A Silver Platter

1647

“Hendrickje,” the older maid called from atop the stairs. I hurried up, pulling my skirts to my ankles so as not to trip. The sound of my wooden shoes rattled the steps.
Sitting in the corner of the dining room darning a small pair of socks sat Heylwigis, the older maid who had hired me as extra help for the household. She had a stern manner about her, with graying hair and wrinkles around her eyes. She peered at me down her spectacles arched on her nose as I entered the room.
“Mevrouw will have her morning meal served in the parlor,” Heylwigis said, tilting her head upwards to speak. She asked me like a grandmother, ensuring that I understood the task at hand.
“And she has?” I inquired, not at all intimidated by her bold gaze.
“Cheese, bread, grapes, and tea served on the silverware and porcelain.”
By porcelain, I knew she was talking about the earthen-crap made in Antwerp. I nodded, hurrying back down the stairs to the kitchen. I took out the plates and clacked them on top of one another—a large plate for the bread and cheese arrangement, a small bowl for the grapes, and a cup and saucer for the tea.
I cut off a piece of cheese, sliding it onto the plate before cutting a rough piece of bread and placing it onto the plate. The grapes plopped into the bowl, now all that was left was to wait for the water to boil. The stove was slow, and I had only just put the logs in an hour before. Heylwigis always told me to light it early each morning to avoid a delay.
I opened the latched door and stared into the flames, poking them haphazardly to see if that would get the fire going. When the logs started to crackle, I closed the oven door and pulled up a stool. I watched as the copper kettle warmed, resting my head in my hand. While I waited, my mind wandered, until the bell rang again and woke me from my daze.
When the steam rose from the kettle, I collected everything together onto a large silver tray and made my way to the parlor. With quick steps, I passed up the stairs and used the serving cart Heylwigis had waiting for me. In the most refined manner I could manage, I trotted with the trolley through the open doors.
I saw Mevrouw in the corner of the room. She sat in the far-right armchair by the windows of the drawing room, bathed in the sunlight. Her gown was pulled tight and covered in rich embroidery. Her hair was spun up on her crown with brunette curls bobbing beside her ears. She would almost look beautiful if it weren‘t for her pushed-in pug nose. I set the tea stuff down on the small table in front of her.
She seemed to peer down at me once I set down the platter but still said nothing. I backed out of the room, pushing the trolley with double quick timing.