by Lynne Hinton
“Well, knowing that Rose Mary is needing our thoughts and concern, Jessie, would you open us with prayer?”
Now, if the truth be told about the Hope Springs Community Church Women’s Guild, most of the women would admit that they were not comfortable with Jessie praying. No one ever said anything about it, not because they were worried about being called racist, that thought never crossed their minds as a thing about which to worry. They didn’t speak about this mostly because they were less comfortable with having to pray themselves. And knowing that Margaret could get wind of their complaints and speak the truth—namely that if they didn’t like Jessie’s praying then why don’t they open up the meetings with their more appropriate prayers?—they kept their anxious thoughts to themselves.
They were unsettled with Jessie’s praying because they all thought that she prayed a little too desperately, a little too burdened. It made them feel like something was going to happen that they weren’t sure they were ready for. She had a hunger, a gnawing in her prayers that seemed to magnify the emptiness in their own spirits. And, frankly, that troubled them. They braced themselves every time she bowed, and even though most of them had been with Jessie for more than twenty years and were used to her pleadings with God, her voice, her words, and the way she shook her head still made them squirm.
Jessie stood and prayed. “O Holy Maker of Heaven and Earth, we beseech you to enter into our hearts and hear the cries of our souls. We acknowledge that you are slow to anger and quick with mercy, so forgive us our trespasses as we look to find ways to forgive those who trespass against us. We pray, O Holy One, that you are with our dear sister Rose Mary. May the goodness of your heavenly being comfort and abide with her sorrowing and anxious heart. We know, O God of Love, that you alone can heal us, so we pray that you place your hand upon our brother J.T.’s torn and battered body; and, if it be your will, make his heart and mind whole and bring him home to his loving wife and family. Our spirits are heavy with concern for our dear sister and brother. Take now this worry from our hearts and create glory for yourself in the healing of this one. And now may the grace of the Lord Jesus cleanse us from every sin and enable us to order our business at hand in the fashion of his words and deeds. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” She sat down in silence while the room swayed back into place.
“Thank you, Jessie.” Beatrice stood up from the table and read from the New Testament from the Book of James and then requested the treasurer’s report, which was read by Twila Marks and approved by the body of the Guild. Margaret read the minutes from the last meeting with no changes made.
Beatrice continued, “Moving on to old business. I sent the check to the Methodist church for their migrant missions project, and I sent four get-well cards to those who were mentioned in our last meeting. Is there anything that I missed?”
No one spoke up. She went on. “Then, still in line with old business, what’s the latest on the cookbook, Madam Secretary?”
Margaret blew a puff of air through her lips. “Well, Madam President”—she said this with a certain amount of flavor—“the latest is that I’ve got one recipe from all the members of the committee, one from the preacher, and Rose Mary’s squash pickle card that she sent before she went to the hospital. Let’s see, that makes eight. And I guess I don’t have to tell you, eight recipes doesn’t a cookbook make.”
Louise rolled her eyes and crossed her arms heavily about her chest. It was a gesture that everyone noticed. A breeze stirred from the window.
Beatrice paused, unsure that she really should say anything, unclear of where this was heading. “You look like you’re wanting to add something, Louise”; then she braced herself for the worst.
Louise was surprised at the opportunity to speak. She shook her head, then began. “I think you know my feelings about this little project, but being one who’s not afraid to state the obvious, Beatrice, look around you. There’s eleven women who come to these meetings. Eleven! And that’s when we’re all here. As much as I know you want us to do something, a cookbook is just not the best idea.”
The other women looked around nervously. Louise always pushed the envelope beyond the limits of Southern politeness. In their minds, she went too far, and tonight, even though they agreed with her, they all thought she spoke a little too quickly.
After a long and stunned silence, Jessie stood up. “Beatrice, I have to agree with Louise. We just don’t have what it takes to put a book together. It was a good idea, but only if we were a larger group. We just can’t do this by ourselves.” She sat down.
There was a long pause; another quick breeze poured into the room, and Twila got up to shut the window.
“So that’s it then?” Beatrice looked like an old party balloon. Tired and flat. In fact, the women were sure that she was going to cry.
Nothing. Only the squeak and pull of a window trying to be brought down. The women looked at their feet, into their hands, at the pictures of Jesus, but no one looked at Beatrice.
“There is no other opinion?” The Women’s Guild was silent. Thick with possibility but only silent.
“Well, since you’re all agreed, I guess there’s no need for a vote. And since I don’t know of any new business, the meeting’s adjourned.” Beatrice got up from the table, packed up her Bible and her devotional calendar, and headed towards the door. She was steady and unsteady all at the same moment. She turned back to face the surprised gathering of church women and with a thready voice said, “Oh, and one more thing, I quit.” She turned and placed her hand on the doorknob.
