Fiction: Miss Grace and the Bet

This July's Words for Wednesday is hosted by Charlotte at Uglemor-Mother Owl's Musings over here. The week of July 12 prompts are: Scarf, Flower, Shoes, Pick, A bevy of quail, Leaves, And/or Branches, Unlucky, Wind, Major, Gnome, Fingers. The week of July 19 prompts are: Dates, Plan, A wedge of geese, Door, Shovel, Enemy, And/or Huff and puff, Clock, Treasure, A knot of toads, Invention, Sure. I used the first set of the two week's prompts except for A bevy of quail which somehow I couldn't use so I used quail only. (Note: This is set in the same village as the previous story (link here) but you don't have to read that.)

Fiction: Miss Grace and the Bet
On a late January night, Mrs. Monday woke after an alarming dream - Query St. James's only baker, Mr. Hornsblower, was attacked in his bakery. Mrs. Monday got out of bed, wrote a note and despatched her housekeeper's grandson to take it toward the bakery.
    When Mrs. Monday woke in the morning, she thought of going to the bakery but it was early and Mr. Hornsblower always kept late hours. After Mrs. Monday had her breakfast, her neighbor, Mrs. Quail, came to call. She was known to talk extensively. Mrs. Monday didn't much care for the lady but she was full of information. Whether or not Mr. Hornsblower had read her note, Mrs. Monday would never know for the man had fleet before dawn and was not seen by anyone afterward. The next day, Mrs. Quail came to Mrs. Monday again with the news that the bakery had been sold and already the new owner had plans to re-opened the shop.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

- A week later -

On an early Saturday morning, while a cold wind drifted about, sending fallen leaves gently off the ground, Miss Grace came out the doorway of the kitchen and proceeded to the shop door. She turned the lock and pulled the shade up. Dim daylight flooded in. She paused to listen. Was there a wedge of geese she heard? She smiled and let her eyes wandered for a bit through the glass pane of the door. All her left eye could discern were light and shadows while her right eye caught only a blurry darkness.
    On the pretense of Mr. Quorum's health, they had moved to Query St. James. Mr. Quorum or Mr. Q as he liked to be called, insisted he must get away from the city and all that was oppressing his mind and body though he had never been sick in his life. Miss Grace did not deny her uncle this move for she wanted to come. Query was once her father's home village, however, she couldn't remember where the notion came from. It was never her plan to live in Query and yet, the desire to stay increased the moment she had a glance of the small village and their plain-looking houses and wide landscapes through the train windows.
    Tucking her tattered scarf farther into the collar of her dress, Miss Grace shivered slightly. The weather in Query, as she soon learned, rarely strayed from its perpetual winter and sometimes spring. Over her long-sleeved dress, she wore a sweater and underneath, a pair of long trousers. Over her feet were leather boots that were one size too large but she had filled the toes with worn socks. She took comfort being covered in layers, as if clothes were protection somehow.
    The sudden thud-thud sound of the falling rain made her smile. Of all the sounds she had heard, the rain was the most vivid to her. It contained many different tones, beats and variations. Some believed a person's other senses became stronger after becoming blind but it wasn't so. Only that, she grew to listen, touch, taste, smell more intensely than before. After a few moments, she turned away. It was time to work.
    The Soup Query was Mr. Q's suggestion. He thought she should put her talent to use. Soup making was, after all, Miss Grace's great talent. She had started working in the kitchen at her stepparents' diner when she was seven. There, guided by the diner's cook, Mrs. Odell, she had learned soup making. When she was ten, a fire destroyed the diner and made her blind. It was then she met Mr. Q. He was a surgeon but he was unable to bring back her sight but her left eye had been restored enough for her to see a little. A week afterward, her stepparents, the Yieldings, left for some far away country without Miss Grace. Later, Mr. Q had brought the diner and became her new guardian. Mrs. Odell returned to France to live with her grandchildren. All the years afterward, Mr. Q nourished Miss Grace's talent for soup making by sending her to cooking school but her ability was natural and needed only practice and understanding.
    But Miss Grace's soup was not any ordinary soup. Food, in itself, produced emotions, whether small or big, said Mr. Q but her soup produced something more. Back in the city, people who ate her soup experienced some bits of remembrance and emotions but here in Query, those remembrance were more vivid and long and they produced stronger emotions. She had never experienced them though she had always tasted her soup before she deemed it ready for consumption. Why it happened, she did not know. She had changed nothing of her process or ingredients. Perhaps it's the Query air as Mr. Q suggested. Here in Query, a strange lightness and calm had settled in Miss Grace which had never happened before.
    The villagers didn't seem to mind though some of them did sob like a babe after a bowl of Miss Grace's soup. As the days passed, more and more villagers came to enjoy her soup but more to experience whatever forgotten or lost memory they wished to re-experience.
