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China
“Cecilia?” Ephraim’s voice floated through the back door and into the kitchen like a warm summer breeze. She brushed the loose bits of flour and dough off her fingers and poked her head around the corner.
“Yes?” she asked, holding her dirty hands away from both herself and the wall. Ephraim grinned.
“Ooh, do we get biscuits? You make really good biscuits.” Between his praise and his toothy grin, Cecilia felt like she was looking at one of the loose-toothed kids at church instead of a grown man.
“Yes, you get biscuits. And thank you,” she replied softly.
“Excellent! Do you have enough for company?”
Uh oh. Company? They’d never had extra people to dinner. “Uhm…”
“Or can you make more? I’m sorry. Gary just told me Pastor Concord and his wife are coming to dinner,” Ephraim explained, shoulders shrugging by way of apology.
“Oh.” Cecilia glanced back towards the kitchen, her brain scrambling. The chicken pot pie was simple and would feed a small army. There just wouldn’t be as many leftovers for Gary and Ephraim to eat tomorrow night. But she could maybe whip up a side dish and dessert to stretch the food.
“There will be enough, yes. I appreciate the heads up,” she spoke absentmindedly. What made a good side dish with pot pie? Not another vegetable… Fruit would be good. She had bought blackberries for tart, but if she made a-
“Cecilia?” Ephraim broke into her thoughts.
“Mmm?”
“I was asking if you could set the dining room table instead of the kitchen table.” He looked like he was trying not to laugh at her, which only annoyed her. So what if the possibilities of blackberries were riveting?
“Dining room. Yes, I will.” With a brisk nod, she turned and retraced her steps into the kitchen. Biscuits on a cookie sheet, check. They could go in the oven in a little bit and come out piping hot just as she set the table.
Blackberries… Gary had mint in his garden, and she had seen wild raspberries. She could do a little berry salad.
That decision made, she easily prepped individual chocolate cakes in ramekins and snuck them into the oven next to the pot pie. She didn’t have whipping cream to make them truly decadent, but a dusting of powdered sugar would be sufficiently fancy.
When all the food was prepped and baking, Cecilia wandered into the dining room. Like every other space in this old farmhouse, it had an actual door off the hallway. Open concept had clearly not debuted until well after this place was constructed.
Despite knowing where it was, in two months of cooking here, they had never used it. Cecilia didn’t even know if it was clean.
Did Gary hire a cleaner? Did he do it himself? He was quite diligent about sweeping after dinner, so perhaps he was simply a fastidious housekeeping.
The more important question was why the pastor and his wife were coming to dinner. Cecilia entertained a moment’s panic that it was because of her. It had been a few weeks since her Lord’s Prayer conversation with Gary. She had come to church both Sundays, and he had saved her a seat each time. She had smiled and said hi to Sam and Sophie, Sam’s parents, a couple of the older ladies whose names always escaped her, and plenty of other people. She was making an effort. Was Gary displeased? Was the pastor here to reprimand her?
Then she realized how ridiculous that thought was. Why would Gary invite Pastor Concord and his wife to dinner with Gary and Ephraim if the whole point was to give Cecilia a dressing down? That would be mean, and Gary was never mean.
Could they be friends? Gary didn’t have people over, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have friends. He was rather welded at the hip to his farm, and it didn’t give a lot of opportunity to go out. He could have people over more easily. Then again, he didn’t chat with people at church the same way the old ladies did. He greeted people, exchanged a weird sort of grunting conversation with Tom Schmitt, then left. After making sure Cecilia got to her car, of course. She smiled and shook her head – Gary was such a gentleman underneath his uncultured speech.
At ease with her role once again, she scoped out the dining room. A large, glossy wood table dominated the space, hemmed by 8 chairs with graceful curving backs and emerald green padded seats. A matching china cabinet stood against the far wall. Glass doors on its upper half revealed a set of china so pretty Cecilia had to check if she drooled. A gold band adorned with tiny colorful flowers danced around the edge of each plate and bowl. The teacups had sprigs of flowers on either side with a gold strip down their slender handles.
She wanted to use all of it.
A drawer in the china cabinet revealed placemats, cloth napkins, and tarnished silverware. She drew out five of each and set them aside on the table. The doors on the bottom of the cabinet opened with a sturdy tug that almost sent Cecilia onto her backside, but once opened, she gasped at the silver and crystal candlesticks. One set of each, they had to have been wedding or anniversary presents. She wondered if she was staring at Gary’s wife’s trousseau.
She really hoped he didn’t mind her using these things. Pot pie was a little pedestrian to serve on fine china, but at the end of the day, why couldn’t you elevate simple food with beautiful dishes?
She carefully laid each emerald placemat with a snowy-white linen napkin on top. Then she placed the dinner plate on top, loving the color contrast. The little salad bowls would work well for the fruit, so she set those above the fork. A crystal water glass and the pretty little teacups above the knife and spoon completed the setting. She tried to quickly buff the silverware with a clean dish rag to no avail. She’d have to get some silver polish next time she went to the store.
15 minutes later, the glasses were filled, serving dishes placed, and then she heard Gary’s footsteps. She waited outside the dining room door for him to wash his hands.
“Ephraim said we should eat in here,” she gestured lamely over her shoulder, suddenly nervous and utterly terrified that Gary would be unhappy with her.
“Good,” was all he grunted, then made his way past her. He did a double take and then halted completely, staring at the dining room table with an unreadable expression. Cecilia just held her breath.
Gary stepped into the room and glided fingers gnarled by age over the soft wood of one of the chair backs. His eyes took in the china, flickering candlelight, and crystal water glasses glinting in the evening sun. When he turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes.
Oh, what had she done?
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll…” Clean it up? There wasn’t time. How could she fix this?
Gary cleared his throat and grunted. “Sorry? Hmmf. I say thank ye.” He stared at her a minute, nodded, and walked away.
Thank you? For what?
Then she heard Gary humming, honest to goodness humming a tune, as he walked to the front door. She recognized the old song about a sweetheart, and understood. She couldn’t help but smile as she hummed along on her way back to the kitchen.