Emma Miller - Anna's Gift

“It’s Samuel!” Susanna shouted above the terrier’s barking. “And Mae! And Naomi! And Lori Ann!”

Anna’s stomach flip-flopped as she forced a smile, wiping her hands nervously on her apron. “Samuel.” She looked to Naomi. “No school today?”

She pushed her round, wire-frame glasses back into place. “My tummy had a tickle this morning, but I’m better now.”

“I think we were missing our teacher,” Samuel explained. “I let her stay home. She never misses. Do I smell biscuits?” He grinned and held up the paint cans. “We didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast, but I wanted to get an early start on those walls.”

Confused, Anna stared at him. “You wanted to get an early start? You bought paint?”

“Last night.” He smiled again, and mischief danced in his dark eyes as he set the cans on the floor. The girls added the rollers and brushes to the pile. “I just took my shirt along to the store, and they were able to match the color perfectly.”

“Good you brought paint,” Susanna announced. “Now we don’t have to take the buggy to town.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Anna gripped the front of her apron. “It’s kind of you, but you have so much to do at your farm. We’ll pay for the paint, of course, but—”

“I smell something burning.” Naomi peered over her glasses and grimaced.

Anna spun around to see smoke rising from the stove. “Oh, my biscuits!” She ran to snatch open the oven door, and used the hem of her apron to grab the handle of the cast-iron frying pan.

“Be careful,” Samuel warned. A cloud of smoke puffed out of the oven, stinging Anna’s eyes. She gave a yelp as the heat seared her palm through the cloth, and she dropped the frying pan. It bounced off the open door, sending biscuits flying, and landed with a clang on the floor. Anna clapped her stinging hand to her mouth.

Lori Ann squealed, throwing her mitten-covered hands into the air, and the terrier darted across the floor, snatched a biscuit and ran with it. In the far doorway, the dog dropped the biscuit, then bit into it again, and carried it triumphantly under the table. Flora grabbed one, too, and ran for the sitting room with her prize.

“They’re burned,” Naomi pronounced, turning in a circle in the middle of the biscuits. “You burned them, Anna.”

“Never mind the biscuits, just pick them up,” Samuel said. Somehow, before Anna could think what to do next, he had taken charge. He crossed the kitchen, retrieved the cast-iron frying pan from the floor using a hand towel, and set it safely on top of the stove. “How bad is the burn?” he asked as he put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the sink. “Is it going to blister?”

“I’m all right,” Anna protested, twisting out of his warm embrace. Her palm stung, but she was hardly aware of it. All she could think of was the sensation of Samuel’s strong arm around her and the way her knees felt as wobbly as if they were made of biscuit dough.

Samuel gently took her hand in his large calloused one, turned on the faucet, and held her palm under the cold water. “It doesn’t look bad,” he said.

“Ne.” Anna felt foolish. How could she have been so careless? She was an experienced cook. She knew better than to take anything out of the oven without a hot mitt.

“Let the water do its work.” Samuel said, speaking softly, as if to a skittish colt, and the tenderness in his deep voice made Anna’s heart go all a-flutter again. “The cold will take the sting away.”

“Does it hurt?” Susanna asked.

Anna glanced at her sister. Susanna looked as if she were about to burst into tears. “Ne. It’s fine,” Anna assured her. Susanna couldn’t bear to see anyone in pain. From the corner of her eye, Anna saw Mae raise a biscuit to her mouth. “Don’t eat that,” she cautioned. “It’s dirty if it’s been on the floor.”

Samuel chuckled, picked up a handful of the biscuits and brushed them off against his shirt. “A little scorched, but not so bad they can’t be salvaged,” he said.

“In our house, we have a five-second rule,” Naomi explained, grabbing more biscuits off the floor. “If you grab it up quick, it’s okay.”

“Mam says floors are dirty,” Susanna said, but she was picking up biscuits as well, piling them on a plate on the table.

Anna knew her face must be as hot as the skillet. Why was it that the minute Samuel Mast walked in the door, she turned into a complete klutz? She hadn’t burned biscuits in years. She always paid close attention to whatever she had in the oven. She wished she could throw her apron over her face and run away, like yesterday, but she knew that she couldn’t get away with that twice.

“Don’t put them on the table,” Anna said. “They’re ruined. I’ll feed them to the chickens.”

“But I want biscuit and honey,” Mae pouted, eyeing the heaped plate. “Yes’erday, she …” She pointed at Susanna. “She gave me a honey biscuit. It was yum.”

“Shh,” Naomi said to her little sister. “Remember your manners, Mae.”

“I can make more,” Anna offered.

“Nonsense.” Samuel scooped up Mae and raised her high in the air, coaxing a giggle out of her. “We’ll cut off the burned parts and eat the other half, won’t we?”

Anna took a deep breath and shook her head. She was mortified. What would Mam think, if she found out that she’d served guests burned biscuits they’d picked up off the floor? Pride might be a sin, but Mam had high standards for her kitchen. And so did she, for that matter. “Really, Samuel,” she protested. “I’d rather make another batch.”

“Tell you what,” he offered, depositing Mae on the floor and unbuttoning his coat. “I came here to offer you a deal. Maybe we can make biscuits part of it.”

“I … I l-l-like b-biscuits,” Lori Ann said shyly. “A-a-and I’m hungry.”

“He made us egg,” Mae supplied, tugging on Anna’s apron. “Don’t like runny egg.” Anna noticed that she was wearing the too-large kapp that she and Susanna had put on her yesterday, while her sisters wore wool scarves over their hair. Mae’s kapp was a little worse for wear, but it gave Anna a warm feeling that Samuel had thought to put it on her today.

“Hush, girls,” Samuel said. It was his turn to flush red. “They don’t think much of my cooking. Naomi’s learning, but she’s only nine.”

“Naomi’s eggs is yuck,” Mae agreed.

Naomi stuck her tongue out at her sister. “We don’t criticize each other’s work, and you shouldn’t make ugly faces,” Anna corrected. Then she blushed again. What right did she have to admonish Samuel’s children? That would be Mam’s task, once she and Samuel were husband and wife. But it was clear that someone needed to take a hand in their raising. Men didn’t understand little girls, or kitchens for that matter.

“Listen to Anna,” Samuel said with a grin. “It’s cold outside, Naomi. Your Grossmama used to tell me that if I stuck my tongue out at my sisters my face might freeze. You don’t want your face to freeze like that, do you?” Susanna giggled. “That would be silly.” “And we’re not outside.” Samuel gave Naomi a reproving look. “Sorry, Mae.” Embarrassed, Naomi looked down at her boots. Puddles of water were forming on the floor around them.

“For goodness’ sakes, take off your coats,” Anna urged, motioning with her hands. “It’s warm in the kitchen, and you’ll all overheat.”

“I’m afraid we tracked up your clean floor with our wet boots,” Samuel said.

Anna shrugged. “Not to worry. You can leave them near the door with ours.” She motioned to Susanna. “Get everyone’s coats and hang them behind the stove to dry. I have bacon ready, and I’ll make French toast. We’ll all have breakfast together.”