Dick’s Mexican Wedding Cookies
1 cup margarine
4 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
1½ teaspoons water
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups flour
1 cup pecans
Cream the margarine and sugar together and add the other ingredients in the order they are listed. Roll mixture into small balls. Put these on a cookie sheet and chill in the refrigerator before baking. Bake at 325°F for about 12 minutes. When cool, roll in confectioners’ sugar. Makes about 5 dozen if made small.
—DICK WITHERSPOON
The wedding was postponed because of the funeral and the overall disposition of the Hope Springs community. Brittany’s death was a dark, heavy cloud that situated itself directly above the church and clung to the heads and hearts of those who attended.
Some people wanted to talk about death and issues of fear and mortality. Others climbed into their hard shells and spoke of the things that troubled them only in their faraway glances or in bowed shoulders and trembling hands. People began to accept the fact that expressions of grief are as individualized as tastes in music and preferences for how to hear bad news. Some want to be eased into the information or sounds, and others want it hard and fast.
Charlotte visited all the homes of the children who knew Brittany and let them ask her anything they wanted. It was a grueling and tiresome activity, but Charlotte was convinced that pastoral care sometimes means coloring pictures and watching cartoons until a child might finally be ready to ask if what happened to Brittany was also going to happen to her.
Somehow, in the midst of this haunting tragedy, Charlotte grew wings. She was certainly not at peace with what had happened, nor did she become unattached or unfeeling. She wasn’t locked into her own displaced or aggravated grief. Rather, a foreign and intangible sense of calm took her over; it could best be described as being comfortable in the uncomfortable, digesting the fact that she was unable to fix everything. And now, because she understood this deeply and solidly within herself, she was actually capable of being still.
The funeral itself was simple and fitting for a child. It was straight to the point of celebrating a young and beautiful life, and clear in stating the fact that everyone who suffered in this loss desperately needed the presence and attention of God and the support and love of one another. Charlotte made no attempt to remove anyone’s pain or gloss over the undeniable suffering of everyone involved.
Following Brittany’s death the worship services were short and unassuming. There was no order of service printed in the bulletin. Only the Scripture reading for the day and the words of the Lord’s Prayer were included, so that those who found themselves suddenly unable to remember anything would have the words in front of them. When she preached, for a couple of Sundays there was no sermon like before. She preached from the Psalms and openly discussed the terror of emptiness and the agony of searching for God.
She made no attempts to theologize or sermonize away the death of a child, and her prayers were barely audible. If she felt the need to change the order of the service, she did. If she sensed that they had sung enough verses, she stopped the hymn. If she suddenly felt the need to go down and kneel by the altar before she spoke, she walked down in the silence and awkwardness of the congregation and prayed. Nothing became important for the young preacher anymore except that she listen to her heart.
For the first time in her life, Charlotte considered herself among the ranks of the walking wounded, and, as for a recovering alcoholic, success for her was merely having made it through one day, one hour without having become victimized by her woundedness.
Much to everyone’s surprise, the congregation responded positively to the changes. They began to appreciate the new-found freedom in the worship services, and they followed their leader’s example. Sometimes one or two would not stand and sing while the others did. Often during the service someone from the congregation would just go to the front, kneel and pray, and then go back to her seat. Once an older gentleman interrupted the preacher and asked if he might read the Scripture because he needed to say the words out loud.
Something was being untied, untangled for the Hope Springs Community Church, but Charlotte was not interested in naming or diagnosing it. As she had the untimely death of a child, she just let it be.
She agreed that postponing the wedding for a few weeks was probably a good idea. At least there would be a little time to sit with the loss before trying to celebrate the happiness and goodwill of a wedding. Wallace and Lana and their families met with Charlotte and decided to put it off until the week before Christmas. They thought that would be better for the bride and groom anyway; they would have the few weeks off from school for the holidays to get moved into Jessie’s house.
Janice rented the young couple an apartment in town, but after a few days of talking it over, Lana and Wallace decided that they would rather stay in the community near school and family. So Janice took the apartment, and Jessie invited her grandson and his soon-to-be wife to live with her. “Besides,” she told them, “it’ll be like having a built-in nanny.”
The night before the wedding, right after the rehearsal, a snowstorm hit the Southeast, freezing the ground and roads and bringing to a halt driving, working, holiday shopping, and general day-to-day activities. Everything was stopped or silenced, everything, that is, except a wedding. Lana was convinced that a second postponement would mean cancellation. So, in spite of Lana’s mother’s pleas to wait until the following week, Charlotte agreed with the bride and kept the event as planned.
“I guess I’ll need to clear off the parking lot and sidewalks.” Charlotte was talking to Jessie on the phone that morning to tell her Lana’s decision.
“You can’t do all that by yourself. Wallace has gone to clean off the Wests’ driveway, so I’m not sure how long he’ll be. But I’ll come after I finish baking.”
“I could call some of the men from the church.” Charlotte waited, but there was no response from Jessie.
Finally, she replied. “I expect that would render little to no results. I’ll come as soon as I can, and we’ll do what we can do and not worry about the rest.” She stretched the phone cord to check on her cookies. “I’ll see you a little later then.”
“Yes. Bye now.” And Charlotte hung up the phone. She knew the possibilities were slim that anybody would be enthusiastic about shoveling snow out of the church parking lot for a wedding they all opposed, but she still sat at her kitchen table trying to think of people who might be willing to put their prejudices aside and assist with the carrying out of this wedding. She could think of no one.
I could, she thought, call Grady and demand that the deacons handle this. But ordering their cooperation and assistance felt like making choices for the church leaders that they needed to make for themselves. So she decided that she would start shoveling in the morning and hope to have at least one path to the sanctuary and a few parking places cleared by the afternoon.
She dressed in her warmest clothes, found a shovel in the shed behind the parsonage, and trudged to the church to begin the burdensome task. She worked for what seemed an hour, a lone woman trying to make a path from the church to the road. Her vision became a blur of white and blue. Snow to sky and sky to snow, she pushed and pulled the shovel across the sidewalk and over her head. With her arms and fingers stiff from the exercise and numb from the cold, she dropped the shovel at her feet and sat down on the frozen porch to see how little she had accomplished.
The futility of her work made her laugh as she became aware of how similar it was to her progress as a minister. “Guess I haven’t gotten very far, huh, God?”
Suddenly a voice responded. “You praying out here because you’re locked out or are you one of those folks who thinks you’re closer to God outside?”
The voice frightened Charlotte, and she turned around to find Grady Marks standing at her back. He had walked up from behind the church. “Twila figured you’d be out here by yourself; she sent you some coffee.” And he handed her a thermos and a mug.
“Thanks. I didn’t think to bring anything warm to drink, and it’s pretty cold.” She pulled her scarf back over her ears, took the thermos, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She screwed the top back on and handed it to the man now standing at her side. He waved it away, and she set it down beside her on the step. It was the medicine her cold limbs needed.
“Guess the wedding is still on then?”
Charlotte wasn’t sure of the meaning of the question, whether or not there was more than one, so she merely nodded her head affirmatively.
“I suppose you know my thoughts about this.”
Charlotte took a sip and shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I know your wife’s interpretation of your thoughts about this.”
Grady made fists with both of his hands and blew air into them, trying to get them warm. “A white girl and a black boy, it just don’t seem natural to me.”
Charlotte didn’t look at Grady.
“But I tell you the truth, not much does seem natural anymore.” He looked over at Charlotte, who was staring into her coffee. “A woman preacher. A little girl dying in the church parking lot. A big storm like this so early in the winter. Louise Fisher and that woman she’s taking care of.” He kicked his heel on the side of the porch. “I’m not sure I know what ‘natural’ is.”
