The daylight began to creep into the night, bringing day sooner than Emma had hoped. Her stomach growled. She rose to see Max and Brody still sound asleep. Emma rolled sideways off the edge of the bed. She tiptoed into the kitchen making sure not to disturb Mr. M or Aspen, who were both still sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace. Emma looked around, trying to find something she could make for breakfast.
Why would Rusher want to stay here without electricity? she thought. No waffle irons, coffee makers, or microwaves to heat up frozen pancakes. She was going to have to make breakfast from scratch. She gathered supplies—eggs, flour, sugar, a cinnamon stick, and butter. Emma cracked the eggs into a clean bowl she found by the stove. She found a second bowl and mixed flour, more eggs, and butter. Emma took a knife and scraped the cinnamon stick so that it flaked into the flour mixture. Milk. She needed milk. Just as she was rummaging through the tiny kitchen, Rusher came silently through the front door with a glass jug of milk. Emma sighed.
“Thanks,” she said. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” Rusher said. “But you can’t eat a meal without milk, so I stash extra in the in a small cellar below the wigwam. The ground is usually cold enough to keep milk fresh for a couple of days.
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