Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

"Sorry to bother you," Qwilleran said. "Am I too late for an ice cream sundae?"

"You can sit down," she said in a flat voice. "What kind?"

"Can you rustle up some chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce?"

She left the dining room and returned, saying, "Vanilla is all."

"That'll do, if you have chocolate sauce." He sat at a table near the kitchen to save the weary employee a long trek. To his surprise, another woman burst through the kitchen door, carrying his sundae. She was a husky woman of about forty, wearing a chef's hat (unstarched) and a large canvas apron (streaked with tomato sauce). She had the lean face and stony expression typical of island women, and she walked with a lumbering gait.

Plunking the dish down in front of the customer, she said, "I know you—from Pickax. You came into the Old Stone Mill to eat. I worked in the kitchen. Derek would come back and say, "He's here with his girlfriend." Or he'd say, "He's here with a strange woman, much younger." Then we'd peek through the kitchen door, and we'd put an extra slice of pork or turkey on your plate. We always had a doggie bag ready for you ... Eat your ice cream before it melts."

"Thank you," he said, plunging his spoon into the puddle of chocolate sauce.

"How come you didn't ask for hot fudge? I can cook some up if you want. I know you like it."

"This is fine," he said, "and it's late, and you must be tired."

"I'm not tired. When you have your own business, you don't get tired. Funny, isn't it?"

"You must be Harriet Beadle. I'm staying at the Domino Inn, and Lori told me you helped her find a carpenter when she was in trouble."

"Lori's nice. I like her ... Want some coffee?"

"I'll take a cup, if you'll have one with me."

Harriet sent her helper home, saying she'd finish the cleanup herself. Then she brought two cups of coffee and sat down, having removed her soiled apron and limp headgear. Her straight, colorless hair had been cut in the kitchen, Qwilleran guessed, with poultry shears and a mixing bowl. "I know you like it strong," she said. "This is island coffee. We don't make it like this for customers."

He could understand why; he winced at the first sip. "What brought you back to the island?"

"There's something about the island—always makes you want to come back. I always wanted to run my own restaurant and do all the cooking. Then Mr. Exbridge told me about this and told me how to go about it— borrow the money, buy secondhand kitchen equipment, and all that. He's a nice man. I s'pose you know him. What are you doing here? Writing for the paper?"

"If I can find anything to write about. Perhaps you could tell me something about island life."

-You bet I could!"

He placed his recorder on the table. "I'd like to tape our conversation. Don't pay any attention to it. Just talk."

"What about?"

"Breakfast Island when you were growing up."

"It was hard. No electricity. No bathrooms. No clocks. No phones. No money. We don't call it Breakfast Island over here. It's Providence Island."

"Who gave it that name?"

"The first settlers. A divine providence cast "em up on the beach after their ship was wrecked."

"You say you had no money. How did you live?"

"On fish. Wild rabbit. Goat's milk." She said it proudly.

"What about necessities like shoes and flour and ammunition for hunting rabbits?"

"They used traps, back then. Other things they needed, they got by trading on the mainland. They traded fish, mostly, and stuff that washed up on the beach. My pa built a boat with wood that washed up."

"Is he still living?" Qwilleran asked, thinking he might be one of the unsociable cab drivers.

"He drowned, trying to haul his nets before a storm." She said it without emotion.

"And your mother?"

"Ma's still here. Still using oil lamps. Never left the island—not even for a day. She'd just as soon go to the moon."

"But surely electricity is now available to islanders.

The resort has it. The summer estates have had it a long rime."

"Ay-uh, but a lot of people here can't afford it. A lot of "em still make their own medicines from wild plants. My ma remembers when there was no school. Now we have a one-room schoolhouse. I went through eight grades there—everybody in one room with one teacher." She said it boastfully.

"How did you arrange to go to high school?" "Stayed with a family on the mainland." "Did you have any trouble adapting to a different kind of school?"

"Ay-uh. Sure did. It was hard. I was ahead of the mainland kids in some things, the teachers said, but islanders were supposed to be dumb, and we got called all kinds of names."

"How did you feel about that?" Qwilleran asked sympathetically.

"Made me mad! Had to beat up on "em a coupla times." Harriet clenched a capable fist

He regarded this Amazon with astonishment and grudging admiration. "You must be very strong." "Gotta be strong to live here." "Where do the islanders live? I don't see any houses." "In Providence Village, back in the woods." "Is that what the mainlanders call Piratetown?" "Ay-uh. Makes me mad!" The clenched fist hit the ta-bletop and made the dishes dance. "How do your people feel about the new resort?" "They're afraid. They think they'll be chased off the island, like they were chased off the west beach when the rich folks came."

"What do they think about the tourists?"

"They don't like "em. Some of the tourists are cocky . . . rowdy ... half-naked. Last coupla weekends, a bunch of "em camped near the lighthouse and flew kites big enough to ride in."

"Hang gliders," Qwilleran said, nodding. "Was that considered objectionable?"

"Well... they sat around with no clothes on, drinking beer and playing the radio loud."

"How do you know?"

"Some rabbit hunters saw "em ... Want more coffee?"

For the first time in his life Qwilleran declined a second cup; he could feel drums beating in his head. "What's your personal opinion of the Pear Island Hotel?" he asked her.

"Too much stuff about pirates. Makes me mad!"

"Are you saying that there were no pirates in the history of the island? Maybe they were here before your ancestors came."

Harriet looked fierce and banged the table. "It's all lies! Made-up lies!"

He thought it a good idea to change the subject. "There's a plaque at the lighthouse, honoring three light-keepers. Do you know what happened to them?"

"Nobody knows," she said mysteriously. "I could tell you the story if you want to hear it."

The drums stopped beating in Qwilleran's head, and he snapped to attention. "I'd like to hear it, but you've had a long hard day. You probably want to go home."

"I don't go home. I have a bed upstairs."

"Then let me take you to lunch on your day off. We'll eat in the Corsair Room."

"I don't take a day off. I work seven days a week. Wait'll I get another cup of coffee. Sure you don't want some?"