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‘Tolly Greenhand, you say? And from Greenholm.’ Cook nodded her head at the name. ‘Didn’t by chance mention why he’s come to Bywater, has he?’ Ginger shook her head ‘no’, saying she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘Well, now, that’s alright; you’re new at this serving business.’ She grinned at the lass and chuckled. ‘You’ll learn, though, if you mean to stay on here, that a wealth of information can be gathered in drips and drabs with quick, friendly little questions as you’re slipping a plate of food or a full mug of drink before a patron. I like to keep a thumb on what’s happening, so I depend on you all to be my eyes and ears.’ She handed Ginger a tray filled with more baskets of bread and sent her out the door.
‘Tolly Greenhand,’ she said quietly into the empty kitchen . . . save for the old tabby who raised one eyelid for a second, then drifted off again. ‘I wonder if he’s come to see the mayor on some business. Distant cousins of a sort if he’s from Greenholm,’ she mumbled, turning the thoughts in her head. Cook pulled one of the big pans of apple cobbler from the warming oven and began cutting it into generous portions. Her curiosity got the better of her and she dished out a bowlful, then filled a small pitcher with clotted cream.
‘Well, now, I guess I’ll just deliver dessert myself to the fellow who likes my cooking so much . . .’
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