Millicent was standing in the kitchen, eyeing Stewart's breakfast, already cold on the table, when the front gate intercom buzzed. "Miss Millicent, ma'am?" the staticky voice belonged to Juanita, the housekeeper. Juanita had been with them since she and Stewart were first married, and had helped raise Alan and Brigitte, and was considered part of the family.

Millicent pressed the release button for the gate, which creaked open, and watched from the window as the housekeeper ambled slowly down the steep incline in her bow-legged, sure-footed way. Millicent did not want to admit it but since Brigitte had left home, the only thing that made the days tolerable was Juanita's cheerful presence.

"You're early," Millicent said by way of greeting as Juanita stepped into the room, her face shining. She was a dark-skinned woman with an ample bosom and wide hips that had undoubtedly made bearing each of her seven children easy. She put down her bag on the kitchen counter and heaved a sigh.

"Here, Juanita. Have a seat. Lord, you must be tired. Let me get you some orange juice." Millicent escorted her over to a chair at the table.
Juanita collapsed heavily onto the chair. "Tenk you, Miss Mill. Mi throat dry. But me haffi tell you dis one fus, 'fore me figot"- she accepted the glass from Millicent gratefully and took an eager gulp-"Me dream see you last night."

"Really?" Millicent sat down facing her, a delicate hand supporting her jaw, her face blank. She was accustomed to indulging Juanita as she prattled on about dreams and visions.

Juanita took another gulp, emptying the glass and setting it down with an exaggerated sigh of content. "Miss Mill. Me dream see you, and you sad, y'see. Sad, sad."
Millicent smiled.

"Anyway, Miss Mill," Juanita continued excitedly. "Me start bawl fi you in de dream, and then me wake up. Praise God, me roll off the bed and puddung a piece o' intercession fi you."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, and the Lord gimme a word, Miss Mill." Juanita was a firm believer in spiritual matters and a devout, Holy-Ghost-filled, water-baptised Christian.

Millicent leaned forward in her chair. "What word, Juanita?"
Juanita's eyes opened wide as saucers as she looked at her employer. "Miss Mill, de Lord tell me you going open up a restaurant. Him tell me to tell you to stop worry, dat you have talent, and you going be one of the country famous restaurant owner!"

That evening Millicent showered languidly, reflecting on what Juanita had told her. What nonsense! How could she possibly open up a restaurant? She didn't have the slightest clue about how to go about doing something like that.
Outside, dusk had not yet begun to fall. It was still that honey time of evening that she loved; the time just when the sky had begun to redden with the first blush of a setting sun, throwing sepia hues across the walls of the big house.

She turned off the tap, towelled off and put on her silk kimono and padded barefoot toward the kitchen. The room was empty and quiet, save for the dull hum of the refrigerator for company.

Millicent felt desperately alone; her children's images floated up before her and she felt her throat tighten. Shrugging, she flipped on the light, even though the room was still bright-it gave her hands something to do-and looked around. For the umpteenth time that day, she thought back to Juanita's dream. Well, it was true that cooking was her passion, she thought idly as she wondered about the big harvest-gold room. She revelled in cooking, taking care of her loved ones.

But Juanita knew that. She herself had always complimented her employer on her cooking. Yes, everybody knew Millicent was a great cook. She always cooked for Stewart and the children, to the amusement of her friends, wealthy uptown wives like herself, who had always teased her about not needing a maid. But Millicent had always held firm to the belief that she ought to be the only person who cooked in her house-not a helper.

She wandered over to the well-stocked pantry, where she stored all the recipe books she'd been collecting since high school. She stood on the little kitchen stepladder and climbed up. On the top shelf, there were scores of books, all still in very good condition as she'd always been very meticulous about the care she took with them. There were exotic editions, gourmet ones, Chinese, African, Caribbean, Jamaican-a wide assortment.

Excitedly, she dragged them down and sat down, cross-legged on the cold kitchen floor. Why not? Why couldn't she go ahead and start a restaurant? She had a good amount of money in savings and bonds and whatnot and for additional capital she could always go to Stewart for help. Suddenly, the idea did not seem as ridiculous and far-fetched as it had earlier that day. And besides, hadn't Juanita insisted that the 'Lord had decreed it'?
For the first time in weeks, Millicent felt her heart sing.

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Cheeky's World