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“Okay,” she said, and Manning looked confused. He probably didn’t know the word “okay,” either. She should stop using it. Why did she know so many words others didn’t?
She came to stand next to the table. “I don’t remember making that, but maybe I’ll remember something else.”
She ran her finger along the surface and shook her head. “But not until the kitchen is clean. I cannot cook in all these germs.”
“Germs?” Ian said.
Hm. Another word they had no idea about. “Yes, you know. Bacteria. Viruses. Salmonella. Listeriosis. Food poisoning.”
They watched her with blank faces, but as she said poisoning, both became alert and wary. “Mayhap she’s a witch and nae a cook,” Manning said. “Were ye casting a spell to poison the food?”
“Oh my God!” she cried. “I don’t remember much, but I can definitely tell you I’m not a witch. All I’m talking about is cleaning the kitchen. You’re not seriously working in this filth, are you, Manning?”
His face darkened and became dangerous. “’Tis a working kitchen, and I dinna have enough boys to clean it.”
Kate sighed. “All right. Well, you have me. Let’s clean first, and then I’ll see if I can make something.”
“’Tis nae to yer liking, lass, ye clean it. My food is fine whether ’tis clean or nae. Ye even heard of my lamb roast. I must be doin’ somethin’ right if strangers ken my cooking. Aye?”
She shook her head. “Sure. I’ll clean. Can you at least point to clean water, a bucket, and something to clean with? A cloth maybe?”
He removed the apron and threw it on the floor.
“Find all that yerself. I wilna lift a finger to help someone insulting my kitchen.”
Chapter 8
Ian helped Kate find the things she needed for cleaning and brought fresh water from the well into the water barrel.
He went out to take care of his father’s body and start the arrangements for the funeral. Kate found some lye soap and vinegar, which she knew from somewhere was good for disinfecting things. After a couple of hours, the kitchen was as clean as she could make it. She’d used most of the water from the barrel.
The drain for the dirty kitchen water was a hole in the wall and she wondered where it went. She hoped not into the loch.
Her hands and lower back aching, her head spinning, she sat down on the stool to take a breath. What could she cook?
She’d looked in the cauldron before and seen that several things were boiling there wrapped in linen sachets: vegetables in one, eggs in another, and pork in the third. She’d removed them from the boiling water when she’d thought they were ready. Now turnips, eggs, and meat lay on the clean cutting board staring at her expectantly.
She looked around. Herbs hung in bunches suspended from the ceiling. Fish hung drying in the corners of the fireplace.
She went to look in the pantry. There were more eggs, and vegetables lay there already drying up and partly spoiled. Sacks of flour stood in the corners. There was also a bit of butter, cottage cheese, and milk in clay jars.
The milk was probably unpasteurized…
Pasteurized?
That was when the milk had been heated to kill the germs, she heard in the back of her mind. Again that word “germs,” something that made the men think she was a witch.
She sighed.
Looking at what she had, she could make a meat pie. There was enough butter for puff pastry dough, and she’d use the boiled pork—she’d mince it and fry it with some onions and garlic and make mashed turnips with some potatoes… Oh there weren’t any potatoes…or carrots for that matter. There were beans and peas, and she’d use them another time. But some mashed turnips with butter and salt would do nicely.
She had no idea how she knew that, but she knew. She got to work making the dough with some whole wheat flour, water, and butter. She minced the pork. There weren’t any pans for frying and no stove, anyway, so she’d have to settle for using the meat and vegetables boiled. She found some dry parsley and cumin but no salt.
Somehow her hands knew what to do. And something inside of her told her how much flour, butter, and water to use, and how to knead the dough, how much meat she’d need for the pie, and how to form it. How to chop the onion and the wild garlic.
More than that, she enjoyed the process. She loved every part of it, even peeling and the hard work of kneading. She knew instinctively how the food would taste and also how to make it better. And she loved it.
She made four pies to use all of the meat available. She was sure there would be enough eaters for that many pies, and even if something was left, it would be better to have things cooked considering the lack of refrigeration.
