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She and Mama usually shopped together on Saturday. Ava poured the steaming, aromatic brew into his cup. “Is there something in particular she wants that can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Pillows.”
Ava placed the coffeepot on the stove and gave her father a startled look. “Did you saypillows?”
He slurped the coffee, then nodded. “Gil told me the pillows on Roald’s bed were flat. Hardly a feather in them. I thought it was funny, so I told your mother. But she didn’t see anything humorous about it. She said when Roald comes home, he’ll be bedbound, and she wants the bed to be as comfortable as possible. She intends to purchase pillows. Four of them, she said. Two for his head, and two for his feet.”
Ava cracked eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. “Well, she’s thinking of the practical, which sounds like Mama. But why must it be done today? We don’t even know yet when Mr. Willems will be released from the doctor’s care.”
“She wants to be ready. And that brings me to something else she wants to accomplish.”
A change in Papa’s voice made Ava pause before pouring the eggs into the skillet. She gave her father her full attention.His sheepish expression further inspired unease, and she was almost afraid to ask, “What other practical idea has she sprouted?”
Papa fiddled with the napkin beside his plate. “She wants Roald’s house given a thorough cleaning. According to Gil, Roald has given his pets—allof his pets—free rein of the place.”
Ava’s mouth fell open. “But he has chickens and ducks for pets. You’re not telling me he allows chickens and ducks in his house?”
Papa nodded.
“Oh, my…” A picture formed in her mind’s eye, and she giggled as she poured the eggs into the heated skillet. “Do you suppose we could gather up all the feathers and refill his pillowcases? It would save Mama some money at the general store.”
Papa laughed long and hard. He shook his finger at Ava, his eyes twinkling. “Ach, Leefste, you are a frugal one. But I think she would rather all the feathers and dust and whatever else needs to be swept up be dumped in the rubbish bin instead.”
Ava gently stirred the bubbling eggs with a wooden spoon. “Can I surmise, since you’re bringing the problem to me, that Mama wants me to do the cleaning over there?”
Papa stood and rounded the table. He stopped next to Ava and put his hand on her shoulder. “Would you? Your mama has always held a tender spot for our neighbor. He was so good to carve the wooden crosses for your brothers’ graves. It would ease her mind to know a clean house was waiting for Roald when he comes home. If she was up to it, she would do it herself.”
Ava loved Mama too much to decline the request. Besides, Mr. Willems had always been one of Ava’s favorite neighbors. She’d never understood why he hadn’t married—he was such akindhearted man, tender toward all living creatures no matter how humble. She needed to fill an order for the café—two chocolate cakes—but she’d have time after she baked them to give Mr. Willems’s house a cleaning. “I’d be happy to ready Mr. Willems’s house for him. I can do it today while Gil is on the mail route.”
Papa made a face. “You forget, Ava, that there is no Friday mail route. Unless Gil finds someplace else to go while you work, you’ll need to clean around him.”
Gil
Gil finished hissimple breakfast of bread and butter, then scrubbed Roald’s tabletop. He glanced around the small kitchen and grimaced. He should scrub the entire room. But while he was on the mail route yesterday, his inner ear had shared a tune with him. That’s how it had been from his earliest memories—something inside his head suddenly playing a melody. Until he put the notes on paper, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. Tidying the whole place would have to wait.
With a clean surface on which to work, he retrieved his pen, ink, ruler, and portfolio of blank paper. He uncapped his inkpot and carefully drew staff lines until he’d filled three sheets of paper from top to bottom. While the ink dried, he paced around the table, humming the tune and directing imaginary musicians with his hands. The lone cat he’d allowed to remain in the house—a very well-fed gold-eyed calico—lazily washed her paw and watched his progress.
By his fourth circle, Gil was certain the lines were dry and ready for notes. Eagerly, he pulled out a chair, plucked up the pen, and wrote the title of the melody—“Prairie Song”—thenadded “By Gilbert W. Baty” underneath. He smiled. A song always seemed real as soon as it had a title. The notes in his head became more insistent.
He dipped the pen again, scraped the excess from the nib, and bent over the page.
Someone knocked on the door. The cat sat up and looked toward the noise but stayed on the folded blanket Gil had placed next to the stove for her. Gil, pen in hand, also looked without getting up. Should he answer it? The tune strained for release. Whoever was out there could come back another time. He lowered the pen to paper and made the first mark—an E.
The knock came again. “Gil? Are you here?”
Gil lay the pen on the table and darted to the door. He opened it, already apologizing. “Ava, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
She stood on the little stoop with a mop on her shoulder and a bucket in her hand.
Gil’s gaze bounced from her face, to the mophead, to the bucket. “What is this?”
“Mama sent me to give Mr. Willems’s house a thorough cleaning. I thought you should have better notice, but Papa received a telegram first thing this morning. Mr. Willems can come home this afternoon. So…” She shrugged, making the mop strings bounce. “This is all the notice you get. I’m here.”
He stepped back and gestured her inside. “I planned to clean the house myself as soon as I finished…something.”
She stepped into the house, then turned and faced him, twisting her closed fist around the mop handle. Even wearing a stained, full-length apron over her work dress, with a strand of hair trailing along her cheek and the strings of a mop hanging behind her head, she was too pretty for words. A blush brightened her cheeks, and she chewed the corner of her lowerlip, drawing his gaze to its rosy fullness. His pulse skipped a beat, temptation to lean forward and bestow a kiss pulling hard. They shouldn’t be here alone together.
He left the door open and folded his arms over his chest. “Do you know what time he’ll get here?”