    "Miss Grace, the onions are ready. What should we do with the dates?" called Miss Moody who, at twenty-seven, was a mere three years older than Miss Grace but she was small and most thought her to be a younger sibling. Miss Grace made her slow way back to the kitchen. "Keep half for side dishes and the other half for Mr. Q. See how he likes having them for dinner. What did he think we would do with such a great amount?" Miss Moody's laughter rung out and made Miss Grace laughed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toward the afternoon, the weather became colder but the rain had subsided. Mrs. Monday made her way toward the bakery, stopping only to greet a few people. From Mrs. Quail's lips and everyone else's, the bakery was now a soup shop. Mrs. Monday thought a bakery was all fine but in Query, they needed hot food for the endless cold days. The new owner had yet to change the sign but there was a paper struck to the windows with the new name: The Soup Query. Mrs. Monday smiled and entered the shop.
    Out of the six tables, five were filled but there was one unoccupied table by the window. Mrs. Monday walked toward it. A girl, moving with an upward/downward tilt as one of her legs was shorter than the other, came toward her. Her shoes were well cleaned and much loved as her neatly pressed dress, stocking and white apron with their faint pink floral patterns. Mrs. Monday always liked people who practiced proper dress and cleanliness. "Good afternoon, ma'am," said the girl.
    Mrs. Monday smiled. "Good afternoon."
    "We served only soup, I am to tell you that. But we do have side dishes such as pies and cakes. And banana date bread, we have plenty of those today. Our Miss Grace is real talented with soup and pies and cakes. Though she can't see nothing much but she's smart." The girl smiled and showed her crooked teeth.
    Mrs. Monday already like the girl. "What is your name?" she inquired.
    "Alberta but I prefer Moody," the girl grinned.
    Mrs. Monday suppressed a laugh. "Miss Moody, what do you recommend I get?"
    "Oh, the special. It's chicken and dumpling soup this week. It's real good for weather like this. But you can get chicken noodle, french onion or split pea soup. I would pick the special because it's delicious and it's filling. I already had two bowls. Do you want the special? It comes with a slice of banana date bread. And dates as a side dish if you want. It's free."
    "Yes, Miss Moody, I'll have a bowl of today's special with the bread, if you please, but hold the dates," replied Mrs. Monday.
    Miss Moody bobbed her head a few times. "Very good choice." She turned and walked through the doorway to the kitchen. Mrs. Monday had been here before. The L-shaped desk counter facing the door was gone and was replaced by a small table with the register where a young lady was sitting there in a low chair. A new scent of broth and fresh bread was overpowering the usual flour scent. Mrs. Monday was reminded of home, her long ago home when her husband and son were still alive.
    Miss Moody returned and was carrying a wooden tray with a clay pot almost filled to the brink along with a white plate with a large slice of bread, a wooden spoon and a folded white, cloth napkin. She set these items on the table.
    Mrs. Monday looked up at Miss Moody and said, "Thank you, Miss Moody."
    Miss Moody smiled and stepped away.
    After stirring her spoon in the soup and scooping up a spoonful, she blew on it before taking a sip. Mrs. Monday's eyes watered and she recalled something she thought she had long forgotten - the day her son was born. Though she was in much pain, she had insisted on staying awake until her baby had fallen asleep. The memory enveloped her like a dream only this was more real than any dream as if she was back there. The softness of his head, the gentle breathing beside her. She took in more of the soup but her joy was interrupted by the voice of young Mr. Henry Speck. What was it that made her forget she was not at home?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Young Mr. Henry Speck had an intention to enjoy some soup with his young friend Mr. Steven Pry. After he had a sip of the chicken and dumpling soup, he was reminded of the time when he was bitten by a girl at the park, a girl who was rather dirty and smelled of rotten fruit. He had never wanted more to forget anything in his life. That cheerful servant girl whom everyone called Miss Moody, was chatting away with a customer. Mr. Speck put down his spoon and called the girl over. Miss Moody came swiftly. "Yes, sir?"
    "Bring me a new bowl, this one has gone bad," he said.
    Miss Moody glanced down at the pot of soup and then at Mr. Speck. "What's wrong with it? Our soup always tasted great."
    "What's wrong with it is that, it's hardly fit to be eaten. Bring me another bowl, from another batch, if you will," he replied. He glared up at her.
    Miss Moody nodded. "Yes, Sir." She wasn't to question the customers even if she thought they were wrong. She returned to the kitchen with the uneaten pot.
    Sitting by the counter and taking payment now and then, was Miss Grace. Her hand was on the pages of an opened book but she kept her attention around her.
    Miss Moody returned from the kitchen and set the new pot in front of Mr. Speck and stepped aside.
