Mr. Greggor, as the neighborhood children called him, was short and stockily built. That he obviously enjoyed life in the kitchen was all too evident. His bald head wore a sparse skirt of approximately seventy tidy gray hairs from ear to ear, which mimicked his age. A Saint Nick nose supported grandpa spectacles that rested tenuously atop a bushy, well-manicured mustache. His eyes flashed a star-like twinkle while his handsome, wrinkle-free face hinted to an internal loneliness.
Perhaps that is why Mr. McGreggor decided to redo his kitchen. The first order of business was to apply a saucey double-red-cherry-with-little-green-leaves-on-an-orangey-background wall paper. Next, he added chair molding on each of the walls. He cleaned, waxed and buffed the old wooden floors. He painted the furniture pieces shiny black, then painted on red cherries, black and white checks and tiny white dots in the style of Mary Engelbreit. An armoire received a new dressing of decoupage, paint, ball feet and ribbon seemingly right out of MacKenzie-Child's legendary Manhattan shop.
He retained the vintage sink, stove and refrigerator as well as an antique cupboard with its old-fashion, built-in flour sifter.
Nothing was wasted or hidden. He displayed his collection of tea pots in the armoire and fastened his amassment of blue and white plates on the wall. He hung kitchen pictures of roosters and cows. He made new cushions for the chairs and lastly covered the center of the floor with a whimsical area rug of faces and figures of happy people.
At last, on this, his new kitchen's first day, he sat contentedly at the old farmhouse table smoking his briar-wood pipe and reading The Adventuresome Miss Pickle's Kitchen Witch, a new mystery novel by one of the country's foremost mystery writers.
He was so engrossed in the story that the aroma of freshly baked cherry pie and coffee had escaped him until he placed the book down to tamp his pipe.
"Strange," he said, with a grin. "I don't remember making a cherry pie or perking fresh coffee."
Scratching the top of his cue-ball head, he walked contemplatively around the kitchen before stopping at the pie. He poked his finger through the crust and into the juicy red filling.
Just as he did an unseen voice scolded him. "Why don't you use a knife and fork?"
Startled, Mr. McGreggor looked up and down and all around but saw no one.
"I'm up here, Greggy. Hee! Hee! Hee!"
"What...who...where are you?"
"Up here. Try looking on top of your bread box, ol' boy."
To his amazement, there sat a tiny little woman dressed all in black and red. On top of her wiry black and gray hair rested a black pointed cap with a twinkling star in its point.
Mr. McGreggor reached up and grabbed her. But when he opened his hands they were empty.
"Hee! Hee! Missed me. Here I am in your cupboard." No sooner had she spoken than into the flour bin she tumbled.
Mr. McGreggor retrieved the little figure out of the white stuff and shook her 'till they both were sneezing. "Well, who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?"
"I am Miss Pickle's Kitchen Witch. I came out of the book you were reading."
"Did you bake this cherry pie and make coffee?"
"Indeed I did," the Kitchen Witch replied.
"Well, tell me madam, what do you think of my new kitchen?"
"I say, there, Greggy ol' boy, it is really terribly lovely--but a little lonely. Would you like a piece of pie and some coffee?"
"That would be rightly, nice, ma'am. Would you care to join me?"
"To be sure ol' boy. Here, I will just cut you a piece..."
At which time, the knife slipped and gave the Kitchen Witch a nasty little cut on her itsy-bitsy, tiny-winy little finger.
Mr. McGreggor administered aid and after wrapping it in snow-white gauze, gave it a sweet little kiss to take away the pain.
Immediately, the tiny little Kitchen Witch exchanged her witchly self for a delightfully attractive little woman with gray hair pulled back into a tiny little knot at the back of her head. With a twinkle in her eye and a wink she cut a slice of juicy cherry pie for the astonished Mr. McGreggor, who was now sitting down with his mouth hanging open.
And from that day forward, Mr. and Mrs. K. W. McGreggor lived happily ever after and spent many bewitchingly filled hours in their delightful little kitchen with its red cherry wall paper, happy rug, and cherry pies.
This is a work of fiction by Virginia Marin. It may not be copied, altered, or used elsewhere without my written consent. Please respect my individuality and hard work.
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