Charlotte simply nodded and smiled. She didn’t feel defensive at being compared to a tragedy or a freak of nature like a snowstorm. She simply realized that this middle-aged white man was doing the best he could to articulate his discomfort with change and people who were unlike himself.
“Jessie’s been a member of this church longer than I have. She taught my children the books of the Bible and came over to my house to pray with me when my mama passed. I have a lot of respect for her.” He looked towards the back of the church, where his truck was parked. “So what I’m trying to say is that I’ve come to help you clean off the lot and get ready for this afternoon. A couple others said they’d come by too, so if you’ve got other things that you need to do, we’ll take care of this.”
Charlotte lifted her head as three farm trucks came up the road and turned into the driveway of the church. Six or seven men got out, reached for shovels picks, and started to spread out across the frozen lot and make a way.
It was the picture of grace, undeniable, indescribable grace, and Charlotte wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It was the quenching of an old and tired thirst. And the moment was sweet, so very, very sweet that she wrapped herself in the vision of it all and drank it in like the steaming hot coffee.
The men, all members of the church, deacons and teachers, choir members and lay leaders, labored all morning, shoveling and raking, until the area was free from snow and ice and there was no hindrance for the wedding.
Charlotte was throwing salt on the sidewalk when she saw one lone, brown Chevrolet drive past with out-of-state plates. The black man stopped, looked out the window at the men and one woman who had been shoveling snow at the church, shook his head, and drove on.
JESSIE WAS PUTTING on her gloves as she walked through the back door and straight into the arms of her ex-husband as he stood on the porch getting ready to knock. She was so shocked at the presence of somebody standing where she hadn’t expected anyone that she didn’t even realize who it was until she had fallen back into the storage freezer that stood in the corner of the screened-in porch.
“Jesus Almighty!” she said as she put her hand across her heart.
“No. Just James.” He smiled a wide-toothed grin and stepped inside. “You all right?”
Jessie picked up her right glove, which had fallen from her hands, and began smoothing down the front of her coat. “I’m fine. You just shouldn’t go sneaking up on people.”
They stood awkwardly on the porch until James finally asked, “Can I come in a few minutes?”
Jessie looked beyond him towards the road. “I really need to go and help the preacher scrape off the sidewalks before the ceremony. There’s just the two of us to do it.” She looked at James, studied him. It had been a few years since she’d seen him. He still looks the same, she thought.
“I don’t think they need you.”
Jessie was surprised. “They? What do you mean?”
James took off his hat and held it by his side. “You still going to that white church on the corner?”
Jessie nodded.
“Well, I just drove by there, and they’ve cleaned off the whole lot, the porch, and the sidewalks. I thought there must be some other event for all that work on such a cold day.”
“Who’s they?” Jessie moved closer to the door and tried to see down the street to the church.
“I don’t know, but it looked like about four trucks, eight or ten white men. They were almost through by the time I drove by.” He brushed the snow from the shoulders of his coat.
“Oh.” This was all Jessie could say.
A few minutes passed. James cleared his throat.
“Oh,” she said again, looking over at James. “Yeah, sure, come on in.” She looked at her watch and began taking off her coat and boots. She reached for James’s coat and hat, and he handed them both to her. He walked inside and looked around.
“Things look the same, Jess.” He went over to the mantel and began looking at the pictures. Then he lifted his nose in the air. “Baking a pie?” And he smiled.
“No, just a few cookies for the reception. A couple of the women from the church are hosting it, but I felt like they could use a little help.” Jessie went into the kitchen. “I still have some coffee from breakfast. I could heat us up a cup in the microwave.”
James nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He continued to look at the pictures of his family while Jessie fixed the coffee.
“Sugar?” she asked.
“Yes, babe?” He answered in the teasing manner he always did and walked to the kitchen.
Jessie smiled and shook her head. She put a teaspoon of sugar in a cup of coffee and handed it to him.
He took it and winked a thank-you.
“Janice call you?” Jessie was curious about how he found out. “Yeah, last week.” He put the cup down on the counter. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Jessie took a sip from her cup, walked to the den, and said, “Well, you certainly did that!” She had a seat on the sofa.
James followed and sat across from her in the recliner. “So, little Wallace got a white girl pregnant and they’re all going to live with you?” He blew across his cup trying to cool the coffee.
“Yes. I suppose that sums up the situation.”
“Hmm. You still working?”
“Only part-time these days. I’ll probably completely retire though when the baby’s born. I want these two to finish school.”
James took a sip.
“You still in Washington?” Jessie crossed her legs and pulled at her heavy wool sweater. She wondered how long he was planning to stay.
“Yeah, still in the nation’s capital, working at the bank as a security guard. Been there seventeen years, only robbed once.” He grinned at Jessie.
“You’re too old to be a security guard.” She was teasing him now.
“I figure the older you are, the less likely they are to shoot you.” He set his cup on the table beside him and folded his hands in his lap. He saw Jessie look at the clock on the wall. He shifted in his chair and suddenly appeared serious.
“Janice says I can stay with her in her new apartment, but I don’t want to make things worse for you.” He rubbed his legs. “I’ll not stay, if it’s a problem.” He looked over at Jessie for the answer.
She waited for a minute. She liked having him vulnerable like this. She enjoyed the softness of his temper, the polite way he would ask for her permission on such occasions. She savored the tenderness of it. “Of course, you’ll stay,” she said, waving her hand. “Wallace would love to have you here, and the family could use your support. Besides,” she said, “I’ve got two of your favorite pies in the fridge.”
James lifted an eyebrow.
“James Junior likes them too.” Jessie said this to dismiss any idea James might have that she had been hoping he would come. She cut her eyes at the only man she’d ever loved and let the expectant air fill her chest.
James nodded and looked down at his hands.
“You-hoo, Jessie?” It was Beatrice coming up the back steps. “Jessie, I’ve brought over some of the goodies for this afternoon.” She was trying to open the door.
Jessie got up from her seat. “Just a minute, Bea, and I’ll help you.” She opened the door. Beatrice was breathing hard and talking at the same time. “We’ve got so much to do. Grady and the others are cleaning off the grounds. Dick dropped me by; I’m not going to drive in this mess. And whose car is that in your driveway?” It was a storm of questions and statements. Bea walked into the den and saw James as he stood.
“Oh my!” she said. “I didn’t expect…I didn’t know…um, you’re James, right?”
Jessie walked in behind her and took the dish from her hands. “Bea, this is my ex-husband, James Jenkins.”
Bea looked flustered. “Oh my, I should have called first. I hadn’t expected anyone and Dick was going to the store so he stopped by and offered to bring me here; he’s getting some more stuff out of the car.”
“Bea, it’s fine. We were just talking.” Jessie rolled her eyes at James.
“Well, of course you were just talking. I didn’t mean to imply you were doing anything other than talking.” She couldn’t stop herself.
“Pleased to see you again, Bea. It’s been a long time.” James shook her hand.
“I’ll say it’s been a long time. What, twenty years?” She turned to share a laugh with Jessie, but Jessie wasn’t laughing.
“Oh, there I go again. Sometimes I have a nervous habit of talking too much. Do you have any nervous habits, Jessie?” She pulled her hand away from James.
“Oh, I think so,” Jessie said as she looked over at all the things she had baked.
Beatrice followed her eyes towards the kitchen. “Oh, Mexican wedding cookies!” She walked over to the counter.
Dick Witherspoon was coming in the door. “Knock, knock,” he said.
“Oh, just come in. Look, Dick, Jessie made Mexican wedding cookies.”
