Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [50]
Ellie waited. So far, she didn’t see his point.
Bealomondore spoke around a bite of sandwich. “Did your parents ever blow bubbles for you on laundry day?”
She smiled. “Yes, and I blow them for my little brothers and sisters.”
“And these bubbles serve no purpose?”
“Well, they’re fun to chase. And they have a sheen of rainbow colors on the surface. That’s pretty.”
Bealomondore held up a finger. “Number one: I contend that fun and beauty are required for a full life. Joy has purpose.” He held up a second finger. “Number two: The parent, or in your case, the big sister, and in my case, the laundry maid, go to a little extra trouble to give something that produces only pleasure, nothing else. Wulder gives us pie. He gives Tak button grain. Why? Because He delights in our enjoyment of simple pleasure.”
Tak cleaned out the bowl, huffed into it as if to uncover any stray bits, then jumped off the bench. Ellie put the bowl on the table and perched on the edge of the bench with her legs dangling over the side. She folded back the paper wrapping her sandwich. Salty ham and cheese blended with thick tomato slices and crunchy lettuce for a satisfying noonmeal.
Ellie concentrated on what Bealomondore had said about Wulder giving good gifts. She took that thought and related it to their experience. “We make daggarts to show that we would like to care for Old One and the children.”
“Ah, and our conversation comes full circle.” Bealomondore plunked his trash in the picnic basket. “You are the altruistic one. I am merely along for the ride.”
Ellie rolled her eyes at him, and Bealomondore chuckled. He passed a piece of pie to Ellie and forked a large bite of his own. When they’d finished, he returned the bowl, forks, and plates to the basket and snapped the lid shut.
Ellie hopped down from the bench. “Come on, curmudgeon, oh surly fellow who does not lift a finger for another’s pleasure. Let’s make those daggarts.”
The grin on Bealomondore’s face couldn’t have been any wider. Ellie remembered her brothers. She was the oldest, but Nabordontippen, who was born next in line, was the orneriest. He made mischief and delighted in leading the twins and Gustus into more. And that self-satisfied smile graced the lips of all four of her impish brothers when they’d executed some roguish misdeed.
But Bealomondore gave her little trouble as they stoked the fire, mixed the dough, and shaped enormous daggarts on the baking sheets. He proved to be a helper when working, not an instigator of mischief.
The heavy pans required the strength of both tumanhofers to maneuver the daggarts into the oven. Pulling them out challenged them even more. But clever Bealomondore rigged up a stool in front of the oven, and they managed to slide the daggart sheet onto the wood platform.
Ellie shoveled up the large daggarts with a metal spatula and put them on a plate while Bealomondore held the tray steady. Then he put the new daggarts on a cooled sheet, and they both lifted them into the oven. The door closed from one side to the other instead of up and down. If it had been one you had to pull down, Ellie doubted they could have made daggarts at all. By the end of the afternoon, they had several piles cooled and ready to be wrapped.
She collapsed on the kitchen floor and leaned against a cabinet. “I am so glad we’re not going to try to get back to the library tonight. I don’t think I could walk to the chicken yard, let alone clear across the city.”
Bealomondore sat beside her. “If we find it is impossible to get out of this bottle, I propose we make our home out here rather than in the heart of Rumbard City.”
Ellie didn’t answer immediately. She weighed his words in her heart. Oddly, the prospect of being in Rumbard City without a way to get out didn’t paralyze her like it once had. “I believe we will get out. Someday. I don’t worry about it like I used to.”
Bealomondore put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “You are one spunky lass, Ellicinderpart