Sorry, I am trying to clean house and this wound up a duplicated chapter. Please continue reading the next chapter.

The crockery crashed in the basin as I shifted a fragile tower of porcelain bowls, pots, and fragments of food among the scattered abalone shells. Leftovers from Madame's feast. There was still so much work, and my shoulders collapsed at the sight of it.

"Crush the shells out in the compost heap tomorrow morning, but you had better take them out to the garden right away or they'll draw flies." Cook yawned again. "I'm going to bed."

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She left me, peering at an empty abalone shell and its watery iridescence under the low lamplight. Pretty, even in the clutter.

At once, an idea unfolded in my mind's eye. A shot of adrenaline spiked my blood, and the workday's fatigue disappeared.

With new-found energy, I piled shell after shell into my cotton apron and heaved them down the garden steps and along the gravel path back to the garden spring. Kneeling beside the pool's edge of bare earth, I dug my fingers deep into the moist black clay. Yes! It would do nicely.