Chapters (71)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Part Two
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part Three
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Part Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Part Five
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
- About the Author
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“Everyone is, and I decided I would take the other single room—” Patrick stepped forward on the landing and opened a door. “I did the work in here myself, including the plumbing, all of it. So we are comfortable now, and there’s no reason for an outhouse.”
Blackie went inside, guided by Patrick, made a mental note of everything he saw and grinned. “What a luxury,” he murmured. “Well, life is full of surprises.”
Patrick chuckled. “Wash up, Blackie, and then come on downstairs. Don’t be unpacking now. You can do it later.”
Eight
“I’m not a fancy cook,” Eileen confided to Blackie when he peered into the small kitchen next to the parlor. “But I try to make my specialties tasty.”
“Food has been hard to come by lately, Aunt Eileen, so I’ll enjoy every mouthful.” He glanced at the steaming cottage pie on the table near the sink, then looked at her.
Blackie grinned, and breathed in the lovely aromas in the kitchen. “And I think ye’ve made something with apples, haven’t ye? I smell apples.”
“I concocted an apple-and-blackberry stew, which I’ll serve with Bird’s Custard. How does that sound?”
Before Blackie could respond, Patrick said, “A feast fit for kings, Eileen.” Blackie turned and saw his uncle leaning against the doorjamb nonchalantly.
“I love my room, Uncle Pat!” Blackie exclaimed, his genuineness echoing in his voice. “Thank ye, and do ye know it’s the first room I’ve ever had just for meself.”
“I thought it would suit.” Patrick smiled at his nephew, and then cast his glance on his wife, as usual concerned for her. “I see you’ve set the table, Eileen, so can we carry in the food, pet?”
“It would be a great help.”
“So go on, Blackie lad.… Eileen, give me some potholders.”
The two men were deft with the dishes and placed them on the table under the window. Eileen followed with the gravy boat. She served them all large portions and told them to handle the gravy themselves.
Blackie decided her simple dish, as she had just called it, was delicious; he practically wolfed it down and was soon ready for a second helping. He couldn’t believe there was enough food for the three of them and worried about whether there would be more the next day.
Patrick and Eileen exchanged knowing glances from time to time. Everyone ate in silence except for the occasional murmur of pleasure, as they savored the food.
Once the tea was over and all the dishes cleared and washed, the three of them sat around the fire. It was still cool weather, and the flames took the chill off the evening. Blackie felt his eyelids becoming heavy as the three of them relaxed in the main room drinking cups of tea. It was Patrick who broke the silence.