A Home by the Sea Read Online Free PDF

small house was neat as a pin, the living room filled with framed pictures. Folded afghans covered two big wing chairs and a faded chintz couch. Books sat in neat stacks on two end tables, with bookmarks inserted, and a pair of old felted wool slippers sat in front of the fireplace. All these details came to Grace as she heard the happy ring of jokes and questions swirl around her. Energycrackled everywhere, marking the bustle and arguments, measuring the depth of love and sharing in the house.
    It was nothing like Grace’s family. Grace had known unerring love and generosity, but her grandfather always behaved with reticence and careful restraint. Over the years silence had become natural and soothing. People didn’t shove back chairs and run to the door in the Lindstrom house. Adults didn’t jostle and joke, pounding each other on the back in fun. In fact, all the bustle and laughter of Noah’s family made Grace keenly aware that she was an outsider.
    She stared at Noah as he carried her through the living room. “You can put me down now, Noah.”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWhy?” Grace frowned as he carried her down a hallway covered with more family photos.
    â€œBecause I’m taking you to the kitchen. It’s the warmest room of the house, and my mom has dinner waiting for us. We never keep food waiting.” Noah strode into a big room with wide bay windows overlooking a small backyard. Snow had drifted up, half covering a red wooden fence and most of the branches of the apple trees ranged along one side of the yard. More snow was falling, but inside all was warmth and laughter, and the air was rich with the fragrance of caramelized onions and roasting tomatoes. Little dumplings gleamed, fat and golden, on the stove.
    Grace’s mouth began to water. Fried dumplings were one of her favorite things. And something told her that Tatiana McLeod was an amazing cook. With some luck, Grace might even leave with a few old family recipes.
    Noah set her down, and she moved toward a faded wing chair near the window. “Not there,” he said quietly. “It’s better for you to sit over here, closer to the fire.”
    â€œWhy? Is something wrong?”
    For a moment he hesitated. The pain in his eyes confused Grace. Had she said the wrong thing? “Noah, I don’t want to bother your family. You probably have plans for tonight. Maybe I should go.”
    â€œThere is always room for one more chair at the table,” he said firmly. “A guest is never turned away.”
    The firm tone of his voice made Grace realize this was unswerving ritual, not mere social lip service. This welcome came from old-world hospitality, faithfully preserved in this house. Even if she was an outsider, the knowledge left her feeling a little warmer, harbored against the wind that shook the windows and blanketed the yard with drifts.
    This was a real family. The kind Grace used to dream about as an unhappy child. Here there would be laughter and arguments and cooking together around a big stove. Somewhere over the passing years Grace had forgotten about those childhood dreams.
    â€œAre your feet cold?” Tatiana McLeod bustled over, drying her hands on a linen towel.
    The woman’s gaze was keen, and Grace felt the force of that scrutiny. “They’re recovering a bit. I smell something wonderful, Mrs. McLeod.”
    â€œCall me Tatiana, please. You are smelling my varenyky . Dumplings, that is. You maybe call them perogies.”
    â€œI love fried dumplings. Do you use sauerkraut inside or turnips and onion? Or simply potatoes?”
    â€œAh, you know about making varenyky . I am most impressed.”
    â€œI spent some time in Poland last year. I stayed at the University of Warsaw to study for a month.” Grace did not add that she had written a series of articles for a professional English cooking magazine and had won an award for her series.
    â€œReally? You