She reached for the dishes he was carrying, and before he could reply, she turned back to Jessie. “He makes the best Mexican wedding cookies. In fact, I’m going to put his recipe in our book. Won’t that be nice?” She smiled over at Dick and then at Jessie.
Dick reached out his hand to Jessie. “Congratulations on this event.”
Jessie said, “Thank you,” then introduced him to James, who also shook the funeral director’s hand, which was cold and clammy.
“You from D.C.?” Dick moved closer to the other man while the women began to arrange the dishes in the kitchen. They started to talk about the Washington area, where Dick had lived a few years.
Beatrice smiled and winked at Jessie like she knew a secret. Jessie just shook her head and laughed. Then she lifted her eyebrows in a question mark towards Dick. Beatrice knew the meaning and just slapped Jessie on the hand and blushed. “He’s really much more cultured than I imagined,” she whispered, and Jessie nodded. “We’re thinking about going to Europe in March.” She giggled. “Won’t that be the talk of Hope Springs?” And she waved her hand around.
“Well, I’ve got a few more dishes to get from the car, then I’ve got to go pick up the cake, go by and fix Roxie’s hair and makeup, do my own, finish fixing the punch, and get back to the church in less than two hours!” She looked frantic. “How can you be so calm?” And she headed out the door before Jessie could answer.
“Well, I guess I better get the car turned around and moving in the right direction before Beatrice is stuck without her blush and curlers!” Dick said his good-byes, handed Jessie the two dishes that Beatrice had given him at the back door, and left.
“Nice folks.” James smiled with an air of uncertainty.
“Salt of the earth,” Jessie responded.
“I have my clothes for the wedding in the car. If it’s all right, I’ll just change here and drive you to the church.” He was all tender and vulnerable again, and Jessie was blinded by it like it was a storm of snow.
“Yeah, that will be fine. You can even help Wallace with his tie.” Jessie looked at her watch. “Oh, I better start getting ready myself. Wallace should be home soon. You can help yourself to anything to eat if you like. I’ll be in the back getting dressed.”
James followed his ex-wife with his eyes as she went down the hall and into the bedroom they once had shared. He sighed, poured himself another cup of coffee, and took a cookie from the platter. He stood in front of the kitchen window as memories stirred in his mind and he was warmed by the possibilities.
Jessie shut the door and leaned back against it. She thought about James, the way he looked, the years they had been apart. He seemed settled in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time. Something felt ironed out, smoothed down and pressed flat. It was as if nothing was in his way anymore. Jessie didn’t know what was different or what if anything the change meant, but she liked the way it felt. She liked that he was there, standing in her kitchen. And she liked it that, for whatever reason, he seemed right at home.
¾ cup cake flour
¼ cup sugar
10 to 12 egg whites
1 teaspoon cream of tartar
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon almond extract
Preheat oven to 350°F. Sift together two or three times flour and half of sugar. Sift rest of sugar and set aside. Whip egg whites until foamy. Add cream of tartar. Continue beating until mixture is stiff but not dry. Fold in sugar a little at a time. Fold in vanilla and almond extract. Sift flour-sugar mixture over batter a little at a time and fold into batter. Pour batter into an ungreased tube pan and bake at 350°F for 45 minutes. Then top with chocolate syrup or fruit and thank God you’ve got an angel.
—ROXIE BARNETTE CANNON
On that blustery day in December, Hope Springs Community Church was crowded with well-wishers and church members to celebrate the wedding of Wallace Jenkins and Lana Sawyer.
Dick Witherspoon and Beatrice Newgarden stood at the door to greet the folks and pass out bulletins. It was noticed that during most of the service, the music and the speaking of the vows, Dick and Bea were holding hands.
Roxie and Louise sat near the back, and Roxie could be heard singing during a couple of the hymns. Margaret stood in the narthex, beaming with pride that her church had managed a miracle and that the wedding party remembered where they were supposed to stand and how they were to march in and out.
Charlotte was relaxed and at ease, even giving an impromptu thank-you to everyone who had weathered the storm and was present for the ritual.
Jessie sat with James and loved the nearness of his arm both beside and around her. Lana and Wallace were nervous as cats but somehow managed to say the vows and follow directions without a hitch.
The wedding was one of the most beautiful Hope Springs had ever hosted; everybody said so. And the reception at Jessie’s was packed with people and overflowing with joy. No one believed that the community would be able to laugh so soon after their tears, but it felt easy and necessary, and the people obliged their hearts.
It was a glorious day for the Hope Springs community, and afterwards the Cookbook Committee sat in Jessie’s den while a few family members stood around in the kitchen. Louise had taken Roxie into a bedroom for a nap since she kept falling asleep on the sofa. She was coming out when she heard Jessie ask the group how Roxie was doing.
“She’s worse.” Louise got herself a cup of punch and sat down next to Beatrice. “But today was a good day. It was a really good day.” She smiled at Jessie, who nodded back at her.
“I heard her singing ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ I didn’t even know there were words to ‘Here Comes the Bride.’” Margaret was nibbling on a piece of cake.
“I’m not sure there are words, and even if there are, I’m not sure they were the words Roxie was singing.” Louise took a bite of her friend’s cake.
“She seems really content, Lou.” Beatrice was fanning herself.
“Yeah, she’s satisfied, I think; I mean, with being here.” Louise saw Jessie looking in the kitchen, soaking in James with her eyes. “You still got it for your old man?”
Jessie was surprised at the question, surprised that everyone had figured out her secret admiration. She blushed. “You’ve got to admit, he still looks good.”
James glanced into the den and noticed that the women were watching him. He raised his cup and grinned.
“He looks all right, I suppose.” It was Beatrice. “If you like that sort of run off and forget you kind of guy.”
“Oh, Bea. Leave them alone. Jessie’s a grown woman. She knows what she wants.” Margaret offered Louise another bite of cake.
“You mean, she knows who she wants.” And Beatrice put her cup to her mouth, her little finger balancing the weight.
“No, I think it’s more like what I want.” Jessie licked her lips while the other women laughed. James turned back towards the women.
“Girl, I do know about that.” Beatrice put down her cup and looked over at Dick, who was sitting at the kitchen table flipping through a magazine.
Louise and Margaret exchanged glances.
“Really, Bea, you? I never had you figured for the, um,” Jessie struggled for a word.
“Horny type.” It was Louise who finished the sentence.
They all laughed. Beatrice seemed unbothered. “Well, a woman does have needs.” She gave a dainty wave towards Dick, who smiled back at her.
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird being with a funeral director? I mean, has he asked you to do it in a coffin?” Louise whispered the question, and the women howled. Everybody in the kitchen looked their way.
Charlotte walked over before anyone could respond. “And just what is the raucous topic for today’s committee meeting?”
The women laughed again. “Sex,” said Margaret.
“Oh?” said an embarrassed Charlotte. “Maybe I need to skip out on this meeting then.”
“No, it’s plenty appropriate for a preacher’s ears.” And Louise motioned Charlotte to join her on the sofa. “Jessie here was only saying that she was glad to have James back.”
Charlotte looked at Jessie, then over to James. She seemed to like the thought of the two of them back together.
“And we know about Dick and Bea.” She smiled at Beatrice, proud that she was finally using first names with the women. “So what about you two, Margaret and Louise?”
Margaret cleared her throat and shook her head with a laugh. “Not anything to know, Preacher. I’m used to living alone, and I can’t imagine being any other way. I’m perfectly content with the way things are.”
Then they all looked at Louise, who started to get up from the couch. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.” And before anyone could ask another question, she walked into the bedroom and roused Roxie. After a few minutes the two of them were in coats and scarves, and Dick and Bea hurried to get ready so they could take them home.
