wait to begin,” Joy said, inhaling deeply of the warmer air inside the barn. She watched Gideon open the door and pick up the milk pail as he waited for Joy to pass in front of him. She set out, ducking to keep her face inside her warm shawl, away from the blowing snow. Gideon followed closely behind her, his hand grasping her elbow as they made their way to the milk house, where Gideon picked up last night’s milking. As they set off back down the path, which was fast filling with new snow, she looked up, hoping for a break in the heavy clouds that had dumped so much of the white stuff on them in the past weeks. But as it stood, they would have to shovel again tonight to get to the barn.
“I was hoping for some of it to clear, at least enough to allow me to get across the meadow to the trees before Christmas,” she told Gideon, hoping he could hear her voice speaking to him.
Apparently he got the gist of her muttering, for as they stomped their way up onto the porch, he leaned forward enough to answer her. “What do you want to go out across the meadow for, Joy? Is that where you spotted the tree you spoke of earlier?”
She nodded, then opened the door and stood aside, allowing Gideon to carry the milk into the kitchen. She shivered as the heat from inside warmed her suddenly.
After shaking the snow off their coats and hanging them up, they stood in the kitchen grinning foolishly at each other, as if they had surmounted some great task set before them and were celebrating their victory over it. And so they had, Joy decided. They carried the two buckets of milk into the pantry and placed them beneath the shelf, covering the most recent milking with a clean dish towel to keep dust and critters out of it while the cream rose to the top. Then she uncovered last night’s milking and stirred it with a wooden spoon before pouring a good bit of it into the pitcher she kept there for that purpose. It was enough to keep her in milk for baking and drinking for the day. Joy left the rest beneath the shelf and carried the pitcher to the kitchen.
“Would you like some more milk, Joseph?” she asked. “It’s nice and cold from being outdoors, but if you’d rather have it warmed, I can do that for you. In fact, I can put some chocolate in it, and with a spoonful of sugar, you’d have hot cocoa to drink. Would you like that?”
“I’ve never had hot cocoa,” Joseph said eagerly. “Can you show me how you do it?”
“I surely can. Let me put your chair a bit closer to the stove and you can stand up on it and watch me fix it.” It only took her a few seconds to move the chair and prop him up next to her. While she prepared the cocoa, she kept her left arm around his waist lest he fall forward.
“Would you like to share Joseph’s drink, Gideon? I can add another cupful of milk easily enough.”
Joseph turned in her grasp to look over his shoulder at his father and added his plea. “Why don’t you, Daddy. We never had this before, did we? I don’t remember it anyway.”
“No, I suspect we haven’t, son. I’ll be glad to share some with you if Joy doesn’t mind.”
She added the extra milk to the saucepan, along with another scoop of cocoa and some sugar. Joy lifted the saltshaker from the back of the stove and shook it over the pan, as her mother had taught her, the salt enhancing the flavor of the chocolate.
“Would you find some mugs in the dresser, Gideon? The door on the left.”
With a grunt of assent, her guest rose and brought back four thick china cups, which he placed on the table. “I assume you’ll both be joining us,” he said, taking his seat once more.
Grandpa got up from his chair and made his way to the kitchen door. “No, you young folks enjoy your treat while I find my whittling knife and a likely piece of wood to work on,” he said, then walked from the room with the aid of a cane he kept nearby at all times.
Joy lifted Joseph from his perch and set him away from the hot stove before she poured the mugs full, the milk foaming almost to overflowing as she drained the pan. “That ought to do it, gentlemen,” she said with laughter lacing her words. It seemed there was much to be thankful for this morning. Two guests to share the coming days until Christmas and the hope of having a tree this year after all.
“How about a piece of bread and butter to go with your cocoa? I can slice some right quick if you like.”
“Have you the heel handy?” Gideon asked. “Joseph likes the middle of the loaf, but I’ve always been partial to the first slice. My mother used to spread it with butter, right to the edges she always said.” He looked up at Joy with a smile that was strangely tender, as if his thoughts of home and hearth were warming him. “It’s odd how little things stick in your mind, isn’t it, ma’am? I can still see my mother at the stove, standing as you are right now, ready to serve her family.”
She felt the sting of tears as she turned away, her thoughts bittersweet as she recalled her own mother. “Memories are to be cherished, especially the ones that warm us from within,” she said quietly.
“I wish I had a mama to remember,” Joseph said, and Joy sat, reaching across the table to take up his small hand within her own.
“Perhaps one day your father will find a woman fit to be your mother, Joseph. We never know what life has in store for us, and surely a mother isn’t too much for a little boy to hope for.”
Gideon lifted his cup and sipped carefully. “I fear he’ll have to make do with one poor excuse of a father, ma’am,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask any woman to take me on, unless she was looking for a repair-and-restoration project.”
She smiled at him, almost chuckling at the woebegone expression on his face. “Do you think you are such a poor specimen as all that? I see you as a shining example of fatherhood, Gideon. Your son would not be as he is without your influence.”
“My daddy says I’m a good boy,” Joseph said with a speck of pride showing in his shining eyes.
“I’m sure you are. You certainly know how to behave well and that’s about all that can be expected of a child your age,” Joy told him, leaning close to speak to the lad as if he were an equal and would understand her words. She marveled at how she’d misjudged the small boy at first, thinking him to be three or four years old. Gideon had since told her that Joseph was small for his age; he was actually six. That explained his ability to communicate so well, Joy thought.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Joseph said politely, his wide grin showing his delight at her attention.
“Well, I’d better get busy and start something cooking for dinner. These dishes aren’t going to wash themselves and I have dish towels to wash and hang to dry,” Joy said, listing her agenda for the morning.
“I’m a pretty good hand at dishes,” Gideon said, offering his help.
“I’ll take you up on that.” Joy rose and took her cup to the sink, adding it to the pile already awaiting warm water in the dishpan.
As the two adults did the dishes, Joseph watched from his place at the table, not seeming surprised at the sight of his father with his hands in dishwater.
But he totally missed the warm look Gideon bestowed upon the woman who stood beside him, nor would he have understood the message his father sent silently with but a wink of his eye and a subtle twist of his mouth that signified his delight in her.
Chapter Three
The
