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Gil waved goodbye, then headed for Roald’s. He picked up his pace. He’d dawdled getting Timmy home, but now he needed to hurry and wash up the dishes before he went to bed.
He entered the house and found Roald on the settee, where he’d left him almost two hours ago. The man looked up and grinned. “There you are. I’ve got some surprises for you.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Gil kicked off his shoes and left them on a small rug beside the door.
Roald pointed through the wide kitchen doorway to the dry sink. “Ava Flaming brought some cookies by here. Said she saved them for us.”
Warmth flooded Gil. She’d promised to save him treats, and she’d done so each week. When she left without giving him any this evening, he thought she’d gotten caught up with Joseph and forgotten. It made him happier than he could explain to know she hadn’t. He went to the dry sink, flopped the napkin open, and took a bite of a cookie. “Mmm…” He spoke around the bite. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“There’s more,” Roald said.
Gil raised his eyebrows. “More cookies?”
“More surprises.” Roald folded his arms, his expression smug. “Take a gander at the blanket beside the stove.”
Gil popped the last of the cookie into his mouth and crossed to the stove. The calico cat lay curled on the blanket, busily licking…something. Gil jerked back and peeked out the doorway at Roald. “Did she have her kittens?”
Roald nodded, his grin wide. “But she’s just started. There’s only two so far.”
An uneasy thought trickled through Gil’s mind. “Have you been in here watching her?”
Roald made a face. “Now, Gil, how could I leave her alone for something like that? I was careful, used my crutches, and sat on a chair instead of the floor so I could get up again. I came back in here after the second one was born because my leg was hurting. You’ll be able to keep an eye on her now, make sure she’s all right while she delivers the others.”
Gil hadn’t planned on helping a cat deliver kittens this evening. Then Roald’s statement sunk in. He looked back and forth from the cat to Roald. “How do you know there are others?”
“This isn’t her first litter. She’s been a mama three other times, and every time she has five. In every batch, there’s always one that looks like her. But it isn’t born yet. The two there already are gray tiger-striped.”
Gil crouched next to the blanket and peeked at the tiny, rat-looking creatures splayed on the blanket. The mama cat kept its wary eyes on Gil and growled while she continued to bathe her babies. Gil backed away. “I don’t think she wants me watching, Roald.”
The man snickered. “You don’t have to be so close. But I’d feel a lot better if we stayed awake until all the babies are born. Just in case.”
Gil hoped there wouldn’t be a “just in case” situation. He had no idea how to help a mother cat. He stood, returned to the sitting room, and sat at the other end of the settee. “How much work is it, having kittens in the house?”
Roald blasted a laugh. “None. Until they’re big enough to walk around. Then they’re into everything. Cats are naturally curious, and they like to explore. It will take some doing, keeping them corralled and out of mischief.”
“How are you going to keep them corralled when I’m gone most of the day and you’re supposed to be bedbound?”
Roald chewed his lower lip, his brow puckering. “Well…I’m not sure how.”
Gil smiled. “It’s all right, Roald. I think I have an idea. Do you know Timmy Dirks?”
Chapter Sixteen
Joseph
Joseph helped the man who’dordered the cupboard carry the piece into the house and set it up in the corner of the kitchen. The wife followed close behind them, hands clasped at her throat, her smile broad. When they had the cupboard in place, the man stepped back, looked it up and down, and nodded.
“That is a fine piece of craftsmanship,” he said. “Very fine.” He opened his arm, and his wife stepped close to him. “What do you think, Edna? Do you like your gift?”
“Ohhhh…” The woman trilled the syllable. “It’s wonderful, Hubert. Just wonderful.”
The man extended his free hand to Joseph, and they exchanged a firm handshake. “Thank you, Mr. Baty. I’m very pleased with my purchase.”
“Very, very pleased,” the wife added.
Joseph puffed up at being called Mr. Baty, a title usually given to Pa. “You’re welcome, sir. I’ll get out of your way now so your wife can make use of her new cupboard.” Before he left, he gave the richly stained oak one more lingering look. The man was right. From its decorative crown molding to its bun feet with hidden wheels, it was a fine piece of craftsmanship. The cupboard would hold up to this family’s use and beavailable for another generation. Or more. Build things that will last, Pa always said.
As Joseph climbed up on the wagon seat, he glanced into the bed at Roald Willems’s damaged tuba. The poor thing had taken quite a beating when it bounced down the concrete stairs. He hoped the silversmith was as good a craftsman with brass as he and Pa were with wood. He flicked the reins and aimed the horses for the main street of town.