“I think I’ll be leaving too.” Charlotte hugged Jessie. “It was a great day, a beautiful wedding.” And she waited for Margaret, since the two of them came together.
One by one they said good-bye until only James and Jessie were left. Lana and Wallace were staying the night at the Embassy Suites in town, a gift from Louise and Roxie.
Jessie waved good-bye to everyone, closed and locked the door, and began cleaning up the dishes. James went into the kitchen and stood near Jessie as she put on an apron.
“That wasn’t a bad party, for white people, I mean.” James smiled and started rolling up his sleeves.
“Yeah, I thought it turned out real nice.” She plugged the drain in the sink and turned on the water.
James reached below, got the dishwashing detergent, and poured a little in the sink.
Jessie watched with surprise as he put the container back where he found it.
“You know, the children are going to talk about this.” She reached in the water to find the dishcloth. She felt his fingers stop and spread apart while she moved hers across his.
“So then maybe I should go?” He turned to face her.
“I suppose you will eventually anyway.” Jessie pulled her hands from the water and dried them on her apron.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re right about Washington. I’m too old for the job, and I’m too old for the city.” He reached for her hands. “I think I’d like to stay.”
Jessie was surprised, but she let him keep her hands. Water trickled across his fingers onto hers. “What made you go the first time?”
He looked down and then back into her eyes. “I got no excuse for what I did.” He caught a stream of water as it dripped down her arm. “Except I always felt like you were too good for me, Jess.” He dried her arm with the towel. “No matter how hard I tried, it always seemed like I was letting you down.”
She turned away, pulling the towel from his hands. “You broke my heart, James Jenkins. That’s what you did. You broke it as sure as we’re standing here.” A tear fell from her eye.
“Yeah,” he said, as he turned her face towards his. “I know that.” He looked into her eyes, captured her there. “I’m sorry.” He pulled her towards him, and there were no more words. He would be staying the rest of the night.
WHEN LOUISE GOT Roxie home and in bed, she could tell that there had been a change in her breathing. Nothing very labored or drastic, but it seemed she breathed less, took in less air. She got the notebook and began to write down the things from the wedding and reception, then went back into the room where Roxie was sleeping.
Roxie opened up her eyes and looked at Louise. “You’re my angel, Louie, and I want to stay here with you.”
Louise reached over and touched Roxie on the cheek. “Of course you will stay here.” She kissed her forehead, and Roxie closed her eyes.
Louise thought about sleeping in the room with her, sitting in the chair next to Roxie, but she was so tired from the day, she fell asleep in her bed before she could make a decision.
She awoke late the next morning and was surprised to find that Roxie had not wakened her with yells to go to the bathroom. She glanced at the clock. It was well past 9:00. She looked out the window; the snow was still covering the ground.
“You had a big day yesterday, young lady,” Louise was saying as she walked up the hallway towards the den. She was still wearing her pajamas.
She went into the kitchen first, poured a glass of juice, and got Roxie’s morning medications. “You were singing and carrying on at the wedding like it was your big day.” She walked into the den and stopped. Roxie was pale, unmoving. Louise put down the juice and the pills and reached for Roxie’s arm to take a pulse. There was nothing. Roxie didn’t breathe or flutter her eyelids or smile. She was dead.
There were no screams, not even tears. Louise laid her head on Roxie’s chest, listening for a breath or a heartbeat, but the woman’s body was empty of any life. Louise stood up, reached beside the bed for a brush, and fixed Roxie’s hair. Then she went into the bathroom, got a washcloth and towel, and gave Roxie a sponge bath. She cleaned her with great care. Louise then put on her own clothes, dressed Roxie in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and fluffed the pillows behind her head. She made no sound. It was a silent, independent series of actions, pieces of an intimate friendship, tokens of love. She cleaned up around the bed and sat down at the telephone to make calls.
First she spoke to George and then the children. She was informative and sympathetic. She waited until the shock wore off for each one, asking if they were okay, reminding them how much Roxie loved them, and how attentive they had been as her family, and then, with a professional and caring tone, she hung up the phone. Afterwards she called the doctor, who sent out an EMT and a deputy sheriff. She called Margaret, who came over immediately, and Dick, who came dressed in jeans and a sweater, since he knew Louise would feel more comfortable with him dressed like this than if he were in a suit.
Charlotte arrived just minutes after the funeral home personnel. She was late because she had walked from the parsonage. When she got to the house, Jessie and James were taking down the hospital bed and Beatrice was fixing a pot of coffee. Margaret and Louise were sitting in the den.
“I’m sorry it took me so long, I couldn’t get my car to start.” Charlotte took off her hat and gloves. “Guess it’s the cold weather.”
“Where’s your car now?” Beatrice asked as she peered out the kitchen window.
“I walked,” she said.
“Walked?” Margaret got up to take the rest of her wet clothes. “That’s got to be five miles or more!”
“Four and a half. But it’s okay. I find it stimulating.” Charlotte pulled off her coat, handed it to Margaret, and knelt down in front of Louise.
“What happened?” Charlotte was flushed from the exercise and the cold.
“I don’t know. I slept in my bed last night. I was planning to come back in here; I don’t know why I didn’t. I fell asleep in my room, I guess.” There was a long pause.
“When I got up this morning, she…” Louise thought for a minute. It seemed as if she was remembering something. “She said last night she wanted to stay with me. I didn’t know what she meant. I didn’t know she was planning to…” Her voice dropped.
Margaret sat back on the sofa, reached over, and put Louise’s head on her shoulder.
“George wants to take her back to Maryland. They have plots up there.” She sat up and wiped her eyes. “So I guess that’s that.”
Beatrice whispered to the other women. “Dick said he’s to ship the body tonight or tomorrow. The funeral home up there is taking care of the arrangements.”
Jessie was placing the bed rails on top of the bed when she noticed a piece of paper stuck behind the headboard. She pulled it out while Louise watched. “It looks like a recipe of some kind.” She handed it to Louise.
“It’s for angel food cake. She loved that.” She read over the list of ingredients. “I knew she had written something those first few weeks she was here, but she wouldn’t show it to me. I thought it was a letter to George. She must have heard our conversations about the book.”
Margaret glanced over her shoulder at the handwritten paper.
“It looks like she didn’t get finished.” Louise showed Margaret. There was a list of instructions that ended with using an ungreased tube pan and baking at 350 degrees, but the rest of the words she couldn’t read.
“Oh, the rest is easy.” Beatrice came over and reached for the paper. “It looks like top it with something,” she studied it, “but I can’t make it out.”
Louise took it back, knowing what it said without reading it, “chocolate sauce and fruit.” She turned to Beatrice. “It was her favorite.” Then she looked back at the recipe. “But what about here, what does it say here?” And she pointed to the last line, which was written with a very shaky hand.
The women passed the paper around, each one trying to decipher a word or a few letters.
“And think sad…” Jessie had it and passed it on to Charlotte.
“And think God you’ve, something, anger?” She handed it to Beatrice, who studied it awhile, then gave it back to Margaret, who was still sitting beside Louise.
“And thank God you’ve got an angel.” Margaret read it, the words tight and sure, then she smiled at Louise, who sat back and cried.
Elizabeth’s Christmas Moravian Cakes
½ pound dark brown sugar
1 pint molasses
½ cup lard
1 stick butter
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1½ teaspoons cloves
1½ teaspoons ginger
1½ teaspoons baking soda
8 cups sifted all-purpose flour
Add sugar to molasses and mix well. Add lard and butter, melted and cooled. Sift spices and soda with a little flour and add to the molasses mixture, stirring in well. Then add the rest of the flour until you have a stiff dough. Let stand overnight. Roll thinly on a floured board. Cut into shapes with cookie cutters, and bake on greased tins in moderate oven (350°F). This recipe makes about 3 pounds. Baking time is about 9 minutes.
