Chapter One, Episode 45 - Cook's Letter to Lily - Situationally Theirs

June 20, 2020

Review, Edit and Update:

Letter writing is a dying art. I pen a lot of words, and once upon a time did write letters. Birthday cards, the kind you take to a party or dinner. So I enjoy writing Cook’s letters to Lily. Editing, while it may not a dying art, is dependent on time, commitment and too often, budgets. For this review, I went to my personal files as usual where I found so many problems in wording, spelling, punctuation that I had to read my actual posting from May 07, 2020. I breathed a sigh on relief to see that all those mistakes had not made it to my readers. Despite that, I did find three tiny little missteps in the posted episode that have been fixed.

Cook's Letter to Lily

The heart of any home and especially the kitchen is the Cook. Not the gleaming silver or dated avocado appliances. Not a kitchen decorated professionally or cobbled together with thrift store finds. It is the Cook. When a kitchen empties out, as it had been with Covid19 restrictions, the beat and rhythm settles into silence. Dez and Emmie had inhabited it for two weeks when they were in isolation. Anyone coming from a jail cell, and the person rescuing them, were to be isolated for the standard two week period. While the two women were in the empty kitchen, they only used the appliances as tools. Dez did make some delicious breakfasts, but a cook makes meals and snacks of all types and for any number of people. The maestro of a symphony of deliciousness.

Yes, in the Beaufort household, there is a paycheque attached to this very creative work. But Mary Elizabeth Saunders cooked because she loved cooking. She loved the chopping and peeling and arranging. She loved the aromas of the sizzling bacon, steamy bubbling of stew or soup and the yeasty breath work of bread rising, bread baking and fresh bread welcoming butter on the first slice. Mary Elizabeth Saunders loved cooking. At the Beaufort estate she had earned the title Cook.

There is one other thing that Cook loves, though. It’s a dying art that sputters along quite sporadically for many, but for Cook is as regular as clock work. She keeps pen and paper in her desk in the kitchen, just as the whisks and spoons in the kitchen drawer. When the roast is roasting or the bread is baking, when the soup is brewing or the stew was stewing, Cook would go to the desk for her other set of tools ~ pen and paper. Today, there was nothing on the big stove but the tea kettle for Cook's pot of tea. She brought it, her tea mug, a cookie and her writing tools to the long kitchen table and settled to write to Lily, her sister who lived 'across the pond' as Cook was fond of saying.

Dearest Lily,

I got your last letter telling me about your new grandson. Thank you for the photograph. He is the spitting image of his grandpa Charley. I’ll bet Charley is proud as punch! That dear little one’s hair is just like yours was when you were a baby. I loved the pictures mom always had of our baby pictures that she kept on the side table. You with your shock of black, black hair, and two years later, me with just a thin cap of barely brown hair. My hair didn’t grow in as thick as yours until I was three months old. Now it seems I’m starting to shed that hair! I suppose when you're pushing on through your sixties that kind of thing should be expected.

Do you remember me telling you about the two people that were hired here about the same time as I was? They started a bit earlier. Well, I do have some news about the two of them and neither of them know that I know that they’ve been making eyes at each other for years. In the last while, since we’ve all been isolated, it seems things have gotten a bit….how can I say this…..hotter. Well, they have been simmering long enough, Lily. But that’s not all that’s happened with the two of them. And at their age. I just shake my head. Now here’s the really interesting part. James - that’s Digby the butler.....his father had been the butler before him. Martha Haverstock, is the Housekeeper. The three of us have been here for, I don’t know 25 or 30 years.We’ve watched young Michael Beaufort grow up and watched him get married. There have been other family weddings on the lawn, pictures taken under the big redwood tree (did I send you a picture of that tree?) and all kinds of entertaining. I’ve been the cook for all of the gatherings. But I was telling you about James and Martha.

Wouldn’t you know it but James came to me the other day when I was in to inspect the kitchen and pantry. He looked real nervous and stood like a school boy over by our big table. We still have to keep our distances so I thought that’s what he was doing. He said we wanted to talk to me. So, I thought it was about the kitchen inspection I’d just done. But that wasn’t it. He was clasping and unclasping his hands, and James is always in control, he was so nervous. So I made a pot of tea and told him to sit down. I’ve never, ever told James to sit down. I may have invited him to but, no, this time I just told him. And he did! Just like he was afraid of me or something. I asked him if he would like some tea. Now I know James likes to have coffee, but it’s my kitchen and I had a pot of tea already. I thought he might like something a little stronger. You know that I’m not one for any alcohol, but I do use it when I’m cooking. I remembered our grandfather liked his cuppa, and once in a while he’d put just a tablespoon of rum in his tea. So I did the same for James. He didn't say anything one way or another. I've had rum in the back of the cupboard for the Christmas cakes I bake every year. I told Mrs. Beaufort if she wanted  something else for her parties she had to order it for herself. I thought she’d fire me when I dug in my heels. Lucky me, she didn’t. But I can’t abide having bottles of liquor cluttering up my kitchen.

Anyway, I was telling you about James. I’ve cooked a lot of lunches and dinners for a few or a lot. But I’ve never had a good looking man, looking real nervous, come to me and say - ‘Cook…Elizabeth….would you, please, make a picnic lunch for myself and one other person. A woman.” It’s a good thing he was sitting down. He might have fallen right over. So I said: “Why James Digby, are you asking me to go on a picnic with you and make the food for it?” Well, I was just teasing him because I knew who he was taking to this picnic. It's Martha - I’ve told you about Martha before. Well, he blushed and stuttered and stammered and said “No, I’m sorry Cook. It’s Martha.” Anyway, we had a good visit after that and he settled down. He didn’t know that food for this picnic would be no different than any other picnics, except that something chocolate would be for dessert. He said he wanted to have the picnic the same day as our Staff Meeting next week.  I'll let you know how everything goes.

Well, Lily, I guess I’ve talked your ear off again. Maybe some day you can come over here for a visit and meet everyone. I guess that would have to be when the pandemic is settled and all the restrictions are gone. Thanks for your letters, I love reading about what you are doing and I know you are all right.

You take care Lily and give my love to Charley,

Love you,

Mary Elizabeth

p.s. don’t forget to wash your hands

“Letters have to pass two tests before they can be classed a good: 

they must express the personality both of the writer and of the recipient.”

~ E.M.Forster