Bab 4: Chapter 4
The girls bounded into the house to find Aunt Flory standing over the stove. Zoey paused to tap a stone angel perched above the door three times before entering the kitchen. She shuddered as she touched the cold surface. 'Ugh. She hated dill pickle. But the thought of not touching it was worse. Who knew what might happen.'
"Look what the cat dragged in," Aunt Flory teased, her attention focused on a simmering pot of soup. Its aroma filled the kitchen like a warm welcome. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Didn't you hear me calling?"
Ruby shot Zoey a punishing look.
"We saw a blackburnian warbler," Zoey offered. "Just off the path."
"Hey, you said I could tell Aunt Flory," Celeste glowered.
Aunt Flory's eyes brightened. "Really? Is it that time already? I'll take my binoculars out after lunch. Where's there's one warbler, there's a tree full. Wash those hands before your lunch gets cold."
Aunt Flory couldn't stay angry when she was puttering in her kitchen or talking about birds. As she prepared lunch, her hands darted busily in and out of the cupboards while she rarely glanced upward. She had been cooking in this kitchen since she was a little girl. When she was in front of her stove, her irritation evaporated like steam from the pots.
Zoey was happy to see Verna had gone home. Running her hands under the tap, she examined her face in the mirror, relieved to find that despite still feeling a little weak, she looked fine.
Ruby squeezed in beside her at the sink, barely breaking the stream of water before dragging her dirty handprints down one of Aunt Flory's fresh towels.
Celeste, her hands carefully rinsed, frowned at Ruby's muddy trail and picked a clean towel from the pile. "Gross," she muttered to no one in particular.
As the girls took their seats, Aunt Flory ladled soup into two oversized bowls that were meant for mixing batter. Aunt Flory believed there was no such thing as too much soup. A third bowl cooled on the counter.
Zoey's stomach growled as she suddenly realized how hungry she was. 'Maybe that's why she was so tired. Not likely. For months she'd been feeling strange, with an ache settling into her joints, but the episode in the woods was different, more urgent. It frightened her that she had almost fainted. What if she was seriously ill? She wanted to tell Aunt Flory but thought better of it. Her aunt would send her to Dr. Tanner immediately, and she'd feel silly if nothing was wrong. If she told Ruby, she would probably accuse her of exaggerating. It was best to wait and see if she got any worse. The spells passed quickly, so how serious could it be? She'd get more sleep and eat more vegetables. If it got worse, she would go to Aunt Flory.'
"Yum," Ruby said, diving into the soup. "Bugs, weeds, and water."
"My favorite," Celeste declared in her usual matter-of-fact tone.
Lost in her thoughts, Zoey was startled by movement outside the window as a bird swooped into a nearby tree. Ruby saw it too. Both of them craned their necks out the window to see better. A lifetime of bird watching on the shores of Lake Erie had sensitized them to any kind of movement in the trees. A European Starling - its black feathers shiny as an oil slick in the shade but studded with iridescent turquoise gemstones in the sunlight - stared back at them. Many birdwatchers considered starlings an invasive weed among the species, but Zoey's family had an enthusiastic appreciation for them. It wasn't just because they shared the Starling name but because of their subtle beauty.
"Stah...lings, dah...lings," Ruby and Zoey drawled in unison, as was their custom whenever they saw a starling, whether they were walking in the park or sitting on the front porch. Today, they also lifted their milk glasses to clink the rims together.
"To you, Miss Starling," Ruby said stiffly, her pinky extended.
"And to you, Miss Starling," Zoey replied with equal formality.
Aunt Flory smiled, absent-mindedly patting their shoulders as she served their soup.
The more she ate, the better Zoey felt. Her mind wandered to her parents again. From the stories Aunt Flory told about her mother, Zoey knew that she had been restless like Ruby, shy like Celeste, and stubborn like her. In the many photographs of her scattered throughout the house, Zoey also knew she shared Celeste's halo of blonde hair and blue eyes.
'But she had so many more questions. Were her father's eyes brown with spatters of green like her own? Did he share her unique experience of the world, the way she blended touch and taste? Did his ears curl back at the tips in the elfish way that Ruby's did? Was he silent and withdrawn like Celeste?'
Not identical triplets, it was obvious that each of them inherited a different mix of physical characteristics and personalities from their parents. She held up her spoon to examine her reflection on the back of it. Holding it close, she laughed at the image of her bulging eyes and enormous teeth. But when she held it further back from her face, the natural curves of her delicate nose and strong brow assembled themselves pleasantly enough in the polished metal. Even her lips, though plump enough, were practical.
Turning the spoon to catch the light from the kitchen window, she pouted, trying to imitate Ruby's more generous lips. But they didn't fit her naturally skeptical expression.
"Practicing your kissing?" Ruby laughed, watching her.
"No," Zoey groaned. "I'll leave that to you."
"Less talking, more eating," Aunt Flory said with a smirk.
Older than Ruby by ten minutes and Celeste by twenty-two, Aunt Flory often worried that Zoey took the weight of the world on her shoulders in those few minutes that she was an only child and carried it ever since. She said it showed in Zoey's serious nature.
Except for their shared fine-tipped nose, Zoey didn't look much like Celeste either. Her sister's fair skin and hair gave her a sprite-like air, her limbs long and wispy compared to Zoey's sturdy frame. Despite Aunt Flory's frequent claims that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, there wasn't much to say about Zoey's appearance except that it was ordinary.
Zoey dipped the spoon into her soup, then into her mouth, simultaneously squeezing the cool cotton of the tablecloth with her other hand. It added a tangy flavor to her mouth. An excellent cook, Aunt Flory didn't believe in salting food. She said it smothered the more delicate flavors.
Aunt Flory caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and softly slapped Zoey's hand away from the tablecloth. "The soup's fine just the way it is," she gently scolded.
"You know I'm not actually putting anything in it, right?"
Aunt Flory sighed. "Then you won't mind eating it the way it is," she said with exasperation. "I work hard to make healthy food for you girls. I don't want it spoiled by too much salt, real or otherwise."
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