    Mr. Pry was experiencing one of his best memory where he was helping his father and mother with the garden in their backyard. As he sipped his soup, he became aware of Mr. Speck's disgruntled countenance but then he was used it.
    Again, after a large sip of his new soup, Mr. Speck experienced another forgotten but cruel memory - he confessed his love to a Miss Cordelia and she laughed. He dropped his spoon on the table with a loud bang. "This is intolerable!" he said. "Do you people make these soups with your eyes closed?" The soup was neither bitter nor sweet but he was angry at what was crossing his mind. There were some whispers around him. He grinned. 
    Miss Moody hurried to Mr. Speck's table. "What is it this time?"
    "This soup," he said and he shook his head. "This soup is worst than the previous one. But I'm a generous soul, I'll give you one more chance to make it up to me. Bring me another bowl."
    Miss Moody nodded. "Yes, yes, sir. I will." She took the used pot and went back into the kitchen.
    Mr. Speck widened his grin when the girl appeared. He leaned toward Mr. Pry. "Pry, want to bet 50 she will fall with that pot?"
    Mr. Pry swallowed the bits of bread he had just put into his mouth. He shook his head. "That's a bad idea. Someone could get hurt."
    "So you're against me, then?" Mr. Speck raised an eyebrow.
    Mr. Pry just shrugged one shoulder.
    Mr. Speck leaned back in his chair and slowly extended his right leg.
    Miss Moody was concentrating on holding the tray and was quite surprised to be suddenly tumbling forward. She steadied herself but already the tray and the pot was tilting to the left and it spilled its hot liquid onto her left hand. The sudden pain made involuntary dropped the tray. It fell first to the floor while the pot struck against Mr. Speck's arm before tumbling onto the floor. The pot didn't shatter but the liquid and dumpling spilled out and scattered.
    Mr. Speck shot up out of his chair and shouted, "Look what you did! You dumb animal!"
    Miss Moody rubbed her left hand. A terrible ache was starting on the back where the hot soup had scorched it. She lifted her eyes at his words. There was a slight redish hue on his exposed arm and a stain on the edge of his shirt but he didn't appear hurt.
    Miss Grace got out of her chair and walked toward them. Miss Moody went to stand behind her mistress.
    "Are you the owner? Your dumb servant had been careless. Look what she did to my arm! And my shirt! This cost me 100 dollars. I demand compensation. But I'll be generous and make it 100 dollars even." Mr. Speck smiled. He was surprised the owner was the girl at the counter whom he ignored. The girl was young but appeared unbecoming with the faded, small scars that covered her cheeks, nose and forehead.
    "Yes, I am the owner, Miss Grace Quorum. My servant as you called her, is Miss Moody and she is neither an animal nor careless nor dumb. As far as I could tell, you were the one who caused her to fall," said Miss Grace.
    "And how you would know that, Miss Grace? You're blind, aren't you?" he replied.
    "Yes, I am blind but I can hear as well as anyone and I heard you made a bet with your friend Mr. Pry here, that Miss Moody will sure to fall. Am I correct, Mr. Pry?"
    Mr. Pry looked around him at the familiar faces. His eyes widened with a look of fright. Mrs. Monday glared at him as if daring him to lie.
    "I-I..." Mr. Pry began but then he turned, shove some people aside and ran out the door.
    "Well, guess we all know what the means. Mr. Pry is too much of a gentleman to lie even for you ladies," said Mr. Speck.    
     "I don't believe that is true, Mr. Speck. As I also don't believe we owe you anything." Miss Grace stood still though she clutched her hands together. Her eyes, one a dark brown, the other a hazy gray-brown, were looking straight ahead. She had an urge to punch the boy in the nose. Someone had said it was rather bended. Perhaps he was a boy who believed everyone to be his enemy or perhaps he was simply a child who needed some scolding. Other people in the shop were talking but none said anything particularly useful.
    Miss Grace wished Mr. Q was here. She didn't want to keep habitually depend on her uncle but when he was around, things went more smoothly. All week, he had gone out in the morning and returning late at night, to visit the waters as he said though they have no idea where he really went.
    "I will not leave until you pay me what's owe to me, Miss Grace." Shifting the chair a little away from the spilled soup, Mr. Speck sat down.
    "That is fine, Mr. Speck. But may I offer a bet, sir?" Miss Grace did not like gambling but she needed something he would understand. "I'll bet you 100 dollars you cannot finish 10 bowls of chicken and dumplings in one sitting."
    "I'll win easily. Everyone knows I never fail at anything." He laughed and glanced around him. "Who thinks I'll win?"
    There were a lot of whispers and then Mrs. Monday held up her hand and said, "I'm betting on Miss Grace and Miss Moody will win." Several people agreed but Mr. Speck ignored them. "And if I fail?"
