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“I’ll leave you in Miss Lightfoot’s care until you are well enough to paint again,” I said to Mr. Ginger, and hurried the children off. I felt sure Miss Lightfoot could introduce him to Tauseret successfully.
Moses and I made good progress with the paint and had only one interruption, when a trio of Webster children tumbled through the barn door squealing in fear, Willie behind them cheering.
“They was peeking through the door crack,” said Willie. “I climbed out a window and scart them.”
The youngest Webster—about five I’d guess—blinked in astonishment at piebald Willie, her thumb poised halfway to her mouth. The middle child craned his neck, eager to see what he could see in the barn, and the oldest, maybe ten years old, glared at me. “We came to see how many to make supper for,” she said, tossing her curls.
Mr. Ginger and Miss Lightfoot had retreated into the shadows. I didn’t know where the others hid. “Thank you very much,” I said. “That would be four adults, one big lad, and four children.”
Bertha’s voice echoed from the loft, “I’m a big girl.”
The younger Webster started, and the middle Webster searched the rafters for the owner of the voice. “Thank you,” the eldest said stiffly. She grabbed the sleeves of her siblings and hurried them out. On the way she poked out her tongue at Willie.
“She likes you,” Moses crowed, and Willie punched his arm.
At suppertime Mrs. Webster and a sturdy kitchen girl brought several large baskets of fried chicken and biscuits with all the fixings. They knocked on the barn door, and I sent all the children, except for Moses, to hide in the hay. We didn’t want to spoil the surprises of the show. Mr. Ginger stayed in a stall while Miss Lightfoot and I greeted the ladies.
“I declare. Fried chicken,” said Miss Lightfoot. “How kind.”
The farm women smiled politely and tried not to stare.
“Plenty of milk, too,” said Mrs. Webster, nodding at the jugs. “We sell cream to the Osceola Creamery—send it up by flatcar from the train station. They make a fair bundle when they sell it on as butter to New York.”
“Is there any place near here called Toms Junction?” I couldn’t help but ask about the place in Minnie’s prediction. If it was real, it could be our doom or our deliverance. Mink had to be following us. How close was he? I prayed that we were well hidden.
Mrs. Webster shook her head. “Toms Junction? No, can’t say as there is. There’s a Tompson’s Dairy down the road, though.” She sniffed in distaste. “Word has it they paid off the railroad so the milk stop would be nearer their barns.”
That must be the same Tompson of the harvest hoedown, whom Mr. Webster wished to outshine, I guessed. I tsked and shook my head in sympathy, and Mrs. Webster beamed at me.
After the farm women left, we set up for dinner on various bales, buckets, and stools next to the water trough. Tauseret had become quite flexible, so I helped her to sit upright. She felt as if she was warm and soft beneath the crackling bandages she wore, and I felt a pang of anticipation. I looked forward to seeing her garbed in more-attractive clothing. I hoped she would consider her body sound enough soon.
You would think having a mummy to dinner the most natural thing in the world, to judge from the children, who ate like little savages. Only Mr. Bopp refused to eat. He had a quick look at Tauseret, muttered something that sounded like “Bugger me,” then went back to his nest in the straw, after Mr. Ginger had helped him with some necessaries.
“How did you get to be a mummy lady?” Bertha asked, which had the other children clamoring for a story.
Tauseret told a shortened version of her tale as we ate.
“I lived as a happy, pampered only child, protected by spells and amulets, and given the finest of linens and perfumes to wear,” she began. “I loved poetry, music, and dancing, so when I was in the first flower of my womanhood, my parents encouraged me to enter the service of the goddess Hathor. I was beautiful. When I danced for the goddess at festivals, all eyes followed me.”
Thank goodness she didn’t go into detail about our past connection except to say we fell in love and angered her husband. This was still enough to make Apollo roar with laughter. I didn’t know why he should find that funny.
“How romantic,” said Miss Lightfoot, her eyes full of dreams.
“More than one has waited forever for the person he loves,” said Mr. Ginger to Miss Lightfoot.
“But I do believe this lady has the record,” she replied. I sensed she had missed his point, or avoided it.
“Sounds like humbug to me,” said Apollo. “She’s just practicing her act.”
Tauseret didn’t seem bothered by his assessment. “I think I could take some sustenance,” she said. Her eyes followed my hand to my mouth.
“Oh, give Lady T. some chicken,” said Minnie.
“Let me, let me,” volunteered several of the children.
I would have to take her word that she could eat. I held a tender piece of chicken to her lips. All eyes were upon her. Her teeth were now small and white but appeared a little worn. I wondered if the desert sand had gotten in her food and ground them down. She took the chicken in her mouth, grazing my fingers with her teeth as she did. I could see from her eyes this was deliberate, and the tingle of that gentle abrasion shot from my fingers to distant parts. Tauseret took a few more morsels this way and a sup of milk from a tin cup. She licked her lips with a pink, wet tongue, and I forgot there were others there.
“I’m taking the young ones to bed,” said Apollo. “Or are you too busy with that girl to care?”
