might feel better about the cooking lessons.
“I can. It was the one thing I learned growing up. You see, my father had a great deal of money, and I only went to the most exclusive schools. He died a year ago, and we still had servants for a while after. Thomas met me at church, and he thought I would be a good wife because I was pretty.” Mrs. March sighed. “I have no idea how to do anything womanly but sew.”
“We’ll learn the rest together.” Trudie went to take the kettle off the stove. “You can boil water?”
Mrs. March shook her head. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”
“You’re not. We’ll work together, and you’ll help me make supper tonight.” Trudie was confident in her teaching abilities. She’d taught some of her younger sisters to cook, and she’d even taught someone at the diner.
“I will?” Mrs. March looked skeptical.
“You will. We’ll have breakfast for supper, and then you can cook breakfast in the morning without me there.” Trudie poured tea for them both, and then she served a slice of the raspberry pie she’d made for supper. “You and Mr. March will stay for supper, of course.”
Mrs. March smiled, her face practically lighting up the room. “We would love to.”
The two women spent the afternoon talking and learning. Trudie showed Mrs. March how to use a knife. “What you want to do with fried potatoes is to cut the potatoes into chunks. It’s easier if you start with leftover potatoes in my opinion.”
“Well, I don’t know how to make potatoes at all, so how will I know how to make them leftover?” Mrs. March seemed terribly frustrated with her lack of knowledge.
Trudie laughed, showing Mrs. March how to properly peel a potato, cut it into smaller pieces, and then boil it. “Now when they’re done and cooled, we’ll chop them into small pieces. I almost always cook more than I need so that I’ll have enough to cut up and make for another meal.”
“That makes a lot of sense.” Mrs. March paid rapt attention to each thing Trudie explained.
“How do you like your eggs?” Trudie asked.
Mrs. March frowned. “I usually like them soft in the middle but with the egg whites hard. I’ll eat them any way that I can cook them, though. What’s easiest?”
“And those are the hardest eggs to make, of course. I’ll show you how, and you’ll make them for supper tonight. But we’re going to practice first, so that your husband thinks you are wonderful for cooking for him. No more mistakes that he can see.”
Mrs. March laughed. “I hope I can learn all of these domestic chores quickly. I feel like I’m lacking.”
“You’re not lacking. I grew up on a farm, so I had to learn these things whether I wanted to or not.” Trudie carefully showed her new friend how to heat up a pan, fry bacon, and then how to use the bacon fat to cook the eggs.
She messed up more than a dozen eggs, and Trudie was glad she had so many for her friend to practice with. When Mrs. March made her first egg by herself, she squealed and hugged Trudie. “I made an egg and it has no shells, and I didn’t mess up the yolk.”
“I told you it was possible.”
Trudie also showed her how to cut pieces of bread to make toast. “I’ll show you how to bake bread tomorrow. Don’t worry about that yet. And we’ll write everything down, so that you can just follow the instructions on your own.”
“I’m so glad you moved here. I thought my husband was destined to be angry with me about how little I could do in the kitchen. I was getting desperate as I tried to please him.”
“Soon he’ll be begging for his favorite dishes, and you’ll know how to make them. We’ll make it work. Have you put in a kitchen garden?”
Mrs. March’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know I was supposed to!”
“Yes, you really should, but if you don’t get it done this year, then you can do it next year, and just buy canned vegetables this year. They’re easier to cook with anyway.”
“Can you show me how to do the wash as well?”
Trudie nodded, absolutely thrilled to have a project to work on. She would fill her days and have someone to talk to, whether Doug started talking to her again or not.
When the men came in, Trudie was standing to one side as Mrs. March flipped the eggs. The plates