    "And if you fail, you must be Miss Moody's slave for a week, a full seven days. Whatever she asked of you, even if she ask you to climb a tree to fetch a leaf or kiss a cat, you must do it. Within reasons, of course." Miss Grace was not certain why she thought up these suggestions. Miss Moody giggled.
    "That's fine but seven days is too long. Three days, I say," said Mr. Speck.
    "Six days," said Miss Grace.
    "Five days and I will not go higher." Mr. Speck grinned and stared into Miss Grace's eyes. He saw only a pair of hazy eyes and yet, they seemed to be looking directly at him.
    "Five days it is." It wasn't much use arguing and besides Miss Grace will have to be around the boy if he's to be Miss Moody's slave.
    "Of course we must set some rules. First, you must finished all ten bowls without leaving the table, if you do, you'll forfeit. Second, you must leave no leftovers. And third, there will be no time limit to how long you will need to finish. We'll stay as late as necessary." As much as Miss Grace would like it to make it harder, she preferred some fairness. "Do we have a deal?" Miss Grace smiled and held out her hand.
    "Deal! I will not fail," Mr. Speck replied and took her hand shook it and released it.
    "Miss Moody, bring out the first two bowls of chicken and dumplings, if you please but take care of your hand before you do so. We will wait," said Miss Grace.
    "Deal! I will not fail," Mr. Speck replied and took her hand shook it and released it.
    "Miss Moody, bring out the first two bowls of chicken and dumplings, if you please but take care of your hand before you do so. We will wait," said Miss Grace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Hardbook, the village's librarian, and Mrs. Monday, helped cleared away Mr. Pry's leftovers and the mess on the floor. Miss Grace thanked them kindly.
    After a short while Miss Moody returned with a bandaged hand and a tray with two pots filled to the brink with chicken and dumpling soup and a spoon with a cloth napkin. She set these down on the table. Mr. Speck shifted his chair closer to the table. The other customers gathered around them.
    Mr. Speck was soon enjoying his soup in quick sips and quick bites. Whatever memory he was recalling, no one could guess but his expression was constantly changing from anger to disgust to delight to sorrow but he didn't cry. By the fifth bowl, his movements slowed but he was still going.
    By the seventh bowl, his mind was filled with several remembrance that he couldn't completely dismiss. The most vivid was when he was nine, he had taken the gardener's shovel and dug a hole in the backyard for his dead dog. His hands had bled and he was sobbing all the way. It was a day he realized what hard work and sorrow was like.
    By the ninth bowl, everyone there was certain he would win. Even Miss Grace had thought so. Miss Moody was rather angry about it. Mrs. Monday had an urge to shout something to discourage Mr. Speck but restrained herself. Mr. Hardbook was neither for or against Mr. Speck but the old fellow was not completely neutral as he rather liked Miss Grace and the little, chatty but cheerful girl.
    Soon, Mr. Speck was covered in sweat which he tried to relieve with his handkerchief and then the shop's napkin but it did little good as both cloth were soaked. He was certain he was going to win. But his mind was clouded with one too many memories, each one was harder to take than the previous. But as he took in the last sip of the ninth bowl, tears suddenly filled his eyes. There he was eight years old, in bed and was deathly ill. His mother was there cradling him and never left his side. He let his spoon slipped from his hand and began to sob.
    Around him, the villagers wondered what was the cause. Had he experienced the cruelest of all memories? Had be broke down and was senseless?
    Mr. Speck wiped his tears, calmed himself and set aside bowl nine and moved the last bowl toward him. His stomach released a rumble and then he was running toward the door.
    Miss Moody blocked his way. "The rule is you have to eat them all in one sitting. Are you giving up?"
    "Let me out!" Mr. Speck could hardly hold in what wanted out.
    "Do you give up? I'll let you out if you give up." Miss Moody grinned.
    "Yes, yes, I give up! You win! Let me out!" Mr. Speck had gone pale. He was pressing his chest and pressing his lips all the more tighter.
    Miss Moody stepped aside and pulled the door opened. Mr. Speck rushed out. She closed the door. "We won! We won!" Miss Moody shouted. She hugged Miss Grace. And then she jumped up and down. "I'm going to get a cat and make him kiss it."
    Miss Grace laughed. "That was just a thought, you didn't need to do that."
    "I want to. Perhaps I'll get a lion and make him kiss it too," said Miss Moody.   
    The other customers cheered and then returned home as it had gotten rather late. Before she left, Mrs. Monday left a large tip in the jar by the counter. Miss Moody was still giggling as she cleared the tables and swept the floor.
    As she locked the door and pulled the shade down, Miss Grace thought about staying put in Query. And not just because her shop was a success and that she found the place was home to her more than any place she had been but it was the curious but comforting feeling that she had been here before.