"Patricia A. McKillip - The House on Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

"What's the row?"
"No coffee," Aunt Catherine said succinctly. "No breakfast. Harold, I will never cook another thing on
that stove. You can gift-wrap it and leave it on Mrs. Brewster's front porch."
"Catherine, what happened?"
"I don't know! I know I closed the coal door last night; I remember distinctly checking, but it wasn't
latched properly, and it may well have burned the house down."
Uncle Harold went downstairs, wiping the soap off his face. Bruce followed him, not noticing Carol on
the landing above him, standing white and still, her cold hands covering her mouth. She heard their
voices from the kitchen and moved finally.
The heat welled from the open kitchen door, warming the hall floor. The stove, both round burners
uncovered and red hot, seemed to shimmer. Aunt Catherine stood looking grimly at it. Uncle Harold
opened both oven doors. "I don't understand it," he said. "I do. Impulse."
"Catherine, not even this stove acts on impulseтАФ"
"Aunt Catherine," Carol said. Her voice sounded
small, dreamlike in her ears. They turned to her, as
though hearing an unexpected note in it, and she drew
a long breath. "It was me."
"You," Aunt Catherine said blankly. Carol gave a little nod.
"Yes. I needed coals. ForтАФfor the bed-warmer." Their faces were still around her, bewildered. Her voice
dwindled. "My feet were cold."

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Uncle Harold stared at her. He gave a sudden odd moan. Then he sat down at the table and laughed until
tears ran down his face, and Aunt Catherine's face twitched into a smile in spite of herself. Carol
watched them, too numb to laugh or cry. She looked up and found Bruce's eyes on her, the aloofness in
them overcome by incredulity. She looked away. Uncle Harold straightened finally, and wiped his eyes
on his sleeve. "Do you always do things the hard way, Carol?" "I didn't think," she whispered. "All I
could think about was my feet."
"Well, after all," Aunt Catherine said. "That's what bed-warmers are for. Carol, if you don't latch that
small
3┬░
door tightly, the coals will overheat from too much air. That's why we always check it at night. So I can
have coffee in the morning without melting the bottom of the pot." "I'm sorry." "I'll find you another
blanket tonight."
She nodded. Then she sat down, tucking her cold fingers under her arms to warm them. She heard the
soft sigh of Bruce's breath.
"We're biking to Wellingborough today, Dad," he said. His voice was dazed. "I'll be home for dinner."
Uncle Harold stared after him in amazement as he went out the door. Aunt Catherine shook her head.
"Shock," she said, and Carol smiled. She leaned against the table, her head in her hands, and the color
came back into her face.
"I was so scared to come down here my feet got cold all over again. I've done a lot of things, but I've
never nearly burned a house down."
"Never mind," Aunt Catherine said. "The stove should cool down by suppertime. I'll go and brew some
tea on Emily's stove. Did the bed-warmer work?"
She nodded. "But I knocked it out of bed this morning, and there's ash all over the place."
"You slept with it?" Uncle Harold said.
"I thoughtтАФthat's what they're forтАФI wrapped it in towelsтАФ"
Uncle Harold's hand went to his robe as though he were feeling for his pipe. He didn't find it. "It's