Mr. Gates put his hand to his back. “My sciatica has been bothering me a lot today. Livie, I think you should go get them.”
For a moment she blinked at the man. Go outside? Near him? She glanced down at her dress. It was old and had been washed many times. There was no reason to put on her New York clothes when all she saw were old men and kids. On the other hand, all the washings had made the cotton fabric shrink a bit—and fit tighter. Since she was a child, she’d taken dance lessons from Summer Hill’s only instructor. Ballet, jazz, tap, and every kick she’d ever done showed. While it was true that he looked glorious in his little shorts, Olivia knew that in her snug dress, she was a match for him.
Uncle Freddy and Mr. Gates were looking at her in an encouraging way. They meant for her to get the tomatoes. The fact that in the three days she’d been there she’d never once stepped foot in the big garden seemed to mean nothing.
Olivia set the bowl on the kitchen counter and picked up the pretty basket the children used for gathering eggs. Props were important.
She went to the door, then paused and looked back at the old men. They nodded to her.
Olivia straightened her shoulders and went outside. She did not look at the young man with the two laughing children. He was holding them with his long, muscled arms and washing their faces. Since Olivia had been there, no one had been able to catch them to wash them.
With her head high and her posture showing eve
ry second of her years of ballet, Olivia entered the vegetable garden. She was acutely aware that behind her the noise had stopped. The kids weren’t screaming in excited protest at having weeks of dirt removed from their smelly, sweaty little bodies.
She knew the young man was watching her, assessing her in the way she had him. As though she were playing a part, she sauntered into the garden and rather prettily skipped over a large cabbage plant. She saw that the tomatoes had nearly broken the vines. With her hands in classic ballet pose, she pulled off a few and put them in the basket.
“Hey!” Letty yelled. “That basket is for the eggs.”
Olivia took a breath. It was time to face him. Turning, she looked at them. The young man, almost naked, had a child under each arm, and he was staring at Olivia as though he’d never seen anything like her in his life.
Only through years of acting lessons was she able to conceal her emotions. She had to put her feet in a ballet position to keep from swaying toward him. “Perhaps,” she said slowly, “you could find another basket that I could use for produce.”
“What kind of juice?” Ace asked. He was tucked under the man’s arm like a sack of flour.
“Whatever you want,” Olivia said with an adoring smile. Finally, she looked up at the young man. I have to get this under control! she told herself. “Are you the boy who was hired to help around the estate?” Her voice was as adult as she could make it.
Kit nodded but didn’t speak.
“Perhaps you could tie up the tomatoes?” Again, he nodded in silence.
Olivia gave him her best smile. “Good. Luncheon will be in twenty minutes. I’ll call you.” She swept past him with all the dignity she could muster.
Uncle Freddy and Mr. Gates were in the doorway and she nearly tripped over the wheelchair. Behind them, the deep skillet was smoking and it looked like the fire had gone out under the other one.
“You two are going to die of gas inhalation. Get that window open! Did you turn the chicken? Why haven’t you finished those potatoes?” She threw open the refrigerator door.
“Where are the lemons I bought yesterday?”
“Ace—” Uncle Freddy began.
Olivia put up her hand. “Don’t tell me. Something to do with space demons.” She looked at Mr. Gates. “This afternoon I’m going to give you a list and you’re going to the grocery.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Gates said in exaggerated meekness.
“Cut it out!” she snapped, and in a flurry of energy, she went back to work.
It was nearly an hour before she covered the old table with a feast: fried chicken, sliced tomatoes, sautéed zucchini and onions, mashed potatoes, carrots simmered in orange juice. Thanks to an instant vanilla mix, she’d even managed to make a bowl of banana pudding. She told Uncle Freddy to call them in.
The children, with shiny clean faces, came into the kitchen with a look of wonder. The smells, the heat, the abundance dazzled them.
Behind them, wearing a blue cotton shirt and full khaki trousers, his hair still damp, was the young man. He had his head down, as though asking permission to enter.
The kids jumped onto the bench and reached for the platter of chicken, but Mr. Gates’s look stopped them. “You know we always ask the blessing first.”
Ace started to say something to that, but Uncle Freddy’s glare made him close his mouth.
“Kit,” Uncle Freddy said as he motioned to a chair, “did you meet Olivia?” Kit took the seat, but as before, he just nodded and didn’t speak.