More than one gasp went up from the ladies. They had never seen Beatrice Newgarden be so defeated. They had never had a confrontation. They had never ended a meeting without refreshments!
“Wait just a damn minute, Beatrice.” It was Louise. “This isn’t a personal vendetta against you. We just don’t like the idea is all. Can’t you be president without having to have your way all the time?”
The women twitched and pulled at their dresses, at their hair. This was much too controversial for a meeting at the church.
Twila was still trying to close the window, though no one seemed to notice. “Could somebody please help me?”
Louise turned to the back of the room. “Good God, Twila, if you can’t pull the window down, just leave the damn thing open.”
Twila, being a polite and gracious lady, was completely caught off guard at such an attack from Louise. She could never remember actually having someone curse at her, and especially not at a Christian women’s meeting. Her bottom lip began to tremble, but she kept her back to the group.
Finally it was Margaret who spoke. “Louise Fisher, what is your problem? You haven’t done a thing since the first mention of this cookbook but bite people’s heads off. Maybe you should have stayed at home tonight.”
Louise looked at Margaret, then back at the wounded Twila, who was still trying with a very feeble attempt to push the window down.
“I’m sorry,” Louise mumbled. “Twila,” she shouted, “I said I’m sorry.” She got up and helped her close the window. Twila looked at her and nodded without standing too close.
“And now, Beatrice, come back here and sit down.” Margaret had moved to the front of the room. “You are not going to resign as president. You are going to hear our complaints about this cookbook project. And you are going to make suggestions about how we can get more recipes.”
Both Beatrice and Louise snapped their heads around to look at Margaret.
“Yes, we will do the cookbook.” She turned to square off with Louise. “And I suggest that if you’ve got anything to say about it, you say it now and you say it to me.”
Louise knew when she was whipped. And she was always whipped by Margaret. With resignation, she said, “Fine.”
Jessie gave a laugh while Beatrice moved back to the front desk. Without taking a breath she began. “I think that if we write a letter to all the families in the church asking for their
favorite recipe…”
Earnestine Williams interrupted. “You could ask other churches in the community. I expect the Lutherans and the women over at Union Grove Methodist could give us some recipes. Millie Townsley is a good cook from over there.”
Dorothy West and Lucy Jackson nodded in agreement.
“Yes, but if we invite the other churches to participate, it’s no longer our cookbook, it’s the whole area’s cookbook. What would that do to our title?”
“Title?” Louise asked as she went back to her seat. “You already have a title?”
“Well, nothing too elaborate or anything, just the Hope Springs Community Church Women’s Guild Cookbook.”
“Oh, that’s catchy,” Louise snapped.
“Beatrice, I have to go with Louise on this one, that’s a little too wordy.” Margaret had moved back to her seat as well.
“The point is not the title, the point is whether or not we want to ask for help from outside the church.” Jessie was always able to get right to the point. “And I suppose that if we ask for assistance from the other churches, then we’ve got to be ready to pay them a part of what we take in.”
“Is this about money? I didn’t think this had anything to do with money.” Sarah Clayton was the one to ask the question.
“Goodness no,” exclaimed Beatrice. “After we get through with the printing and the paper costs, there probably won’t be any money.”
“Then, refresh my memory, Beatrice, exactly why are we putting this book together?” Louise looked over to Margaret and shrugged her shoulders as if the question was innocent.
“Well, it’s because…” Beatrice stammered a bit. She had not considered, in her preparations for the women’s meeting, the possibility that she would have to share this aspect of the project, which, truth be told, she did not firmly grasp. She had made no notes on such as this. “It’s so that, um, it’s because we need to come together as a group and do something together, you know, as a group.”
“Uh-huh.” Louise shook her head. All of this was so beyond her.
“Oh, all right, Miss Louise Fisher.” Beatrice planted herself. She saw no reason to hold back anything else. It was the free-for-all that Louise seemed to invite and that Beatrice was now ready to join. “I thought this cookbook was a good way for us to work together, maybe spend some quality time together.”
Louise shifted in her seat and sighed, but Beatrice would not be turned away. She was not comfortable with the depth of the discussion, but she kept pushing herself deeper and further into the reasoning for the cookbook. Her face flushed and tight, she kept spilling out.
“I thought we needed something to…” Beatrice searched for the words. She was trying to explain in just the right way. Then she stopped and calmed herself.
“I thought maybe this might be the chance for us to become…” The corners of her mouth loosened. Her chin fell. Her shoulders rounded, and she took a breath. She dropped her head and studied the top of the desk, then lifted her face and spoke to the back of the room, the recently closed window, the pale green walls, and the women she had known for most of her life. “…for us to become friends.”
