by Celia Jenkins
mug of milky tea
“Oh Eleanor! Why must you always be so butter-fingered?” Ma
threw her hands up in the air, making the strings of her floral apron flap
around wildly. “Those were the last of my eggs, you know.”
Eleanor stared down at the sticky mess
on the floor, yolk splattered up her clean white socks. She'd been so eager to
help, what with Ma being so busy. The basket had just slipped out of her
hand.
“Five eggs, that was.” Ma tutted. “Now
I'll have to go borrow off Mrs. Lane, else there won't be enough for the
cake.”
“Sorry, Ma. I'll run get them now, if
you like?”
“There's been quite enough running
around from you today!” Ma scoffed, taking off her apron and reaching for her
bonnet. “No, I'll go up to Mrs. Lane myself. You clean up that mess there and
see if you can go help your Pa instead. I've got enough to do around here as it
is with the dance this very evening, and now a delay on the Victoria Sponge.
Goodness me!”
She could still hear her Ma chattering
on as she went down the path. Eleanor sighed and began picking up the broken
eggshells. If only I could be less clumsy.
***
Pa was out back with Betsy, their best milker. Poor Betsy was
getting on a bit, but since the war had ended there hadn't been extra finances
to afford a new herd, so they had to make do. Eleanor could hear her father
whistling away on the other side of the barn. It was good to hear him making
merry again. She tiptoed over and enjoyed the melodious tune.
“Can I lend you a hand, Pa?” Eleanor
popped her head over the stacks of hay, causing them to wobble precariously.
They jolted so sudden that Betsy gave a start. Back she stomped and with one
nudge of her hoof, the bucket was upturned.
“Eleanor!” Pa clutched his hand to his
chest. She'd given him a start too. “Look what you've gone and
done.”
Little rivulets of milk cut their way
through the straw and disappeared into the ground.
“Ten minutes work there, draining
away.” Pa sighed. “Honestly, Eleanor. You're sixteen now, far too old to be
playing games and creeping around like that.”
She hung her head. “Sorry, Pa. I didn't
mean to.”
He leant down and righted the bucket,
dusting off the sides. He looked up at her and sighed a smile.
“I know that, pet. But you must try and
be a bit more... graceful. It's not proper for a lady to be so ham-fisted.” He
gave a chortle and chucked her under the chin. “Don't be downhearted, now. Why
don't you go see if our Walter needs a hand, eh? You can't cause much trouble
for him, I'd say!”
Eleanor blushed and headed towards the
shed. The farm hand – a muscular blonde boy a few years older than herself – had
been with them for several months now. Her heart skipped a beat whenever she saw
him. I just hope I don't embarrass myself.
***
Walter was hammering away when Eleanor approached, and she was
careful not to creep up on him. She gave a little cough as she stood in the
doorway before giving him a smile.
“Miss Eleanor!” He gave her a cheerful
wave, knocking a box of nails off the shelf above. They rained down onto the
worktop in a shower of sparkling silver.
“Gosh darn it!” Walter smiled. “I'm all
thumbs today.”
“I know the feeling.” Eleanor gave him
a friendly smile. “Here, let me help you tidy that now.”
“Alright, but you watch your fingers
now Miss Eleanor. Those nails can be mighty sharp.” He said as he held out the
box.
“You can call me Nora,” she said
quietly as she dropped a handful of nails into the box.
“Well now. I'm not sure what your Pa
would think of that.” Another dazzling smile, and Eleanor felt a flutter in her
stomach.
“I'm sixteen now,” she said defiantly.
“What my friends call me by is quiet my own business, don't you
agree?”
“Indeed.” Walter went quiet as he swept
the last few nails into the box with a clatter.
“So, what were you working on before I
came and interrupted you?” Eleanor asked, looking and the shards of wood
scattered on the workbench.
“Oh, I was making a signpost for that
barn dance up at Mrs. Lane's place tonight.” He pointed to the hand painted sign
with a wonky arrow, shaking his head. “If only I weren't so inept! I've made a
right pigs ear of that.”
“Not at all,” Eleanor smiled. “I think
it's right nice.”
Walter went quiet and looked at his
shoes.
“You're not fixing on going, are you?
To the barn dance, I mean.”
Eleanor felt a blush rising in her
cheeks.
“Well, I suppose I will. But I'm such a
clodhopper, I dare-say there's no-one who'd want to dance with me. I'm proper
clumsy, you know.”
“Ah Miss Eleanor. I mean, Nora.”
Walter corrected himself. “You can't be any more ungainly than I am. So say
you'll go with me, won't you? I'll check with your Pa, if you'd
like.”
He took her hand and squeezed it
softly, flashing his white teeth as he smiled at her expectantly. She took her
time, enjoying the warm touch pulsing through her fingers.
“I'll go, of course I'll go, and I'll
wear thick socks in case you tread on my feet.” She gave him a wink and leant
forward to brush some wood shavings off his shirt. Now it was Walter's turn to
turn red.
Eleanor went back on up to the house
like she was walking on clouds. She'd beg her Ma for another chance to help with
the cake, on the promise of being more careful this time. But, on the other
hand, maybe sometimes, being a bit clumsy isn't such a bad thing after
all!
About the author
Celia Jenkins is a freelance writer, specialising in writing for
children, light-hearted romance and travel writing. She also moonlights as a
café girl, senior caregiver, and language teacher. In her free time (ha!) she
likes reading, knitting, cooking and hitting the gym. Her hot beverage of choice
is a latte, though she also enjoys chai latte, pu’er, almond cake rooibos (yes,
that exists), After Eight honeybush (yep, that too), and a good old fashioned
‘cuppa’. www.celiajenkins.com
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