The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom Read Free Book Online

with bright-colored birds. Belle told me they were peacocks and that the captain used to have one on this plantation.
    “Noisy old bird,” Uncle Jacob muttered.
    “Yes, Uncle, he was,” Belle said, “but wasn’t he pretty and proud?”
    “Till that old fox get him.” Uncle laughed as he placed another log on the crackling fire. Then he began to light the many candles.
    We each carried prepared dishes up from the kitchen house while Mama Mae and Belle placed them strategically on the table, giving balance to the feast. A large smoked ham, wrapped in a napkin and garnished with pickled plums and brandied peaches, anchored one end. Belle surrounded the platter with deep green magnolia leaves, and next to the silver sugar shaker, she arranged a crystal condiment dish filled with a tangy mustard and honey sauce.
    Mama and Belle together had to carry up the large platter holding a succulent cut of beef. It had been roasting slowly for hours on a spit, and underneath, a pan of sizzling potatoes caught the drippings. Four side dishes, all painted with the peacock design, cornered the table and held the vegetables. Green peas were prepared in a heavy cream sauce, small red beets glistened with butter, sweet potatoes dripped with honey, and white parsnips looked festive, sprinkled with fresh green parsley. In front of the mistress’s placesetting, Mama set a steaming tureen of oyster soup, flavored and garnished with green sprigs of thyme.
    Dessert, a rich plum pudding, was warming in the kitchen, but on the sideboard, awaiting their turn, was a tray of jellies and crèmes. Next to those treats stood four miniature silver carts drawn by tiny silver goats. Belle had given me the privilege of burdening them with sweetmeats and dark raisins.
    Dory came to the door as we stood back to admire our work. She had been with the captain and the mistress, serving sherry in the parlor, and though I envied her for what she’d seen, she looked weary and uninterested. Suddenly, Sally pushed in past Dory.
    “Fanny, Fanny!” she cried happily, and ran toward us, carrying her new porcelain doll. “Come here, Meg.” She waved to her cousin, who waited at the door. As the twins examined Sally’s doll, the girl, Meg, approached slowly. She walked with a slight limp, but what caught my attention most were the tiny spectacles that she wore. Her brown hair had been pulled back in a purple ribbon, but tight curls refused containment and frizzed out to soften her sharp features. In spite of her solemn demeanor, I felt an immediate liking for her.
    “Do you have a doll?” Fanny asked Meg.
    “I don’t like dolls!” Meg answered.
    “But you like birds, don’t you, Meggy?” Sally asked.
    “I like birds,” Meg admitted.
    “She has one that talks,” Sally said, “but she had to leave it at home.”
    “One that talks?” Fanny asked.
    Meg nodded, turning shy with our attention.
    “I like birds,” I said, helping her out.
    She stared at me through her spectacles. “What kind?” she asked.
    “Chickens,” I said.
    “Do you have one?”
    I nodded. “A bunch. They live down at the barn. I feedthem every day. And I get the eggs. When it gets warm, Papa said they’ll have chicks.”
    “Ohhh…” she said longingly.
    Dory interrupted us. “Miss Sally, you take your doll outta here before you come in to eat.” As the girls left, Dory whispered loudly to Mama, “Miss Martha coming with Miss Sarah.” When they entered, I stared in dumb surprise. The difference between the two women made it difficult for me to believe they were sisters. Miss Martha, willowy and tall, was dressed in a simple but beautifully cut blue brocade, while Miss Sarah, short and plump, contrasted sharply in a voluminous and vibrant red silk that was ruffled from waist to floor. Their deportment, too, was opposite. Miss Martha, quiet and subdued, brought with her an air of elegance, while Miss Sarah, enthusiastic and outgoing, gave the appearance of being fussy and