The apple dunking proved a popular pastime. Young ladies in every sort of costume imaginable—from Alibaba to Zulu chieftain—lined up to be blindfolded, hands behind backs, in order to plunge their faces in the chilly water and grope for the slippery, floating apples. Much squealing ensued.
Concordia’s apron kept most of her gown dry, but her hem was soon sopping. “I should get more kitchen towels,” she said, after failed attempts to wring it out.
The kitchen was blessedly warm. Charlotte and Miss Banning sat alone at the rough-wood table, drinking tea. Saucers of wet tea leaves littered the surface.
“The two of you have the more congenial assignment,” Concordia said, rummaging in the drawers.
Charlotte smiled. “We were busy for a while.” She gestured toward the old lady, slurping her t
