For Want of a Kettle

“What are you doing here?”

Barb sagged against the wall and pressed her forehead into the door frame. Bouncing happily on the front porch, Jenny Mitchell beamed at her like a cheerful daffodil on a spring morning.

Nobody had the right to be perky this early in the morning.

“Meg said that Jim said that you needed looking after. So here I am!” Jenny ducked under Barb’s arm that held the screen door open and skipped through the doorway behind them.

In a joyous whirlwind of pastel skirts and long blond hair twined with fresh flowers, Jenny ensconced herself in the kitchen of the Taylor family home.

“I don’t need looking after.” Barb shut the door with a snort and pivoted on her crutch to glare into the kitchen where the youngest Mitchell was already staking her claim.

The girl set two canvas bags on the counter and began opening and closing drawers and cabinets while she hummed a song under her breath.

Jenny paused and pursed her lips, turning her gaze to Barb’s bandaged leg. “You broke yourself.”

“It’s a sprain.”

“You have a crutch.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Then why are you using it?”

Barb sputtered. “I don’t have to talk to you.” She hobbled down the main hallway to the living room and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. “I don’t need looking after, so go away.”

She tossed the crutch on the floor and elevated her bandage-wrapped leg. Her knee was already throbbing after the exertion it had taken to answer the door.

“Jim told us about the training accident.” Jenny babbled away in the kitchen. “You’re really lucky you didn’t hurt yourself worse.”

Jenny banged pots and pans around in the kitchen like she had transformed into a cute blond hurricane.

“Danny and Mickey thought about coming, but they have lambs to pull today. And since Meg and Jim are on a case, that left me. Unless you wanted Velanna to come nurse you back to health.”

The girl cackled, apparently amused at the idea of Velanna Ittai playing nursemaid.
How could Meg and Jim do this to her? The least they could have done was leave her in peace while they were out on their case together.

But no. Meg’s mother hen instinct had to kick in.

Jenny popped up behind Barb’s shoulder. “Barb?”

Barb yelped and clutched the couch cushions. “Jenny, do not do that!”

“Do what?”

“Surprise me like that. I could have punched you in the face.”

“You could have tried.” Jenny shrugged. “I would have dodged. Your aim isn’t that good when you’re off balance.”

“I’m not off balance.”

“If you say so.”

“Why are you still here? I told you to leave.”

“Jim told me you tell me to leave, and he told me I didn’t have to listen to you.” She held out a paper sack. “Scones? Made them before I left home.”

Barb glared at the bag.

Scones.

Warm, fresh scones from Jenny’s castle kitchen.

“Dark chocolate chunk.” Jenny shook the sack.

Barb turned her glare to the girl’s bright, open face. “I won’t be bribed, Jenny Mitchell.”

Jenny shoved the paper bag in her face, and Barb snatched it out of her hand.

“Fine. If I eat your stupid scones, will you leave?”

“Of course not, Grouchy Pants.” Jenny straightened and grinned at her, bouncing back into the kitchen and lapsing into another round of humming.

Scowling, Barb shoved her hand into the paper sack and withdrew a thick pastry the size of her fist. She took an angry bite, and the buttery sweet dough and hunks of dark chocolate melted in her mouth.

Jenny was a pill, but she was a wizard in the kitchen.

“You’re making happy noises!” Jenny exulted from the kitchen.

“Shut up.”

Jenny pranced back into view and beamed at her with her hands on her hips. “Have you had your coffee?”

Barb scowled. “No.”

“Oh.”

Barb narrowed her eyes, still chewing on the second angry bite of her scone. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Oh.” Barb mimicked.

Jenny blinked innocently. “It means you’re even grouchier than usual before you’ve had your coffee.”

“Am not. I’m always this way.”

“Sure, Barb.” Jenny pirouetted and skipped back into the kitchen. “How about I make you some coffee?”

Hey, maybe the morning was finally looking up.

Barb sighed and took another bite of the heavenly scone. On the rare days when Barb actually got to stay at home, she turned to her faithful coffeepot for the energy she needed to shake off the fog of sleep.

But its location on the counter and the awkwardness of her crutches preempted her from reaching it. Not that she’d even normally be awake at this hour of the morning on a day off.

But, no, some well-meaning Mitchell had to show up and drag her out of a sound sleep. That being said, if she got a good cup of coffee out of the deal, the whole thing might be worth it. The delightful scones had already sweetened the deal.

“Hey, Barb?”

“What?”

“How do you make coffee?”

Barb moaned. “You don’t know how to make coffee?”

“Not even a little.”

“You make scones but not coffee?”

Jenny stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Nobody at Prism Castle drinks it. It’s gross.”

Barb deflated against the couch cushions. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. How about tea?”

“I hate tea.”

“You have twelve kinds in your cabinet.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“No, I counted.”

Barb rolled her eyes. “Fine. Tea. Chai.”

“Chai means tea in Celtican.”

“Fascinating,” Barb snapped. “Do you know what it means in Barb-speak?”

Jenny stuck her head out of the kitchen. “No, but it’s probably rude.”

Barb shut her eyes. “Lord, give me strength.” She dug out another scone and bit into it.