—ELIZABETH GARNER
Elizabeth Garner was the one who broke the news to the rest of the Cookbook Committee about Louise camping out at the cemetery. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Margaret had taken Louise up to Maryland for the funeral over four days ago. She was at her wit’s end since Louise wouldn’t come home. She called Elizabeth because she wanted to ask her son, the EMT, how long somebody could stay outside in the cold without getting frostbite. Margaret told Elizabeth that they needed to leave Maryland, but Louise wouldn’t listen and she wouldn’t come in from the cold. Elizabeth heard the panic in the otherwise calm Margaret and called the preacher immediately.
There were no questions asked, no plans made. The women set out for Maryland to try to help Margaret and Louise. Jessie and Charlotte took turns driving while Beatrice served as navigator. They got lost outside Richmond, but they were still able to get to George’s house in less than six hours. When they arrived, Margaret was cooking an early supper. George and his girlfriend had gone to stay at her house, since things were a little awkward with Louise visiting.
The women walked into the house and were surprised to find Margaret alone. She was glad to see them.
She appeared frayed, stringy, like an old rug. “She’s at the grave. She hasn’t left since the day after the funeral.”
She walked back to the stove. “We’ve tried everything. The funeral director talked to her. The preacher sent some suicide chaplain out there. George and the children tried to get her to leave. I even stayed with her a couple of nights, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. She’s planning on spending Christmas Eve out there, for God’s sake.”
Margaret pulled out drawers trying to find a spoon. “She does eat, at least. I take her meals to her, something warm to drink, and she goes into the church to relieve herself. They’ve been nice enough to leave the back door open.”
The women shuffled in and began taking off hats and gloves. They all stood near the table while Margaret went back around the counter to the stove. When she threw the lid of a pot into the sink, it slammed and rattled, and the women froze in their places. “She’s lost her damn mind, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Jessie waited a minute, then went over to the stove and adjusted the burners. She picked up a spoon and stirred the soup, which was starting to boil over. Beatrice walked over to Margaret, putting her arm around her and leading her back to the table.
Charlotte looked towards Jessie, unsure of what to do next. Jessie nodded, a sign to say something, so she asked, “Why don’t you tell us about the funeral and how Louise was doing with everything?”
Margaret sat at the table as Charlotte pulled out chairs for Beatrice and herself.
“Things seemed fine, I thought.” Margaret wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “We stayed here with George. He’s not a bad guy, you know?” She said this to Beatrice. “Lou was civil, didn’t say much, seemed like she was okay.”
Jessie poured Margaret a glass of water, handed it to her, and leaned back against the counter.
“The service was sweet. The preacher did a nice job.” She turned towards Charlotte, who nodded. “It was short. The songs were appropriate. Everything was fine. And then, when we were at the grave, her face just changed. It became frozen, glass. Like she had made up her mind about something.”
Margaret shook her head. “We came back from the service, and she went into the garage. She didn’t say anything to anybody. We heard her putting some things in the trunk, and then she just drove off without a word. I figured she needed some time alone, so I didn’t get worried until it started getting dark. Then George and the boys and I drove around searching for her. We went everywhere in town. But we found her at the grave.” Margaret faced Jessie. “She’s been there ever since.” And she took a swallow of water.
Charlotte put her hand on top of Margaret’s. “You okay?”
Margaret shrugged her shoulders and nodded unconvincingly.
The women glanced around at each other. Then, without hesitation, Beatrice responded. “Well, there’s nothing else to do but go out there and talk to her.” She reached over, patted Margaret on the arm, slipped her coat back on, buttoned it up, and headed out the door.
Margaret sighed. “Here, let me write down the directions to the church.” She found some paper and a pen, jotted down some instructions, and handed the paper to Charlotte.
“You stay here; we’ll do something, even if it’s wrong,” said Jessie.
Margaret just watched as Jessie and Charlotte left to join Beatrice.
THE SUN WAS beginning to fade, and the temperature was dropping. Louise was sitting under the green funeral tent, next to the grave, in a lawn chair, the long kind you use at the beach. She was surrounded by arrangements of frozen flowers and under several layers of blankets, wearing two pairs of gloves, a thick scarf about her neck, and an old army helmet strapped on her head. She was singing “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” when her friends walked up. She was on “Seventy-three bottles.”
Jessie shook her head in amazement. “Girl, you have definitely gone over the edge.”
Louise looked over her shoulder. She smiled. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Cookbook Committee. Roxie, what do you think of that?” She faced the grave, the new dirt already frozen hard. Then she turned back to Beatrice. “Queen Bea, you having trouble with another recipe?”
The women looked at each other. They weren’t sure if Louise was drunk or just crazy from the cold.
“No, we came to find you.” Beatrice went and stood beside Louise.
Jessie moved closer too. “It’s cold out here, Lou.”
Louise nodded. “Yep. But after a while you start to lose feeling. It’s not so cold then.” She handed Jessie one of her blankets. “Margaret still at George’s?”
“Yes,” said Beatrice. “She was fixing you some soup when we left.”
Just then Charlotte came out with three folding chairs. “I took them from the choir room,” she said, somewhat out of breath. “Nice church.”
Jessie helped her set them out and took a seat with Beatrice and Charlotte beside Louise.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly Louise turned around to face the women. “Isn’t tomorrow Christmas Eve?”
They all nodded.
“Don’t you have someplace to be on Christmas Eve?”
There was another pause. “We came to be with you, Lou.” It was Beatrice.
“Dick with you?” She handed Beatrice the thermos.
“No, he’s with his sister in Winston-Salem.” Beatrice opened the thermos and took a big gulp. She almost choked when she tasted the alcohol. She spat and sputtered. “Good God, Lou, is this straight whiskey?”
Louise smiled.
Jessie took the thermos. “You forgot who you were talking to, Bea.” She took a small sip and passed it on to Charlotte, who seemed unsure of what to do.
“Louie, queen of the hooch, that’s me!” And Louise whirled her hands in the air with a whooping noise.
Charlotte took a swallow. The liquor burned her throat, but she didn’t cough or spit it up. Then she handed the thermos back to Jessie.
Louise looked over at Charlotte, who was now shifting her weight from side to side in the chair, trying to get warm. Then she pulled a flower out of an arrangement close by her head and twirled it in her hand. “I didn’t like the preacher.” She turned back towards the grave. “He was small and shifty, and his hands were sweaty. Reminded me of Dick.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes.
“And he didn’t know Rox. Not even a little.” She dropped the flower in her lap and reached for the thermos. Jessie handed it to her. She took a swallow and put the top back on it. “He said things that you could tell were memorized, rehearsed. Stuff he could say about anybody, even you, Bea.” She lifted her chin at Beatrice and smiled. Then the corners of her lips fell. “He didn’t know anything about Rox.”
Charlotte dropped her head, the scarf up to the bottom of her nose. The wind was cold and stiff.
A group of carolers were meeting at the church to go out into the community. The women looked over as they chatted and laughed casually among themselves.
Louise started singing again, “Seventy-two bottles of beer on the wall, seventy-two bottles of beer…”
Jessie interrupted her. “What didn’t he know about Rox that you could have told him, Lou?” And she gave Charlotte part of her blanket, pulling it around their legs.
The young people glanced towards the cemetery. A hush came over the group. All of the women but Louise turned and looked.
“That she was everything to me. The reason I stayed alive. The reason I stayed sane. The reason I thought the world wasn’t such a bad place to live or that I wasn’t somehow completely nuts. That she was the color in this drab, boring universe.” Louise stopped, and no one said a word.
