exaggerated palsied hands.
    “We have a nice pork loin for supper tonight, Reverend Joseph,” Ben said in a comic high-pitched voice, losing his warm Irish brogue in a nearly perfect imitation of Kassandra’s lingering German accent. “And a nice cup of tea to keep away the chill. Let me be sure to fetch you a soda powder. That tea can be a bit too spicy …”
    Kassandra tried not to laugh, made a sincere attempt to feel offended by the mockery of her beloved companion, but when Ben whisked the comb out of her hair and planted it in his thick red curls, she could not stop her giggles.
    Ben retained his bent posture, wringing his hands, his eyes fixed heavenward. “There was a time,” he continued in his comic voice, “when I was a lovely girl. A princess. With a tiara. But thank God the reverend saved me from such a frivolous waste.”
    By now the kitchen was full of laughter of such great volume and hilarity that Kassandra clasped her hands over her mouth and hissed a warning “shush” lest they bring