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Marta spoke to Laura in German. “Is there something wrong? Are you choking?”
Laura shook her head. Slowly, she returned the napkin to the side of her plate and muttered, “It’s just that they’re so delicious.”
Marta’s grin widened. Aunt Margaret, out of the loop, demanded, “What did she say? My goodness, I’m hours away from banning this strange language from my table…”
“She’s only said that the beans are quite delicious,” Marta said. Again, she laughed. It was entirely outrageous, yet it filled her with some kind of promise, a brand of hope. If Laura could embrace the culture of eating baked beans for breakfast—perhaps Marta could embrace life in England, at least for a few months.
“Has she never eaten beans before?” Aunt Margaret asked incredulous.
“Not for breakfast,” Marta said. She glanced towards Ewan, who shared a large smile. “I think she’ll grow accustomed to all of this in no time.”
In truth, of course, she said this as a representation of her own mind.
