A/N: I thoroughly apologize for the delay of Chapter Seven … I almost gave up on this story but woe is me I am a weak and pitiful human being and I have taken painstakingly careful steps to plot out the remainder of this story. Once again, please accept my humble apologies!! Luv, CW
Max kept a mysterious eye on Mrs. Amable's diamond cross as she peered over her grilled cheese sandwich. She wanted that cross badly. How was she to get it though?
Jo kept her eye on Max. This little imp is bound to cause some trouble with Mother, she thought.
"How was the drive up, Mother?" Jo asked through a false smile.
"Dreadful," Mrs. Amable said, dabbing her plump lips with a napkin. "Josephine, didn't I ever teach you how to cook? The sandwiches are terribly greasy."
"No, that was Kelly Ann," Jo replied dryly, referring to her mother's favorite. Of course Kelly Ann would be Mother's favorite. She was the perfect child. Even Lola, the difficult middle-child who was Daddy's favorite, was calmer and more demure than the red-headed rogue that was Josephine.
"Oh, yes. Well, I guess I'll have to teach Max here a thing or two about manning the kitchen," Mrs. Amable crumpled the paper napkin in her hand and pushed her chair from the table. "Come along, Max, dear."
Max popped out of her seat and eagerly trailed behind Jo's mother. Jo, alarmed, followed suit. This was such a bad idea to have Mother come over.
"Where do you keep your aprons, Josephine?"
"I don't wear aprons, Mother. Who do you think I am, Donna Reed?"
"Oh that's right. You probably live off of that Burger King stuff, don't you?" Mrs. Amable turned her nose up.
It took Jo every ounce of her will to keep her from slicing her wrists in the presence of her mother.
"This will have to do," her mother announced with dramatic flair, whipping out a worn dishtowel from one of Jo's drawers and tucked it into the elastic band of her skirt as a make-shaft apron. "Now, I don't know if Josephine has told you, Max," she said, looking down at the poor little child, "but I make the best ziti á la Elaine this side of the West Coast."
"The best what?" Max raised an eyebrow.
Mrs. Amable gave a thin, brittle laugh that cut through Josephine like nails on a chalkboard. "Dear Max, ziti is a type of pasta shape. Á la Elaine is French and it means 'by Elaine.' Elaine is my first name, dear."
"Oh."
Jo watched Max watching her mother with interest as Hurricane Elaine disassembled the kitchen.
"Josephine, where are your canned goods? I need some of that Campbell's mushroom soup."
"In the pantry, Mother, with all my other cans." Genius.
"Oh yes. Run and fetch a can, will you, Max?"
When Max didn't move, Mrs. Amable turned to the girl and said, "In the pantry, Max. It's a small can with a red-and-white label. It says Mushroom on it."
"Oh…Jo?"
Jo, who had been chipping at the hideous rose-colored nail polish that had stained her cuticles, looked up, "Yes?"
"Where's your…pant-trees?"
She couldn't help but smile, "The door to your right, Max."
Shyly, Max followed Jo's directions and emerged a minute later triumphantly handing the mushroom soup can to Mrs. Amable.
"Thank you, my dear. Now, watch," Mrs. Amable instructed Max. She held a large blue pot in her hands. "Fill this half-way with tap water and then put it on the stove. Set the stove on high and cover it. Then you wait for the boil. That's when large bubbles appear on the surface of the water."
"I'm sure she knows what boiling is, Mother," Jo replied.
Max looked over her shoulder at Jo and smiled a bright, meaningful smile without showing her teeth. Jo felt herself smile as well, her heart warming at the sight of this girl's show of affection. With that smile she could be a real looker one day.
Mrs. Amable scowled, "Well, the child's been sheltered, Josephine."
All Jo could do was roll her eyes. Max saw her do it, giggled softly and copied Jo's motion.
I'm confused, Jo thought to herself. The girl reveals herself to me as a killer, a soldier or whatever she is yet she acts like this total normal girl. Jo shivered a little at the word killer. This was not the face of a killer…she had one of those would-be-could-be angelic faces like that Jon-Benet Ramsey.
"Be careful not to drop that, dear!" shrilled Mrs. Amable to Max, who was shuffling more than taking steps, like a Chinese geisha girl, holding the big blue pot tightly, gripping the handles so that Josephine could see her knuckles turning white. When Max reached the stove she stared at the four silver knobs shining back at her. She turned all of them on high. She put the lid on the pot and turned to Josephine and her mother.
"Done," she said with triumph.
"Oh," Josephine got up from her seat and turned three burners off. "My mother didn't mean the whole stove, kid. Just the burner the pot was on. She has a habit of not being clear on directions."
"And just what is that supposed to mean, young lady?" Mrs. Amable glared at her youngest daughter. Josephine returned the cold stare.
Max laughed out loud, enjoying the looks on their faces as they turned to her in surprise. Josephine began to laugh too and soon her mother was giggling as well.