Читать книгу Upon A Winter's Night - Karen Harper - Страница 14

8

The next day, the morning of the Stark funeral, Lydia made breakfast for the family as she often did. She had not slept well last night, with disjointed dreams haunting her. More than once in the still-dark morning she caught herself staring out the window at her reflection. The glass was like a giant mirror, and she was wondering how much she resembled David and Lena Brand...David and Lena Brand...

Mamm seldom joined them until later, though this morning Daad had not appeared, either. As usual, Lydia and Daad would buggy separately to the store as soon as dawn lit the sky. Halfway through her oatmeal, she was surprised to hear him emerge from the side parlor, his private abode, instead of coming down the stairs. His firm closing of the door behind him echoed like a single knock as Lydia popped up to ladle out his oatmeal.

“You haven’t been working all night on a quilt, have you?” she asked, half-teasing.

“Maybe something I want to finish before Christmas, eh? I heard you stirring.”

“Ya,” she said with a little laugh. “Stirring the oatmeal for three and hoping it doesn’t clump up before Mamm gets down here. I told her I don’t make lumpy oatmeal, only if it sits for a while until she gets out of bed to eat it.”

She thought Daad might say something about the need to understand her mother, but he didn’t comment. He sat and bowed his head in a brief, silent prayer while she poured him orange juice and coffee. When he opened his eyes, they looked tired and bloodshot.