“Even when she was really sick, out of her mind sick, she filled the empty place. You know what I mean, Jess?” She looked over at the women. “You know what I mean? Roxie filled the empty place.” She unscrewed the top of the thermos and took another drink.
“And even though she was never mine to have, and our worlds were so different, I can’t see how I can possibly live without her.” Her voice became choked and distant. “I don’t even know how to breathe.”
A wind stirred the flowers and caused the sides of the tent to flap against the poles. The carolers walked over to the women and began to sing “Silent Night.” It was an empty, awkward gesture, and Beatrice stood up and stopped them in the middle of the second line, “All is calm, all is—”
“Excuse me,” she said, and their voices trailed off like a swarm of bees.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said as she slid her hands down the front of her coat and pulled on the top of her hat. The other women were wide-eyed and still.
“I’m thinking you got four women, obviously in some distress, sitting in the freezing cold in a cemetery.” Her voice was strong and brassy. She was a trumpet of bad news. “I’m thinking the last thing they need to hear is some sentimental hog-wash Christmas song that reminds them of everybody dead they’ve ever known. So I’m thinking maybe it would be a better idea if you go and sing to somebody who’s not nearly so desperate and pushed to the outer limits of what might be deemed appropriate behavior.”
She clasped her gloved hands in front of her like an opera singer who’s just finished her solo. “Does what I’m thinking seem clear enough for you?”
And the young people, stunned, pulled off their red-and-green happy hats, each with tiny tinkling bells on the end, and jingled back to the church, dejected and unsure of what to do next.
Suddenly, Louise began to laugh. Charlotte and Jessie eyed each other and laughed too. Beatrice, spent from her lecture, sat back down and took the thermos for a long, tasty drink.
Just then Margaret drove into the parking lot, got out of the car, waved at the carolers, and walked towards the women with a pot of steaming soup. She had not expected there to be laughter; by this time it was building and full. “Obviously, I missed something.”
Charlotte got up to help her with the pot and bowls. “Yep, I would say you definitely missed something.” She turned to Beatrice, who was wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. She turned back to Margaret. “Let me help you with that.” And Charlotte dipped a bowl of soup for everyone. She handed the first one to Louise.
“Why is it that when you’re feeling the least like eating, people bring you food?” She held the bowl in her lap. “I mean, why don’t folks bring you casseroles when things are going great? Why don’t people want to sit around with you and eat potato salad when you get a promotion or win the lottery? Why, when someone has died, does everyone suddenly have to bake a cake?”
“I always enjoy the food at funerals.” Charlotte motioned for the thermos from Beatrice, and the women watched with surprise as she downed the last of the drink.
“I think we do it because it’s all we got.” Jessie took a spoonful of soup, blew on it, and continued. “Words are empty. There sure aren’t any presents to buy, but everybody’s got to eat, so we feed each other. It’s the basic, most humane way to say you care.
“It’s a silly ritual, I agree. But somehow it helps to remind ourselves that life goes on. We sit together. We remember. We eat.”
Beatrice drank from her bowl, then put it down, wrapping herself in the blanket Jessie had given her.
“It’s a way to dole out friendship, Lou. In your words, it’s just doing what love does.” And Margaret sat down on the end of the lawn chair, almost tipping them over.
“Yeah,” Louise said. “I did say that once, didn’t I?”
They sat for a while finishing their soup and listening as the carolers sang at the houses close by. They would laugh every time they heard “Silent Night.”
Finally the youth group finished their singing, came back to the church, got in their cars, and left. It was dark and quiet and starting to snow. The women looked around at each other.
Louise felt the glances and spoke. “I know I have to go.” She pulled off her helmet. “It’s silly to think Roxie is here. She would never stay here, even as a dead person. It’s much too gray and ugly, and forgive me, Preacher,” she looked over to Charlotte, who was starting to nod off but opened her eyes wide when she heard the word Preacher—“but it’s much too close to the church. Roxie would rather be in a park or by a lake or near friends talking, oh, I don’t know, about a cookbook.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m ready to go.” She stood up by her chair. Margaret got up at the same time and stood behind the lawn chair. “But I don’t know what I’ll do about Christmas.”
“You don’t have to do anything about Christmas.” Margaret stepped outside the tent, looking up at the North Star, which was shining in the sky, high and alone. “You’ll come stay with me.”
“Or me.” It was Beatrice.
“Mom’s coming over, but other than her and me, the parsonage is empty.” Charlotte yawned and picked up the bowls and empty thermos.
The women looked at Jessie, waiting for her invitation. “Well, don’t think you can come to my house. My bedrooms are full!” She gave a wicked grin and winked at Louise.
The women pulled the blankets around themselves and stood in a huddle behind Louise as she said a final good-bye to her friend. She folded up her blanket and threw it on the chair. Then she knelt down, whispered something to the frozen earth, gently kissed her hand, and patted the fresh grave. They watched as Charlotte took flowers from one of the wreaths, tied them stem to stem, and placed them around Louise’s shoulders like a stole. It covered her like a blessing, and there, in the presence of women she loved, both dead and alive, Louise rose up and slowly started to breathe.
CAKE
1 box Duncan Hines butter cake mix
1 small package instant vanilla pudding (4 ounces)
½ cup oil
½ cup water
½ cup creme sherry
1 cup pecans, finely chopped
4 eggs
BOILED DRESSING
¾ cup sugar
¾ stick butter
3 tablespoons sherry
3 tablespoons water
Place all cake ingredients in mixing bowl. Mix on slow speed for 1 minute, then on medium speed for 3 minutes or until well mixed. Pour into a well-greased and floured tube pan. Bake at 325°F for 1 hour. (Test to see if done with toothpick.)
Boil dressing ingredients 2 to 3 minutes. Pour over hot cake while still in pan. Let cake cool completely in pan.
—LUCY SEAL
Bea, this better be a quick meeting. That baby is just about ready to come, and I expect to be there with my family to celebrate its arrival.” Jessie was breathing hard, having walked briskly, as she entered the pastor’s study.
Spring was starting to show itself about the place. Flowers were beginning to bloom. The fruit trees were budding, and the cookbook was just about completed.
“It will be, I promise.” Beatrice had a stack of recipes and had made copies for all the committee members. “I don’t have a lot of time myself since I’ve got to start packing for my trip.”
Margaret was sitting next to Louise, who replied, “Here’s what I’m thinking, Bea.”
And they all laughed.
“I’m thinking,” she continued, “that you will be living in sin if you travel the European continent with a man to whom you aren’t married.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes and flipped through the pages. “It’s Lucy Seal.” She wasn’t paying Louise any attention.
“I’m thinking,” Louise kept on, “that Dick Witherspoon better be a decent gentleman and have two rooms for you in every hotel.”
“Do you mind, Louise? I’m trying to conduct a meeting.” Everyone could tell that she was enjoying the teasing.
“What’s the problem with Lucy Seal now?” Margaret hushed Louise.
“Let me guess, another pear dish swimming in wine coolers?” Jessie flipped through her copies.
Beatrice put Charlotte’s papers on her desk. She was already at the hospital with Lana and Wallace, but she had opened the church so that they could meet in her office.
“Worse.” She tapped the edges of the papers in her lap, trying to get them even. “Her friendship cake.”
“Mm,” Margaret responded. “That’s a tough one.”
“The last time she brought one of those to a women’s meeting, Byron Garner was dispatched four times, all alcohol related.” Jessie fanned herself with the pages.
“Peggy DuVaughn got pulled over by the sheriff for going over the yellow line,” added Louise.
“And we all know what happened to Vastine when he took a few bites.” Beatrice glanced around the room.
