"Only oatmeal," she muttered.
"Okay," I said. "And coffee, please."
"Coffee is on the table," she snapped, nodded at it, and went into the kitchen.
I sat at one of the settings and reached for the coffeepot.
"Don't mind her," Wade said. "She hasn't been happy for years."
"Why not?"
"When her husband died, he left her pretty much destitute. He hadn't paid the premiums on his life insurance, and he had fallen so far behind on the house mortgage that the bank foreclosed on her. He worked for my father, and when he found out, he gave her a job here. She's been here ever since."
"She doesn't have any children?"
"No. So, how was your first night here?"
For a moment I was going to mention what I had seen and heard, but thought it was better I didn't.
"Very nice, thank you," I said, pouring my coffee and adding a little cream. I wondered if he would ask where Ami and I had gone. He had to have known we had left the house. I didn't want to be grilled about it, but before he could ask anything, Mrs. McAlister burst in with my orange juice.
"Oatmeal's coming," she said.
"Thank you," I told her, and sipped my juice. Suddenly I heard the vacuum get turned on down the hallway.
"Doesn't anyone take Sunday off?" I asked. Wade smiled.
"Only Ami," he said. "Actually, they could take any day off they wish. Sometimes, Mrs. Cukor leaves on Sunday to visit an old friend in Peekskill, but I think she's been ill lately. She might even be in a hospital. So, what does Ami have planned for you today? Once our princess rises, that is."
"She wanted to do some shopping," I said, afraid I shouldn't be the one to tell him.
He snapped his paper.
"What a surprise. Another day of shopping. Too bad they don't give out awards for professional shoppers. Ami would win, hands down." He thought a moment and then smiled, as if he didn't want to leave a bad impression. "She's good at it, though. She always buys something special. If it wasn't for her nagging, I would probably look like a refugee from some Third World country. I suppose I'm just too absentminded to care or remember.
"My mother used to tell me I would wear the same clothes day in and day out for weeks if she didn't come and scoop them up to be washed. What about you? Are you a clothes freak, too?"
I shrugged.
"I never had the opportunity to find out," I said, and he smiled and nodded. He glanced at the paper, and then he put it down and looked at me with more interest. "How much do you remember about your early life at that farm?"
"Some," I said, wondering what he wanted to blow. Was he going to begin asking me questions about what had happened and what people believed about us? Would it turn him against me? "I was only six when I left."
"Um." He thought a moment and then nodded. "I'll have my financial people look into the property for you, if you like. Just to be sure it's all being handled properly. You don't want to inherit something that has a tax debt on it."
"Thank you. All I know is, it's being rented out to pay the upkeep and taxes. I saw the first papers on it just this year."
"Right," he said. "Well, I'll have my attorney check on it. You'll be fine, I'm sure. Ami said she's going to enroll you at the school tomorrow, but if she's not up in time, I'll take the time out to do so myself. Don't worry about it."
"Thank you."
Mrs. McAlister appeared with my oatmeal and a platter of toast.
"There's honey or maple syrup on the table," she remarked, nodding at the bottles.
"Thank you," I said. I tasted the oatmeal. She stood just to the side, watching. "It doesn't need anything," I remarked.