Read There Was an Old Woman for Free Online Page B

satiny-white plastic frames with a sprinkle of rhinestones at the corners. Now that vintage look had come back in style.
    Mrs. Yetner had been a severe presence who sucked in her cheeks and stared down her nose at any neighborhood kid who dared to mouth off to her. But she’d also been kind, in an unobtrusive way, except when Evie trampled her hydrangea and Shasta daisies en route to rescuing a soccer ball.
    But for all the years Mrs. Yetner had been their neighbor, Evie had never actually been inside her house. Now Evie looked around in awe at the spotless kitchen with its black-and-white checkerboard tiled floor, two-basin porcelain-over-cast-iron sink standing on legs, and pair of pale-green metal base cabinets with a matching rolltop bread box sitting on a white enamel countertop. Spatulas and spoons hung from hooks on the wall, all with wooden handles painted that same green. The utensils had the patina of old tools, used for so long that they bore the imprint of their owner’s hand. Evie felt as if she’d stepped into a 1920s time warp. These days people replaced their belongings long before any of them acquired the dignity of age.
    One of the few newish items in the room was a recycle bin, shoved against the wall and filled to the brim with neatly folded newspapers, cat food cans, and glass. Even Mrs. Yetner’s garbage was clean, Evie thought, recalling the abysmal mess at her mother’s house.
    Mrs. Yetner left her cane resting in a corner and picked up a kettle. Bright, mirror polished with a pair of brass cylinders over the spout, like mini organ pipes, it at least was not old. She tipped back the cylinders and filled the kettle with water, then set it on the front burner of a green-enamel stove. The stove’s white-and-chrome dials were spotless, as were the porthole windows in the oven’s two doors.
    A fluffy white cat brushed against Evie’s leg as Mrs. Yetner struck a match and lit a burner. There was no tick-tick-ticking like a modern gas stove, just a whoosh as the flame caught. Evie lifted the cat and buried her face in its warm back. The cat draped itself, languid and boneless in her arms, and purred like a wheezy truck engine.
    â€œIvory doesn’t take to most folks,” Mrs. Yetner said. “Cats know their people.”
    â€œI never knew I was a cat person,” Evie said, setting the cat down. “How can I help?”
    Mrs. Yetner pointed to a wooden corner cabinet with glass doors. “There’s tea and china in there.” Her arm trembled and she glared at it, balling her hand into a fist and lowering it to her side. Evie noticed that she was wearing two wristwatches on her arm, and her fingers were gnarled like tree roots. “And there’s milk in the icebox.”
    Evie opened the cabinet. The shelves were lined with green-and-white shelf paper patterned like gingham, the edges cut with pinking shears. No pantry moth would dare take up residence in there.
    Tea bags were in a mason jar on the bottom shelf. Evie unhinged the clamped lid and fished out two. From the shelf above, she took down a pair of delicate teacups and matching saucers, decorated with pink roses and blue forget-me-nots. So not dishwasher-safe. But then, as she realized when she looked around, there was no dishwasher.
    She set the cups and saucers carefully on the table and placed a tea bag in each cup. Inside the refrigerator, on a shelf lined with plastic wrap over paper towels, she found the milk and set it on the table, too.
    The teakettle went off, a strident three-tone cadence. Mrs. Yetner pulled it off the burner. She poured hot water in the cups and settled in a chair at the table.
    â€œThis kitchen is amazing,” Evie said. “That wonderful old stove. The floor. Do you know how special it is to find a period kitchen so intact? In fact, this whole house . . .” Evie’s gaze traveled past the kitchen’s arched doorway, through to the narrow