Matty walked into the kitchen, of the old section of the house.
"Smells amazing, ladies. What can I do to help?"
"Youse can git out of me kitchen," Joyce Dove snapped, shooing her away.
"Deres not enough room in 'ere fer all of us.
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Matty laughed.
"Well, technically it is my kitchen. And you could have used the kitchen in the new section."
"Wese knows," Mable Tucker nodded, "but wese feels more comfortable using dis older stove and oven, rather den dat new one in da other kitchen."
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Joyce laughed.
"Mable bes right Matty. Now scat ifin youse wants us to git this thing done. Go and do something else."
"I cannot thank you enough, ladies for doing this for me."
Mable wiped her hands on her apron.
"After all dat youse and Bill 'as done for da Bay, dis bes da least wes can do. Now, youse go. Scat. 'ave a drink wit your hubby or someting."
Matty blew them both a kiss and was about to leave when Joyce spoke.
"Oh, Matty? Dere bes one little ting youse cud do fer us."
"Anything."
Joyce pointed to the corner of the kitchen, where Nanny Dove and Joyce's mother's spirits were standing.
"Git dem two out of 'ere. Dey bes driven' us batty. Mabel's mudder in law were 'ere earlier, as well, but wes got rid of 'er, but dese two."
Joyce took a deep breath.
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
