A Gentleman for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad

Author:Janet Tronstad
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2000-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

The oatmeal was lumpy. Sylvia didn’t know why. She’d stirred oatmeal before and it had never turned lumpy on her like this. Of course, she admitted, she’d never made a six-quart pot of oatmeal before. She had hoped the kids would think the lumps were just extra raisins. It hadn’t worked.

“They want more toast.” Francis limped into the kitchen carrying an empty tray. It was her fifth trip in the past ten minutes. “And the jelly’s running out.”

“We don’t have any more jelly,” Mrs. Buckwalter said, bending down to the check the lower shelf in the cupboard. “We have jellied cranberry sauce—and pickle relish.”

“We’ll use the cranberry sauce,” Garth said as he flipped the slices of bread he was grilling in the oven’s broiler. He had given up on the toaster several platters earlier. “They might not notice the difference. It’s red and they’ll be able to spread it.”

“I thought we bought a big jar of that grape jelly last week.” Francis turned to Garth.

“Gone. The boys needed a snack yesterday after their dance lessons.”

“Thank God we need to go to Dry Creek this afternoon to see about decorations for the reception,” Mrs. Buckwalter said as she lifted two cans of cranberry sauce off the shelf.

“They’ll still be hungry whether they’re in Dry Creek or here,” Francis said.

“But we can buy them lunch at that café I hear about,” Mrs. Buckwalter said emphatically.

“But that’ll be expensive,” Francis worried. “They do tend to eat rather a lot. Linda’s prices aren’t high, but it would take a lot of food.”

“I’d rather spend the money,” Mrs. Buckwalter said as she picked up a can opener and sat down at the kitchen table. She twisted the handle of the opener around the first can of cranberry sauce. “My accountant will understand.”

“You have a project accountant?” Sylvia laid out more bread slices to grill.

“More or less,” Mrs. Buckwalter said grimly. “My son promoted him to Chief Financial Officer—now all the bills funnel through Robert himself. Remember my son?”

Sylvia dropped a slice of bread and then nodded. Of course, she remembered the woman’s son, Robert. The one who was in Europe. The one who wanted to give all the foundation’s money to museums. He was the last person she wanted to see their bills. Especially not a bill for thirty orders of hamburgers and fries from a small café in Dry Creek.

“Maybe we should try tuna sandwiches,” Sylvia suggested brightly. She looked a little dubiously at the empty plastic wrappers that had come off the loaves of bread Garth had toasted. She wondered if there would be enough bread left for sandwiches. But they could make them open-faced if necessary. “That way we won’t bother Robert.”

“Oh, we won’t bother him anyway.” Mrs. Buckwalter fussed as she scooped the cranberry sauce out of the can and into several small bowls. “The bills will just sit on his desk until his secretary decides they need to be paid and sends them down to Accounting. Especially when he’s in Europe.

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