Hearing the noises as well, Leo jumped from the window seat, stretched with a sinuous arching of back and neck, and padded to the door.
“Rebekah is up early. I hope she’s feeling all right. You wait here, Leo. I’ll be back for you soon.” Slipping from her room, she ignored his indignant yowl and caught up with her hostess in the kitchen. “And how are you this fine morning?” A glance told Maggie the baby was winning the battle so far. “Oh, poor lamb, what are you doing down here?”
“I thought you might want some breakfast.” Rebekah clamped her lips closed and swallowed audibly. “There’s bread and eggs and fresh milk.” She stopped and slapped a hand over her lips.
“Sit down,” Maggie insisted, “and breathe through your mouth. It will help.” Once her hostess’s color returned, Maggie set about toasting a thick slice of the bread over the fire. “I can do this over the stove, too, but it would take longer and I doubt more heat would be a welcome thing for you right now. Do you think you can drink some tea, or is water better?”
“You’re my guest,” Rebekah protested, though the tone carried little conviction. “I’m supposed to be caring for you.”
“And last night you were insisting I make myself at home,” Maggie teased. “I’m simply taking your admonition to heart.”
Since Rebekah had already begun making tea, Maggie moved the bread further from the flames and reached for the teapot. Minutes later, she poured a cup of rather weak, very sweet tea, and set it in front of the miserable woman. “Sip that slowly, now, and we’ll see if it stays with you. I always made sweet tea for Mama whenever she was in your condition. It was the first thing I learned to do in the kitchen.”
Rebekah kept the first three sips down, which Maggie considered a good sign. “You keep sipping your tea and when you feel ready, you can try a bit of dry toast.” She kept up a running prattle, asking questions, speaking of nothing important, just keeping Rebekah’s attention off her rebellious stomach.
Franz joined them in the kitchen as Rebekah dusted the crumbs from her fingers. “You were able to eat something this morning?” His relief was obvious.
“Thanks to this angel.” She rose and gave Maggie a hug. “And she’s going to cook for you, too.” Rebekah paused to take a slow breath. “I’m sorry to leave this to you, Maggie, but Franz always burns his breakfast and it makes me, well, um…”
“Go lie down or write some letters,” Maggie changed the subject before Rebekah’s stomach rejoined the conversation. “I’ll be fine on my own in here.”
Franz waited until he heard the door to the library close. “Thank you, Miss Flanaghan.”
“Please, call me Maggie. You’re welcome, but I didn’t do anything.”
“You got her to eat, and that is no small thing to me. She is not easy with this baby and is getting so thin.”
“I remember what Mama tolerated her first months, that’s all. When I was old enough, I helped her make tea and toast.”
“You have siblings, then?”
“None of the other babies survived.” Maggie felt a twinge of sadness for all the little lives that never were.
“I’m sorry. You would be a wonderful older sister.”
“I am sorry, too, although I feel selfish, wishing for a brother just to have help on this journey, or a sister with whom to share my fears.” Maggie shrugged. “But wishing doesn’t change a thing, and you need your breakfast. Tell me what you like.”
“In spite of what my wife says, I can get by in the kitchen.”
“There’s no reason you have to. I’m here and I need something to do. I have to be useful.”
Franz seemed to debate his course of action briefly. “Let me go see if the Osterbur twins left us any… Ah, here they are.” He hefted a large basket from the back porch, quickly closing the door to shut out the cold, damp wind. “Fresh eggs.” He set the basket on the table and fished a dozen large orbs from the nest of towels. “Mrs. Osterbur has the finest laying hens in town. Martha was always happy to accept her eggs in payment for my patching up the odd cuts and scrapes those boys seem to get with terrifying regularity.”
He placed the empty basket back outside. “The boys will pick that up shortly. If they make enough racket to gain your attention, there are cookies—”
Maggie laughed aloud. “That’s why there were so many in the jar. I should have known they weren’t just for Reverend Oltmann when he dropped by.”
Franz smiled, changing his austere features to impish. “Though he and others enjoy them, my sister learned quickly that her cookies were ample reward for many things that needed to be done around the house. I am, sadly, ill-suited to much more than doctoring.”
“I doubt that, but I’m happy to help where I can while Papa is in your care.” The reminder of how short a time that could be dimmed her joy.
“I will keep your father company, then, and you will call me when breakfast is ready, ja?”