Maude held up a green bean. “But you and Father have worked all day already.”
“And so has Alice. Why should I sit idle when I can help?”
“Alice doesn’t mind cooking dinner by herself, do you, Alice?” Maude gnawed on the end of the bean.
“I don’t mind hard work, but I am always happy to have help,” Alice said. “John is setting a fine example for the rest of you. I never have to ask him. He always offers.” She looked around the room, hoping her words would plant a seed of willingness in her younger sisters. Having them come to her with offers of assistance would be very welcome. She did not mind the work, but she grew weary of serving as taskmaster. Barking orders was not in her nature, and her gentle nudges sometimes went unheeded.
John continued with his chore, pushing the potato masher up and down into a large pot. “I have a selfish reason for helping too. I get to listen to Alice’s lovely singing and learn how she cooks such delicious food.” He turned in the direction of the twins. “You had better be careful. I am growing quite fond of your sister. When I leave, I’m tempted to steal her away and take her with me.” He raised his eyebrows, and the twins reacted with indignant expressions.
Alice sucked in a breath, shocked at his boldness. In their letters, both of them had expressed a yearning to be together. Perhaps he thought that since it was so close to the end of the summer, her father would not mind John’s declarations of love toward his eldest daughter, but he was wrong. Her father was, she knew, allowing their stolen glances and John’s flattery because he was sure it would not lead to more. Alice had no idea what he’d do if he discovered their letters and the subtle ways they showed their love: the knowing looks; the way they brushed against each other when they moved about the kitchen; the way John helped her in and out of the wagon, one hand grasping hers, the other firmly against her back. Even the smallest touch filled her with a thrill.
“You can’t take Alice away from us,” Mae said, outraged. “Who will take care of us if she’s not here?”
“John is teasing you, Mae,” Alice said, but no one paid any attention.
“Oh, but you see, I have thought this through. All of you can play a part in filling Alice’s role when she is gone.” John grinned wickedly. “There are five of you sisters, plus Daisy. You can take turns filling the job, each of you doing it for a year or two. First Pearl and then Helen, then Emma, then the two of you. It could go right down the line. If you’ve been paying attention to Alice’s teachings, you’ll be able to do everything just as she does, and the household will run smoothly.”
“No one can cook like Alice,” Maude objected. “Besides, girls can’t leave home until they’re married. It’s a rule.”
Alice saw the twinkle in John’s eyes and felt a wellspring of dread at his response. She gave him a warning look, but he wasn’t watching her, too busy giving his attention to the twins.
“If that’s the case . . . ,” he said.
She knew how this sentence would end. To stop him, she reached out to grab his arm, but instead of making contact with him, her fingertips smacked against the still-hot mashed potato pan.
“Perhaps I will marry her,” John said. “If Alice will have me.”
The words had no sooner left his mouth than Alice gasped and cried out in pain, clutching her burned fingers with the other hand. She rushed to the sink and plunged her hand into a pot of soapy water. The twins pushed their chairs back and went to her side. From her spot in the corner, Daisy began to cry. “I don’t want Alice to go away!”
“Don’t cry, Daisy. No one’s going anywhere,” Alice said through gritted teeth. She grabbed the pitcher of water and poured some into the washbasin in the dry sink, then dipped her fingers into the water.
Now the twins and John were clustered around Alice, trying to get a good look at her injured fingers. “Is it bad?” Maude said, craning her neck.
“It’s nothing.” Alice winced.
“Let me see.” John eased his way past the girls and took Alice’s hand, carefully examining it. “It doesn’t look too serious. We should wrap it in a cold, wet compress.”
“We could put some butter on it,” Mae said.
“No, not butter.” John turned her hand over, caressing her wrist. “That’s proven to be wrong. Butter isn’t the best thing for a burn.”
A moment earlier, Alice had been upset with his shocking candor in front of her sisters, but now, despite the pain, she felt a rush of love and gratitude toward John. She could forgive him his lack of discretion.