Authors: Kathleen Creighton
"Yes, ma’am," he said, "I will, I’ll go be a good neighbor, if you’ll just let me have another one of those scones of yours."
Miss Leona snorted and waved the potholder. "Biscuits. That’s what they is. That English cookbook can call ’em what it wants, they’s still biscuits."
Clay laughed, popped one in his mouth steaming hot, and went to put on his chore boots.
Going out the back door he stumbled—mostly from habit—over the old roasting pan that had been the farm dogs’ feeding dish for as long as he could remember. Every evening Miss Leona filled it up with scraps and leftovers—also from habit, because the last Traynor dog, good old Buster, had succumbed at the end of last summer to old age aggravated by snake bite. And every morning, "God’s children," miscellaneous four–legged varieties, would have licked it clean.
"Miss Leona," he’d tease, "you putting food out for the possums again?"
Miss Leona would always just shrug and say, "Keeps ’em out of my chickens."
From the kitchen came the crash and clang of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, followed, since she thought he was out of hearing range, by some mild swearing from Miss Leona.
Clay shook his head and went on out to the barn, smiling to himself. It looked like all of God’s children were going to eat scones tonight.
Coming December 2013
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Dear Reader
Excerpt from
A Christmas Love