Burden of Memory Read Online Free PDF

unlit, occupied the center of the table. A huge old oak sideboard, scarred and stained by years of heavy use, empty except for a glass bowl of tired pink roses, filled one side of the room: the other was taken up by a wide expanse of glass. The thick curtains were pulled back, so that the room showed off the breathtaking view of the dark lake and the black outline of gently rolling hills beyond. A set of French doors led out to the deck.
    It was heavy dusk and the storm had passed. The long limbs of trees swished in the dim glow cast by the house lights. Through the darkness of night and weather, a touch of flame as if from a campfire flashed up, then fell back to earth and disappeared. It came from the scrap of an island, but although Elaine watched for a while, the fire did not show itself again.
    The dining room door opened and Moira’s wheelchair, pushed by Ruth, came in.
    “Settled in nicely?” Elaine’s new employer asked, with a bright welcoming smile.
    “Very nicely, thank you. My room is a delight. I could admire the view forever.”
    Moira beamed, genuinely pleased. “As could I. I am happy that you like my home.” Ruth placed her at the head of the table, where there was no chair, and slipped into a seat of her own.
    “Sit down, please. Dinner will be here shortly. We usually eat in the kitchen, but for your first night I thought something more formal would be nice.” Moira smiled. She hadn’t changed clothes, except to loop a set of brightly colored beads around and around her thin neck. They matched the African tree-planting shirt in color and in theme.
    Elaine was about to comment on the necklace when a heavy-set young woman bustled in, her eyes sparkling above a giant tureen from which rose the most superb odor. Alan, keeper of the dogs, followed, carrying a wooden platter of rough-cut brown bread, several types of yellow and blue cheeses, and a colorful assortment of fruit.
    The platters having been plunked down without ceremony, the chubby woman smiled at the newcomer and extended one hand. “Hi and welcome, I’m Lizzie, better known as the Cook.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Lizzie. Elaine.”
    Lizzie pulled up a chair and unfolded her napkin. Alan lit the candles, dimmed the lights and disappeared. He was back with an uncorked bottle of Australian Shiraz in one hand and five glasses dangling, in an apparent feat of anti-gravity, between the fingers of the other.
    Through the closed door they could hear the whining dogs, begging to be allowed to join the festivities.
    While Alan poured and the women accepted, Lizzie dished up steaming bowls of thick red lentil soup and passed them around. The platter of bread and cheese and the tray of apple slices and red and green grapes adorned with a sprinkling of cashews had been placed in the center of the table.
    “Welcome to our little household.” Moira extended her wineglass towards Elaine. The candlelight caught the liquid and reflected back the richest shades of ruby and scarlet.
    “I’m happy to be here.” Elaine lifted her glass in response. The others at the table smiled broadly.
    With one notable exception. Ruth scowled into her drink and mumbled the tightest of greetings.
    Moira made the introductions. The platters were not passed to her, but instead Ruth sliced a bit of bread and placed it, with a piece of cheese the size of a thimble and a scattering of grapes, onto her plate. “Alan is our gardener and handyman. Absolutely essential for keeping the place running. Unfortunately the gardens don’t look like much at this time of year, but they are a joy come spring and summer.”
    Alan smiled shyly at the compliment.
    “Dear Lizzie here is my cook. And the best I have ever had. At last, no more thick, grossly-overdone steaks with béarnaise sauce, tough roast of beef, boiled vegetables, and enough greasy bacon and fried eggs to sink a battleship.”
    “Here, here,” said Alan.
    “Well this soup is great,” Elaine said. “Not what I was