Eleanor Tatum

Dearest of Readers,

Egad! Word Press informed me that I now have 101 followers. Beside surprise, I am thankful. My muse-in-residence, The Hubs, encouraged me to enter a new episode – Catherine leaves her posh hotel.

Enjoy any holidays in your immediate future and please, stay safe. Eleanor

page 101 (coincidence? I think not.)

The locks creaked when Jacob turned the borrowed key. The hinges on the heavy cellar door were less co-operative, but they too worked. He led his two friends down the worn steps and into the empty large room filled with long scared tables and benches. They marched in a single file down the center isle toward the kitchen.

“Jacob, are you sure about this?” Catherine pulled Joann’s hand in a supportive grip. “Do we really have permission to stay here? They seemed pleased to serve us breakfast last week, but relieved to see out backs when we left.”

He stopped their short parade in front of two dark wood slated swinging half-doors. “They were relieved because the volunteers were worn out. They’s been cooking all morning. These folks are different, my dear ladies, and I’m not talking about their long noses.” He laughed and pushed through the doors and unlocked the second door on the left. “They’ll feed anyone. Hunger is a negative universal attribute.”

“Won’t they be back in here soon to prepare the next meal?”

“No, they only cure hunger one meal a week.”

“Not enough volunteers?” Catherine watched him giggle the key in the lock.

Jacob shrugged and answered, “That’s not the problem at all. The problem, Miss Catherine, is the city council. They won’t allow them to serve more than one day a week, so they choose the day before our Sabbath sundown.”

He walked into the narrow room first and opened the high window for ventilation while Catherine and Joann turned in tiny circles of observation. “Not bad, Mr. Jacob,” Joann fluffed a dusty pillow she had found on one of the two single beds and asked, “Are there any towels, blankets, bed linens? Maybe we should have borrowed some from The Patterson.”

“Now, now, Miss Joann, no smirking, and stealing, and such. Yes, I was told there’s some in the pantry on the other side of the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame. “I assured my contacts that this place would be left in better condition that what we found it and I know you lovely ladies won’t make a liar out of me.”

Catherine placed her hand on his arm, gave his cheek a kiss of appreciation, then dripped her speech into southern honey. “You do realize, don’t you, that it’ll be as easy as sweet potato pie to sweeten this room.”

His warm grin made him laugh until they heard the crash of dishes resounding through the wall. Instantly Jacob gave the universal quiet sign. He left them both wondering and anxious. They placed their bags on the beds, stared at each other and waited. The sound of an opening door, Jacob’s earthy four-letter word and a female’s short scream of surprise soothed their fears enough for them to investigate.

“What the hell?” Jacob asked into the next room. Catherine and Joann rushed to him.

“Jacob? Oh, my dear God! What are you doing here?” The young female voice tersely questioned him. “Wait. Here, let me get this mess up. Be careful or you’ll step on a sharp piece. I dropped the pitcher and bowl.”

“Obviously,” Jacob’s growl and stiff back stopped Joann and Catherine from seeing into the room.

Catherine reassuringly patted his back. “Jacob, may we help?” She tried to poke her head over his tall shoulder then she tried between his bent elbows.

“Oh, sheesh,” he sent his fingers through his hair in a male sign of frustration, but he did step aside, and he allowed Joann and Catherine to study a beautiful woman trying to pick up pieces of broken blue and white China from the floor. She stood to look at her audience using her deep shades of dark soft brown eyes.

After an awkward moment Joann bent to help her and she commanded, “Jacob, where are your manners? Introductions are needed.” She stood and waited, holding a few pieces of the broken China. “Also, please tell me, is there a broom and dustpan with those sheets and towels you spoke about?”

He hesitated, “This is Miss Ruth Bookman.” He turned his glare on her as she stared back as if pleading him not to ask his next question. “It is still Miss is it not?”

“No,” she whispered and lowered her head.

The three ladies startled when Jacob slammed his fist against the door, marched out and yelled over his shoulder, “Lock the door behind me, Miss Catherine. I’m late for an appointment with Trevor.”

Enough! (until later)