The rich, savory aroma of beef and herbs filled the small, tidy kitchen of the Pembroke home. Mrs. Pembroke, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, tasted the stew she had been carefully tending to all afternoon. It was perfect. This meal had to be perfect. Everything depended on it.
As she stirred the thick, bubbling liquid one last time, a hand darted past her, snatching a piece of tender cooked meat from the cutting board. With a speed born of long practice, Mrs. Pembroke smacked the back of the hand with her wooden spoon.
"Ouch! Mama!" Evelin yelped, pulling her hand back. "It's just one piece."
"That is your fourth 'just one piece' now, Evelin," Mrs. Pembroke replied, her voice tight with a nervous energy she couldn't hide. "The stew will be nothing but gravy if you continue. Go and set the table. And use the good silver."
