Page 10 of Halstead House

An older man, who was as pale as his white coat, stood next to a stove top, his face red from the heat, barely legible words flowing out of his mouth quicker than I could pick them up while steam rose around him. Ana and Marshall were sitting around a large wooden table in the center of the room, eating and chatting comfortably with smiles on their faces, oblivious to the chef’s constant chatter. To me it looked like a scene from a sitcom. My lips curved at the corners as my stomach responded to the heavenly smells.

Ana was the first person to notice me. “Hey, Grace. Good morning. How did you sleep?” She gestured for me to come all the way in. “Marshall tells me you needed an iron? Your clothes look fine to me.”

“Girl, don’t you listen?” Marshall pointed at me with his fork. “I said she wanted to wear her suit. Does that look like a suit to you?”

Ana pulled a face at Marshall before looking back at me. “Don’t let us keep you from getting some breakfast.” She tipped her head slightly toward the cooking area. “That’s Chef Lou.”

I aimed toward the stove top, where several dishes were being kept warm—cinnamon rolls, a veggie frittata, and what appeared to be the makings of eggs Benedict. Chef Lou was finishing the hollandaise sauce as I took a plate and stepped up to make my selection.

“The fruit is there,” he said in what sounded like a French accent, barely pulling his eyes away from the pan he was studying.

“Thank you. This all looks delicious.”

“It is,” Lou returned confidently enough that I felt a bubble of amusement rise. “I’m Lou. I cook, you eat, you like. Simple.”

I immediately nodded my understanding. “I’m Grace. You cook, I eat. Got it.” I happily added the delicious-looking food to my plate, stopping to get fruit at another cook station, and joined the group at the table.

“Well?” Ana asked. Marshall lifted his eyes to see my reply.

“Definitely a fake accent.” I nodded and Ana grinned.

Marshall’s eyes crinkled as he took a bite of a roll. “I don’t know why he bothers when we all know he’s from somewhere like Kentucky.”

“Maybe he thinks it’s the reason Eliza hired him,” Ana supplied.

“His cooking is what got him hired. She don’t care where he says he’s from.” Marshall shook his head and took another bite.

“Do the Halsteads not eat with you?” I asked as I cut my frittata into precise pieces.

“Nah, they eat in the dining room, or Ana will take them a plate up to their rooms if they want,” Marshall replied. I nodded my understanding. His friendly way of speaking took any possible sting out of his words.

I took another glance around the sunshine-filled kitchen. “I think it’s nice that you all dine together. I usually eat alone. This is much better.”

“With Marshall smacking his food and that crazy chef talking all the time to himself in his fake accent?” Ana laughed. “I think I’d rather eat alone in my room too.”

“You’d miss all this,” Marshall said.

“I’m willing to give it a try,” Ana teased.

“Where you from, Grace?” Marshall asked.

“Oh, sure, play getting to know you with her on the first day. You didn’t talk to me for my first entire week here.” Ana rolled her eyes.

“I took one look at you and knew I’d need to step light,” Marshall replied. Turning to me he said, “Don’t you mind Ana. She’s always trying to put on like she’s the most picked on person around.”

“I have the power to make your life miserable, Marshall. One snap of my fingers and the day staff leaves your sheets unwashed and your bathroom uncleaned. You’d better show me some respect.” Ana pursed her lips and raised her chin.

Marshall grinned and playfully raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t the only one who can make things hard. How do you feel about no power, or a door that hangs off its hinges?”

I was in awe watching them talk and tease each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. They hardly chewed their food before they spoke, their silverware clinked on the plates, and their elbows were on the table. Both sets of brown eyes, laughing, glanced my way. For a moment I’d almost forgotten that I’d been asked a question. I snapped back to attention.

“Oh, um, I’m from Providence, Rhode Island,” I said.

“You have family there?” Ana asked.

“Yes, my mother.”

“Just her?” She seemed perplexed by that answer.

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