Banging sounds echoed in the kitchen. Drawers creaking. Cabinet doors slamming.

“What are you doing?” Barb sat up and craned her neck to see through the cut-out into the kitchen.

“Where’s your tea kettle?”

Barb groaned and leaned back again. “Just use the microwave.”

“The what?”

“Jenny.”

“Is that this box over the stove?”

“Jenny.”

“Meg said you guys have a magic box that heats things up really fast.” Jenny sounded awed, and Barb imagined the girl running her fingers over the darkened glass of the microwave. 

I’ve been trying to get Velanna to buy one.”

Barb reached for a third scone. “Yes, it’s a magic box. Put the cup of water inside and push the button that says tea.”

“Wow.”

In a moment, the drone of the microwave echoed off the floor tiles in the kitchen, followed by Jenny’s exclamations of wonder.

“Well, at least one of us is enjoying ourselves.” Barb muttered and pulled a blanket over herself.

She turned to grab another pillow from the other side of the couch, and Jenny appeared behind her again.

“Geez, Jenny!” Barb flung the pillow at her.

Jenny sidestepped it easily. “I have an idea.” She leaned over the back of the couch, her big eyes shining. “Can I braid your hair?”

“What?”

“You have such pretty hair.” Jenny reached for her.

“No!” Barb slapped her hand away.

“Why not?” Jenny stuck out her lower lip.

“You’re not braiding my hair and filling it up with ragweed or whatever you’ve done to your own.” Barb flapped her hand at Jenny’s flower-laden locks.

“Baby’s breath.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

Jenny beamed again. “Then can I paint your toenails?” She ducked behind the couch and reappeared with at least seven different bottles of nail polish. “I got colors I thought you would like!”

Barb glared at the bottles of polish. Bubblegum pink. School bus yellow. Lime green.
“Jenny, what in our history convinced you that any of those colors are ones I like even remotely?”

“Well.” Jenny furrowed her brow. “I like them.”

“Exactly my point.”

Jenny grinned. “Well, it’s not too late for you to pick a new favorite color!” She dumped the bottles in Barb’s lap and fled to the kitchen.

Barb glared at the pile of nail polish in a scattered rainbow of neon shades. “I’m going to kill Meg.”

She shut her eyes. Her knee throbbed. Her back ached from having to use the crutch. Her elbows and shoulders were sore too. The fall from the height of the gym’s obstacle course hadn’t done her any favors.

Being clucked over wasn’t her style. It never had been. Even when her mother had been alive, Barb had been the one to hide her bumps and bruises and tend her own wounds in solitude.

But having someone in the house to fetch things might be nice.

“Hey, Barb?”

Barb sighed. Be nice. Be patient. Jenny is here to help, and it’s not her fault that her brain requires her to speak fifty thousand words every day. “What, Jenny?”

“Your microwave is on fire.”

“That’s nice.”

Barb arranged her blanket over her leg and leaned her head back on the pillow.
Her eyes flew open. “What did you say?”

She twisted on the couch and raised herself by her arms high enough to see into the kitchen where the interior of the microwave was filled with sparks and flaming plasma. “Turn it off!”

Jenny flapped her hands. “How?”

Barb struggled with her crutches. “Push the stop button!”

“Oh.”

By the time Barb was on her feet and standing in the kitchen doorway, Jenny had turned the microwave off and was pulling the mug out using a hot pad.

The mug had a gold rim and gold lettering on its face, and it smoked from the boiling water that bubbled inside it.

Of course. Of all the mugs in the cabinet, she had to pick the only one that wasn’t microwave safe.

Oh well. They probably needed a new microwave anyway. She should count her blessings that the machine hadn’t blown up.

Jenny grinned. “Who knew microwaves were so exciting?” She set the mug on the counter and dropped a tea bag into it. “But wouldn’t it be better just to get a tea kettle?”

Barb turned slowly and started back to the couch, her knee aching again, and now her back joining in from all the twisting.

“You’ll have to get me one for my birthday.”

Jenny blew a raspberry in the kitchen. “That’s an old person birthday present. Wouldn’t you like a kitten instead?”

Barb collapsed on the couch and pulled her blanket back around her again. Jenny bounced back into view, carrying the mug that had nearly blown up the microwave.

“Here you go. Chai.” Jenny set the mug on a coaster on the coffee table. “I did it up all fancy like Velanna does. Hope that’s okay.”

“Velanna drinks fancy chai?” Barb wrinkled her nose.

Jenny rolled her eyes and pressed her fingertips together under her chin. “Barbara.” Jenny pronounced in perfect imitation of Velanna’s light accent and sharp tone. “Life affords few pleasures that are also beneficial. Creamed chai with honey is among them, a true delight that is good for mind, body, and soul.”

Barb scowled at her. “Your mom is weird.”

Jenny dropped her hands. “I know, right?” The girl laughed and skipped back into the kitchen.

Soon, the smell of pan-frying chicken and heavy spices filled the room while Jenny sang quietly to herself.

Barb sipped the chai and released a sigh of contentment.

That was a dang good cup of chai.

“I hear happy noises!” Jenny sang out.

“Shut up.”

Barb smiled and sipped her tea.