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If she followed all the directions, Cara could get a turkey in the oven, so she wrote down the time she needed to get the turkey in the oven, and she’d also need twenty minutes for the turkey to sit, and then she made a note to cover the bird with foil for the last hour.
She’d never made brussels sprouts but there were plenty of recipes for that. The roasted potatoes looked easy. She was worried about the gravy, and wasn’t sure if English people ate stuffing. Cara was just thumbing through the cookbook, looking for stuffing recipes when Dorothy entered the kitchen.
“I’m on breakfast duty,” Dorothy said cheerfully. “I’m making my traditional eggy bread with cinnamon and nutmeg. How does that sound to you?”
“Delicious,” Cara answered, having no idea what eggy bread was, but if it was served with more of that lovely sausage and bacon Alec had fried up yesterday, she knew she’d love it.
Cara soon discovered that eggy bread was essentially French toast, and while Dorothy made breakfast, Cara could hear voices coming from the breakfast room, Alec’s and Emma’s.
“Should I check on them?” Cara asked, after hearing a particularly loud bang.
“They’re just getting the table ready for breakfast,” Dorothy said airily. “No need to look. It’s none of your concern.”
Which was fair enough, as Cara was starting to feel a little overwhelmed by cooking so many side dishes. She hadn’t found any dried bread cubes or crumbs in the pantry and wasn’t sure how Mrs. Johnson made her stuffing. Cara had found recipes that said to take eight slices of bread and toast them lightly before cutting them into little pieces. Dried bread would be so much better.
But she could do it.
She just needed some broth and butter, and sautéed onions, and sage and salt and pepper.
And that was only one dish.
Cara must have whimpered or made another pathetic sound because Dorothy was suddenly at her side, a warm hand on Cara’s back. “If this is too much,” Dorothy said, “we can have sandwiches or a casserole for dinner. No one wants you to worry so much. We all thought you found this fun—”
“I’m not a very good cook,” Cara confessed, thinking Dorothy was probably the sweetest woman she’d ever met, next to Mrs. Booth. “I don’t cook very often at home, and while I do help mymom for big meals, she’s always in charge and she knows what she’s doing.”
“That’s surprising because everything has been delicious.”
“Spaghetti was easy last night. This—the turkey and all the sides—it’s harder, as I’ve never done it on my own. I always just helped my mom.”
“Emma and I have made countless Christmas dinners. Why don’t we come in and give you a hand? Would that make you feel better?”
“I hate making you work.”
“I’d be cooking at home. It’s really no bother.”
Alec was suddenly there in the doorway. “I’d planned on helping, too. I just had some things I needed to do this morning.”
Emma appeared. “We’ll divide it up,” she said firmly. “I like my brussels sprouts with bacon. I’m also very fond of my gravy, so I can do that once the turkey is out of the oven. Dorothy, what about your cranberries? Those are my favorite.”
“Yes, I like my cranberries, too. I’ll also do the stuffing,” Dorothy said, gently closing the cookbook Cara had been pouring over. “So with Cara cooking the turkey, I think we now have it covered.”
Relief swept through Cara. “Thank you,” she said, voice husky. “I’m grateful for the help.”
“Oh, I’d better get back to breakfast, though,” Dorothy said. “Because that comes first.”
*
Twenty minutes later,everyone was called to the dining room which had been beautifully set with a red cloth with green embroidery. The presents from under the Christmas tree had been brought into the dining room, and there was a small pileof presents at each person’s plate, including a silver wrapped package with a red ribbon for Cara.
Alec opened a bottle of champagne and there were lots of toasts and cheers ofHappy Christmas, and then when breakfast was over, they opened the gifts and Cara waited to open hers. She touched the small name tag, which had her name on it, but it didn’t say who it was from.
When Uncle Frederick encouraged her to open her gift, she did, but she felt shy as she peeled away the silver paper and then lifted the lid on the box. Stunned, she drew out a rather thick antique gold necklace, with an ornate gold key on it. It looked like a real key, and at Dorothy’s urging, she put the necklace over her head, the key resting just above her chest.
“It’s lovely,” she said, looking up, her gaze meeting Alec’s and then looking around the table at the others. “Thank you.”
“It’s the original key to the Gardener’s Cottage,” Alec said. “It seemed appropriate to give to you, as a souvenir from your trip.”
“We just wanted you to know that you’re always welcome here,” Uncle Frederick said. “You will always have friends here.”
