theformermissbliss:
Rose gave a small nod. She couldn’t remember the name of the friend that worked at the butcher shop, but she always enjoyed the cuts. She had stopped going herself on Charles orders, making either the cook or Whisper pick up the meat. She was always thankful for the singing butcher, but she could not bear to see him. He reminded her too much of Sticks. The last time they spoke was about Sticks and his disappearance.
“I would be skeptical if you did this all on your own.” She said while helping herself to a sandwich and a bit of fruit. “And would wonder what you learned how to prepare a meal, much less a picnic.”
“I suppose it’s good that I had a touch of help from my housekeeper.” Sticks laughed, giving a sheepish rub to the back of his neck. “I did help, though. Rolled up my sleeves and all. Even made the lemonade myself–which may explain why there may be a few stray seeds.”
He picked up a grape, watching her in the sunlight. Seeing her so close, it clenched his heart with longing. That wasn’t a good thing to bring up, however, so he merely popped the grape into his mouth. “I did learn quite a bit when I lived at the boarding house with the other lads. Had to–Mrs. May was insistent that if we were going to be messy boys, we were going to learn how to balance it with other talents. Cooking, admittedly, was not my talent. We washed the dishes.”
“Did I tell you where I purchased my home?” He asked, sipping the lemonade. “Neighbor?”
“But you helped your housekeeper.” Rose said beaming. It was rare that she heard anyone of wealth help their “servants.” They were paid to do their job, and that job is to make sure their bosses’ hands remain soft and supple, their nails not chipped, and to maintain a facade of perfection. Rose enjoyed shelling peas in the kitchen with the chef and hearing all about his children. She liked the afternoons polishing silverware or teaching Whisper how to read and write. The other helpers of the house she knew by name and knew about their families. Their birthdays were marked down in her book and she always made sure that the kids would receive desserts and goodies. Charles hated it.
“I’m sure it will taste as good as it looks.” She nibbled on the sandwich. It was as good as it looked and she found herself taking a bigger bite than she normally did. She waited until she finished chewing before speaking once more. “How many dishes did you break?” She asked, picturing the boys donning their aprons and tossing the plates at each other.
“Neighbor? What on earth do you mean by that?”
“Of course--she may very well be the love of my life.” Sticks said with a sober nod. “Her name is Doris, and she’s losing her hearing so it is often very loud in the house. She is also nearly seventy.” He smiled. The smile only grew as he remembered how often the boys were swatted with brooms, or spent their time attempting to juggle plates and drumming on pans.
He lifted a shoulder. “Far too many, if I’m being honest. I’m surprised Mrs. May allowed us to live there as long as we did.”
For a moment, Sticks didn’t meet Rose’s eyes. He had a suspicion that she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say. “The house beside yours. I’m told it was vacant for quite some time, and it’s honestly far too lovely for that. So I purchased it. I’m surprised you didn’t see me moving in.”
