Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(29)

“Come, come,” Delia called to me from the door to the dining room, and as she opened it, she pushed me through. No sooner did the door close behind me than a large white bird swooped past in a dive toward the dining room table. A feather duster slammed out from under it, further inciting the bird, and with a screech the bird dove in again. To my amazement, I saw Robert under the table, wedged in between chairs and hitting out with the duster in an attempt to protect himself.

“Throw the duster away,” I called to him.

“But I need it!” he called back.

“Throw it away,” I repeated. “The bird thinks that it’s another bird attacking him.”

The cleaning tool flew by me and crashed against the wall. As the white bird lit on it, I slid back two of the chairs. “Get out while he’s distracted,” I said.

Needing no further encouragement, Robert scrambled up and out the door, leaving me alone to face the bird. But I was more fascinated than frightened by this beautiful creature. Seeing bread on the table I made my way over to it and then sat quietly. When the bird took note of me, he flew over to perch on a neighboring chair. “Here,” I said soothingly, and fed him a chunk of bread. He continued to squawk and complain, but his crest of bright red-orange plumes was no longer at full tilt, and I was fairly certain that meant he was calming down. Suddenly, he flapped onto my shoulder and, between bites of bread, began to gently nibble on my ear. Instinctively, I knew it to be a caress.

There was a soft rap on the door. “Hello! Are you alive in there?” a voice called.

“We are,” I called back.

“I’m coming in,” the woman announced, then slipped into the room. I rose from my chair, for I correctly guessed this to be Mrs. Burton.

She hobbled over to the chair nearest me, and with the bird still on my shoulder, I received the canes that she handed me before she sat down to regulate her breathing. She was a short, heavyset woman with a snub nose and a round pleasant face. Her gray morning dress, the exact color of her braided hair, did nothing for her gray pallor. “Sit,” she instructed, and I did so. “You must be James Smith, my husband’s new apprentice.”

“I am,” I said.

The bird squawked for her attention. She laughed and waved her finger at him. “Oh, Malcolm. You are a naughty boy, flying away from me like that!” She chuckled. “Oh my, I haven’t laughed like that since I can remember. Poor Robert. I don’t know why he is so afraid of this bird!” She dabbed at her eyes as she began to laugh again. Her merriment was so appealing that I began to laugh, too.

“What happened when you got in here?” she asked, and I described what I had seen of the bird’s attack on the feather duster.

“Under the table? Oh, stop!” she said, laughing and gasping as she clutched my arm. “I cannot breathe as it is.”

“Naughty boy! Naughty boy!” Malcolm offered. At that we both whooped, and that was how Mr. Burton found us when he opened the door.

“What is going on?” he asked, appearing bewildered to see me with Mrs. Burton.

“Oh, Mr. Burton!” His wife sighed, drying her eyes. “If only you had been here.”

He came forward to kiss the top of his wife’s head. “It is good to hear you laugh,” he said to her, and smiled at me in thanks.

I rose to leave, but Mrs. Burton reached for my arm. “No, no, you must stay,” she said. “Please stay. Come, husband, sit with us while we tell you.”

“Could we have some tea while you do so?” Mr. Burton asked, stepping to the fireplace and rubbing his hands together. “It is cold and I am chilled.”

I stood quickly. “I will go to the kitchen for it,” I offered.

“Have Delia send up a pot of hot water and some cups. I have the tea caddy up here,” Mrs. Burton said, nodding toward the sideboard. “And don’t forget to have her include a cup for yourself.”

I felt lighthearted when I left the room, but I sobered myself before I got to the kitchen. I had concern that Robert would be embarrassed and possibly angry at my having witnessed his altercation with the bird, but to my surprise, he greeted me as the conquering hero. Not so Delia. As Robert sang my praises, her face puckered in annoyance, and when she heard of Mrs. Burton’s request that I join her for tea, Delia looked at me in disbelief.

“You sure she mean that you go back up?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, trying to curb my anger. “She said that you were to include a cup for me.”

Delia clucked her tongue and shook her head. Her dislike of me only grew with each new encounter.

“And why should he not join them?” Robert said, addressing Delia. “They both need a distraction, Mrs. Burton in particular. A new face will be good for her.” Then he noted my nightshirt. “But go,” he said, “and dress yourself more appropriately.”

So while Delia put together the tray, I went for a shirt and jacket. When I reappeared, Delia’s look was so disapproving that when she carried the tray up, I kept a good distance behind her.

In the dining room, after Delia set out the cups and was then dismissed, Mrs. Burton waved me to the sideboard. “Bring the caddy and the sugar canister to me, would you, please?”

I recognized the silver sugar canister but was uncertain what held the tea.

“It is the wooden pear,” she said, pointing to the small polished box, cut in the perfect shape of a pear.