Page 7 of Ellen Found
She talks to her cat. She’s shy around men. Shingling done. Now a banquet. I ask myself if Ellen Found is making a difference, but how can that be? She’s just kitchen help. I think she is more.
THE WORKERS FILED into the kitchen in thirty minutes, dutifully lining up by the serving table. No one looked excited or happy. The new arrivals hung back, so Ellie drew on all her bravery and gestured them in with a smile. Everyone made a wide berth around Plato, who stood by her and hissed.
Several of the men sniffed the air and exchanged glances.I’ve got you, she thought as she brought out a massive bowl mounded withhot biscuits. Mrs. Quincy slapped down the butter and a bowl of strawberry jam.
“Miss, put them on the table instead,” someone said. “It’s easier.” He gave Mrs. Quincy a cautious glance.
“Good idea,” Ellie said. A minute later the biscuits were on the tables where the men sat. She put two more pans of biscuits in the Majestic and started around with the coffee while Mrs. Quincy watched.
Ellie looked for Mr. Penrose and Gwen, then remembered that they lived somewhere else and probably didn’t eat here. She lost sight of Plato. She eyed the Regulator on the wall and took out the next batch of biscuits when it was time. A red-haired man transferred them to the table, pan and all.
Mr. Child watched his crew with real satisfaction, then found a place. He tapped his mug, stood up, and indicated Ellie and Mrs. Quincy. “We’re in good hands, men,” he said simply.
They’re just ordinary biscuits, she wanted to tell them.I can make them in my sleep. She dipped a sudden curtsy, enjoying unexpected applause.
“No one goes hungry here,” Mr. Child informed the newcomers, and in saying that, he relieved Ellie’s heart as well. He snagged a biscuit as the bowl went by. “Tomorrow, we’ll finish the roof because we have enough shingles now.” He smiled at the good-natured groans. “We’ll be working inside, then. Fire up the Majestics early, Miss Found. We’ll warm those nails.”
Ellie leaned toward Mrs. Quincy.“Warm the nails? Why?”
“They’re working outside on the roof. Warm nails keep their hands from freezing.”
She stood by one Majestic and felt Plato rubbing around her ankles. “It’s your turn,” she said, adding more meat to his bowl, although he never minded carrots. She watched him hunker down and eat, knowing there was stew for her too, probably as much as she wanted. She opened the door to her room a crack, to make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Nope.
After the last worker filed out, Ellie filled one sink with hot water from the Majestic’s boiler. The dishes were already stacked on the serving table. Ellie saw the sag in the olderwoman’s shoulders. “I can do these,” Ellie told her. “You look tired.”
That earned her a sharp look, then a reluctant nod. “Drain them on the serving table. It’s oatmeal and applesauce tomorrow morning. I’m soaking the dried applies over there.” Mrs. Quincy hesitated, then spoke. “Could there be biscuits again?”
“Yes’m.”
“Be up by four-thirty to lay the fires. I won’t be much later.”
Mrs. Quincy went to her room. Ellie found rough sacking to spread on the serving table and put the washed crockery there to drain. She looked for Plato and found him by the slightly open door into the lobby, where he had already accumulated a pile of mouse carcasses. “Impressive,” she said. “You’re earning your keep.”
“Gwen’s right,” she heard from the dark. “You do talk to your cat.”
“Mr. Penrose! You startled me!”
Mr. Penrose held up his hands and a burlap sack in defense. “I come in peace with a bag of nails.” He set the nails by one of the Majestics and set a metal sheet on top. “Pourthese on the sheet. I’ll bring more during the day. We’ll have the roof over theporte cochèredone tomorrow.”
“I’ll remember, Mr. Penrose.”
“Call me Charles,” he said. She nodded, certain she would do no such thing.
“I came for another reason too, Miss Found.” She had no reason to back up, but she did. “Maybe you’d like to see why this inn is important.”
“Well, I . . .”
“Come outside,” he said. “It’s just about that time. No worries. This was Gwen’s idea, but she’s asleep.”
He held the massive iron-studded door open, and she shivered. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long, whatever it was.
They stood under the sweep of theporte cochèrethat would, by summer, shelter stagecoaches dropping off park visitors. “Over there.”
She saw a plume of steam rising off a higher mound she had noticed when the stagecoach stopped. It was cold enough to see her breath, butthissteam must be the breath of the gods of the underworld.
“Old Faithful erupts about every fifty-five minutes,” he said. “Feel that?”
Ellie felt a rumble beneath her thin-soled shoes. The steam rose higher, then fell, then rose up again and then higher. She held her breath at the solitary majesty of this amazing sight, something that had probably played out, unseen, for more time than she could imagine. Just when she thought it must be done, the steam sank and then rose higher.