“Detox.” They all said it together.
“Friendship cake”—Jessie studied the recipe—“it’s such a hearty name for a cake. But exactly why is it called that?”
“Because sherry makes you friendly?” Louise asked.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “No, Hoochie Louie, I think it has to do with how much cake the recipe makes, that it’s so filling you have to share it with friends. And,” she added with resolve, “it lasts a very long time, well, if it’s kept in the refrigerator.”
“Yeah, but sherry does still make you more friendly,” replied Louise.
Margaret laughed. “I like it. I think it would be a great last recipe for the book.”
“Then we’ll keep it,” reported Beatrice as she read over the list of ingredients.
They all shuffled through the pages.
“We could add another recipe by the same name.” Louise said this tenuously as she raised her shoulders as if posing a question.
“Meaning?” Beatrice asked.
“Meaning, we have a real recipe for friendship cake, and then we make up one.”
“You mean, like those corny ‘happy home recipes’?” Margaret was surprised to hear this idea coming from Louise.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be corny.” Louise folded her arms across her chest, her papers almost falling out of her lap.
“So what would you put in a recipe for a cake of friendship, Ms. Pastry Chef?” Jessie put her copies by the side of her chair.
“Tenacity,” Louise said, half question, half statement, looking over at Bea. “You know, stick-to-itiveness, hanging in there with someone when she’s over the deep end.” She turned towards Margaret. “And loyalty, laughter. Lots of things.”
“Well, look who has gone and gotten all mushy on us. Here at the final meeting of the Cookbook Committee.” Beatrice loved the irony of the suggestion.
“Oh, don’t give her a hard time, Bea.”
The phone rang. Jessie walked over to answer it. “I think it’s a nice idea. Hope Springs Community Church,” she said.
The women were quiet as Jessie listened to the news. Tears filled her eyes, and the others weren’t sure if the news she was hearing was good or bad.
“Thank you. Thanks for calling. I’ll be right there.” She hung up the phone. “It was James.” She reached for a tissue. “It’s a little girl, and everybody’s fine.”
Margaret stood up and hugged Jessie. Louise and Beatrice gathered around her.
“I want to go on over there.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You think you can finish this meeting without me?”
The women nodded their heads and smiled.
“And I like the idea of Lou’s friendship cake,” Jessie said to Louise. “But I would make sure that one ingredient is included.”
The women waited while she handed Beatrice the papers, opened her purse, and pulled out her keys.
“Hope,” she said. And Margaret took Louise’s hand.
“Just like the name of this church and community and our newest, littlest member.” She turned to all of her friends. “Hope.” And she punched the air with her chin like the period at the end of a sentence and headed out the door.
Cooks’ Note: This recipe takes extra preparation and work.
You will need a bunch of love, the kind that is long-suffering and bears all things, the kind that does not keep score of mistakes or slips of the tongue. Blend this with a serving of patience and add the following ingredients.
A strong helping of backbone support is necessary, for friendship is molded upon an understanding that leaning is appropriate.
Fold in the promise to guard secrets and the willingness to tell one’s own.
Combine humor, the sweet taste of easy laughter, and a fiery brand of loyalty to keep the relationship firm.
A golden touch of the ability to sit in silence will add to the overall consistency, and a pinch of exuberant jubilation at the sound of someone else’s good news will add flavor.
Stir in a commitment of time and attention, and add a bit of surprise to taste.
Once the ingredients have been mixed together, treat this dish with care. And remember, this is the one cake that you can have and eat it too.
—THE COOKBOOK COMMITTEE OF THE HOPE SPRINGS COMMUNITY CHURCH
Welcome to Hope Springs!
Now that you’ve met Beatrice, Charlotte, Louise, Jessie, and Margaret, you can get to know them better through the Hope Springs trilogy. The second installment, Garden of Faith is available at your local bookstore now. And be sure to watch for A Clean Heart, in stores May 2003.
For ideas for your own book club, as well as tidbits and advice from the ladies of Hope Springs and from Lynne Hinton herself, please make sure to visit www.LynneHinton.com.
Friendship Cake Reader’s Guide
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. James returns to Hope Springs and Jessie allows her husband to move back into her home. Do you think a reunion is possible for a couple after being apart for so many years? What will it take for this marriage to work a second time around? How important is friendship in a marriage?
2. Louise mentions that funerals are an occasion for people to share food with the bereaved. What is your experience with food and funerals? What do you know about other cultures and what is done at funerals for families?
3. The marriage of Wallace and Lana causes quite a stir for the Hope Springs community. Have things changed in our society regarding interracial relationships? Do you think there are areas in the country where this is more acceptable than others?
4. Charlotte struggles with her faith. How comfortable are you with the notion that pastors might have such struggles? Are ministers held to a different standard regarding doubts and faith crisis?
5. Hope Springs Community Church must deal with issues of homosexuality, racism, and women in ministry. What do you think are the most pressing issues churches must deal with today?
6. Margaret says that, “a heart can hold sadness a lot longer than it can anger;” and that “sadness always outlasts the anger.” Do you find this to be true? Is sadness a more durable emotion than anger?
7. Louise confirms that she is comfortable with death. She says that she thinks that, “death is an appropriate answer to the equation of life;” and that she “can sit in a room, watch as death approaches, gently take the hand of the dying person and lift them in its arms.” Have you ever been with a person who has died? How would you describe this experience?
8. Jessie says that white women and black women have different traditions when it comes to cooking. Do you believe this to be true? If so, is this because of economically based differences or culturally based differences?
9. What are your thoughts about a woman minister? Do you know a woman pastor?
10. Rev. Stewart—Charlotte—writes about how she likes to imagine god as a cloud, a pillar of fire, as manna from heaven. What images of God do you find comforting?
11. When the Women’s Guild meets and the conflict ensues between Louise and Beatrice, the other women respond in nervousness and silence. How have you experienced groups of women to handle conflict? How do you think women handle conflict differently from men?
12. Do you think it was appropriate that Roxie should move to North Carolina and be cared for by Louise or do you think the “family” should have provided the care for her? Who, if you had to and were able to, would you choose to care for you if you became sick?
13. What are your thoughts and feelings about interracial relationships? What do you sense that Beatrice really thinks about Lana and Wallace?
14. Margaret claims that being a wise and trusted friend was better than being someone’s mother. Do you believe it is possible for a woman to be fulfilled without having children?
15. Charlotte is distraught after Brittany’s death and she asks her mother why God doesn’t hear her prayers. Have you ever felt like God doesn’t hear your prayers? Does her mother’s response to this question help you at all in your own faith struggle?
16. The men from the church coming to help clean off the sidewalks for the wedding was for the young pastor, “the picture of grace, undeniable, indescribable grace.” Name an event when you have seen evidence of grace.
17. Grace usually has to do with pardon, mercy, providing a gift of unmerited favor. Out of the five principal women in this story who do you think demonstrated the most grace? Why?
18. Louise is upset about the funeral service because she says that the preacher who did the funeral didn’t really know Roxie. What do you think are important elements to be included in a funeral service?
19. What makes a good friend? Who is your best friend? Why?
20. What are the ingredients you would include in your friendship cake?
Garden of Faith
The small North Carolina town of Hope Springs comes alive again in Garden of Faith, the sequel to Lynne Hinton’s bestselling and acclaimed first novel Friendship Cake. The ladies of Hope Springs Church have finished the cookbook that brought them together. Now these bonds are put to the test when the friends are faced with major life changes and decisions. Interspersed throughout are Bea’s Botanical Bits—unforgettable snippets of advice that help to cultivate the garden, as well as the spirit.
“Garden of Faith is an anthem to friendship—that indefinable binding of one to another that lets us survive loss, illness, fear and even death. To miss it is to deny yourself a small treasure.”
—Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of The Deep End of the Ocean
FROM CHAPTER 3
Margaret was waiting for an answer. The other women now stared at Jessie.
“Yes,” she answered seriously, “James and I are planning to move to Oakland. He has a sister out there who’d like us to buy the place next to her.” She moved around a bit, readjusting her position next to Louise.
“Jessie, how long have you been thinking about this?” Margaret knew this was a question everyone had on their minds.
“We started talking about it earlier this summer,” Jessie said. “At first, I didn’t think anything of it. But then, I don’t know, I figured it would be fun.” She tried to sound excited.
“When?” Charlotte just asked the one-word question.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Well, what are we talking about here?” Louise probed. “Fall, winter, next year?” Her voice was sharp, clipped.
“I don’t know,” Jessie said again.
Charlotte turned to Margaret, wondering if she was going to tell her news as well. Margaret rubbed her hands up and down her legs and shook her head as an answer. Beatrice noticed the exchange, curious about what secret they shared.
“Well, I don’t see how you could move before next year.” Beatrice decided against asking Margaret what was going on and spoke to Jessie. “I mean, you have to retire, you’ll have to clean out everything, you have to pack and get everybody settled. So that the earliest you could really leave is December, and you know you don’t want to move in the cold.”
Beatrice seemed to have it all figured out. At least if they knew it wasn’t going to be anytime soon that Jessie was moving, they could clear the air of this heaviness and she could share more of her photographs.
“Did you see the shots from when we went snorkeling?” She dropped her hands to her side and picked up the box again.
“Beatrice, we don’t want to see any more of your pictures. Frankly, the thought of seeing Dick in a bathing suit is more than I can take right now.” Louise tugged at the front of her shirt. “I can’t believe you’ve been thinking about this for three months and have not mentioned it to us.” She was hurt at Jessie’s silence.
The other women dropped their eyes. They felt the same way. Margaret, especially, felt a sense of betrayal that Jessie had not spoken of the possibilities. Hadn’t they just been together last week at the mammogram? Why hadn’t Jessie said anything then? And then she realized her own secret and figured that she had no room to make judgments.
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said. “I was still trying to get used to the idea myself.” She paused. “I like the idea of moving somewhere else. But it was hard thinking about telling anyone.”
Charlotte didn’t know what to say. She was as surprised and disappointed as the other women. Jessie was very dear to her. She was the voice of reason in the congregation, a person, like Margaret, that she knew would always find and tell the truth. She was solid, strong, and resilient. She held that community together; and Charlotte couldn’t imagine being in the church without her.
“Well, I think this is horseshit.” Louise was the only one not letting Jessie off the hook for her decision and her silence. And because these women knew Louise and loved her for who she was, even Jessie was not put off by her bluntness. “You’ve been considering this the entire summer and you haven’t let on, haven’t asked us what we thought, haven’t wanted our opinions. Well…” She stammered a bit. “I just think that’s horseshit.”
Still, the room was quiet.
Jessie faced her friend sitting beside her. “Okay, Louise, tell me what you really think about me moving.”
Louise didn’t skip a beat. “I think it’s horseshit. You let that man come back into your life after he walked out on you, and now you’re just going to take up everything and follow him to California?” She was not to be stopped. “Suppose he gets bored out there, then what are you going to do?” She hoped for some help from Beatrice and Margaret, but they were silent.
“Horseshit,” she said one more time.
“He’s my husband, Louise. I love him. And I’m not doing this because he wants me to. Sure, it was his idea. But I very much like the idea. I’ve never wanted to stay here.”
These words stung and the women showed as much.
Jessie realized how that sounded. “I don’t mean it like that. I love you all. I love this house and my community. But I’m not at home here either. I like to travel. I’ve always thought I’d move somewhere else, but then there were the kids and Mama and Daddy to take care of. I want to experience life in another place before I die. I want to go with him. But I also just want to go.”
“Well, I for one don’t need to hear any more. This hurts me, Jessie, and I’ll just have to be hurt for a little more before I can be nice.”
Louise made an exit before anyone tried to stop her. All four watched as she stormed out the door, and then they listened as she pulled out and drove away. An awkward silence followed.
“Horseshit, huh?” Jessie asked the other women. “That what you think too?”
Margaret forced a laugh. “It’s hard news to hear, Jes. You’re like a sister to her, to all of us.”
Jessie nodded without saying anything else.
“Well, look at the time!” Beatrice jumped up. “I have a husband of my own and he’ll be waiting for me.” She moved in front of Jessie. “I’ll help you however I can.” She reached out her hand. “And don’t worry about Louise; she’ll come around. I mean, she might not be pleasant, but she won’t stay mad.”
Jessie stood up and hugged Beatrice. “Don’t forget your pictures.”
“All right then. I’ll see everyone on Sunday.” And she bounced out the door.
“I guess I should go too,” Charlotte said as she got up from her seat. She walked into the kitchen and set her coffee cup and saucer on the counter behind her. “I can’t believe this, Jessie.” This was all she could say as she walked back into the room where the other women waited. She hugged her friend and then turned to Margaret. “You coming?”
Margaret shook her head. “I want to talk a bit to Jessie.”
Charlotte nodded and headed toward the door. She turned around and said, “Tell James I said goodnight.”
“Yes,” was Jessie’s response. The young pastor left. She went to her car and sat down, but she did not leave.
Jessie began cleaning up. She wasn’t sure what kind of reprimand she was about to get from her friend.
“Jessie, please, sit down.” Margaret remained in her seat.
“Margaret, I’m sorry. I should have told you,” she said as she went back to the sofa. “I just…” She stammered a bit. “I just…it’s just harder than I thought. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
Margaret reached over and they held hands. “I know,” she said.
There was a pause until they heard James moving things around in the back bedroom.
“That man!” Jessie said in exasperation. “His big mouth, and now if he wakes that baby!” She got up to leave, but Margaret held her hands tighter.
“Wait,” Margaret said. “I have something I need to tell you too.”
Charlotte watched through the window from her car as Margaret told the news to Jessie. She knew she shouldn’t be spying like that, but she had been so curious about what Margaret was going to do. After the ultrasound and then the aspiration and hearing the doctor’s recommendations, Margaret had decided to tell the group tonight. She was scheduled for surgery in two weeks.
Charlotte had sat in the room with Margaret as all the reports were read. She reached for and held Margaret’s hand at one point. But she felt incomplete, fragmented; and she had told Margaret so. “The others should have been with us,” she had said to Margaret, who had nodded in agreement. And they both decided at that point that, for the rest of the way, Margaret would let the other women be a part of the process.
Jessie sat back at first and then dropped to her knees in front of Margaret. Then Charlotte watched as Jessie pulled Margaret out of her own chair and into herself, and they stayed like that for a very long time.
The young woman folded her arms around the steering wheel. She wept while she watched two women, two friends, fall into each other and into the sadness and into the fear and the sorrow. She saw them rock and sit and wipe the tears and hold each other some more.
It was powerful, she thought, what women bring to each other in calamity. It may not be forceful or disciplined or organized. It may not solve anything or provide a linear direction for others to follow. It may not have the intensity or action that men’s responses often have. On the surface it might even appear sparse or meager, insignificant, small. Many will pass right over it, never even recognizing its strength. But Charlotte knew it to be what it was. It was the place from which everything else grew. It was rich and fertile, the foundation of life. It was the bedrock of faith, but one she knew she did not have when she had sat in the hospital room with Nadine. And she wished she could have offered what these women seemed to possess.
Having witnessed enough, the young pastor started the car and pulled out into the night.