All of the women looked at Beatrice and then looked away. In that split second of softness, they fell back to a time of years gone by when they blushed more easily, laughed a little more quickly, and were surprised by tenderness. A wash of days when they loved their secrets and loved telling them even more. A time lost and forgotten when nothing was more important than sharing a dream with someone who knew everything about them. It was true and silly and sad. They had outgrown the awkward and simple ways girls become friends.
“My Lord, Bea.” Jessie had her chin in her left hand, and that was all she would say for a few silent minutes while the women hurried their spirits back to the things at hand. “I think you have a very noble idea.” She sat up tall in her seat. “I make the motion that we keep the cookbook in our fellowship and use the opportunity to collect recipes as a chance”—she smiled in the direction of Louise—“to learn each other a little better.”
Margaret nodded in triumph and touched the arm of Jessie, who was sitting next to her. “I second that motion.”
Beatrice was embarrassed. She had opened up the lid on her heart and now fumbled to tighten it back on. She replied quietly, “We have a motion and a second, any discussion?” There was a long and steady pause as everyone turned towards Louise. “Then all in favor say Aye.”
“Madam Secretary, please note that the Women’s Guild has voted unanimously to collect recipes from the members of Hope Springs for our upcoming cookbook.”
“So noted,” said Margaret, writing the words down in her secretary’s notebook. “Now, why don’t we adjourn for refreshments?” She closed the book and winked at Beatrice.
“I think that’s a great idea,” remarked Twila, and she hurried out the door to the kitchen to begin preparations.
“We haven’t had our program yet.” Beatrice shuffled through her papers. “But I guess we don’t have to do that tonight. After all, maybe some of us should go to the hospital to be with Rose Mary. Okay, then, the meeting is adjourned. Earnestine, will you lead us in a blessing for our food?”
Earnestine spun around to Jessie like she needed help and then led everyone in the Lord’s Prayer.
Walking towards the kitchen, Margaret came up beside Louise. She was going to give her the chance to let her have it. It was Margaret’s way to make amends, give Louise a clean and easy shot.
“Roxie has Alzheimer’s.” It was so blunt and quick Margaret wasn’t even sure she remembered who Roxie was. They walked through the hallway past the nursery until they came into the kitchen and stood together in front of the table where the refreshments had been displayed. Most of the other women were ahead of them.
“Twila just said that Sylvia Hilton had a lot of recipes from her mother’s diner over in Liberty, Fran’s Front Porch. Maybe we could borrow some from her. You know how folks love that place.” Beatrice came over and had returned to herself. She was filled with new air.
“That’s a very good idea, Bea.” Margaret turned to Louise, who poured herself a cup of coffee and walked around the table to stand next to Jessie, who was arranging cookies on a plate.
“Thank you for handling Louise for me.” Beatrice nodded with her chin over towards Louise. She sidled next to Margaret like they were somehow closer than before the evening began.
“I’m not quite comfortable with the notion that I handled anyone, Bea. And even though she can sometimes be a little obstinate, Louise did speak out loud what most of those women were thinking. She’s really not the enemy.” Margaret looked over at Louise, wondering about the announcement she had made about Roxie. Had she wanted some response? Margaret thought.
Just as she was about to go over and ask for more details, Rev. Stewart walked in the door. All the women turned and looked at her. They were waiting for the report on J.T. and Rose Mary.
“You all are eating a little early tonight, aren’t you?” Charlotte smiled, and Beatrice was quick to answer.
“We finished our business and decided to go ahead and have the refreshments. Have you had supper? Please, help yourself to something. And tell us what is happening at the hospital.”
Rev. Stewart looked tired. They were used to that. So her physical appearance did nothing to cause them to think in one way or another about J.T.’s survival. She was wearing a pale blue dress that was much too long. There was a stain just below the neckline.
“He’s okay. They were able to stabilize him and run some tests. He’ll have to have surgery, but they’re going to wait until he’s not in so much pain. Are those chocolate chip?”
Sarah nodded. She was proud that her cookies had been mentioned. “Sure. The ones on the top have nuts.”
“That’s really good news about J.T. Is Rose Mary at the hospital alone?” Jessie had walked closer to the table where everyone else was standing.
“No, the children had
come in by the time I left. After the doctor came and gave them the report, they were all going down to the cafeteria for some supper. So, how was your meeting?”
“Great,” replied Beatrice, not giving anyone else the chance to speak first. “We’re going ahead with the cookbook, and things are just great.”
Louise cleared her throat and drank down the last of her coffee. “Well, ladies, I’ve caused enough damage for one evening, I’m going to head home. Earnestine, would you like to ride with me?”
Earnestine looked around, surprised at her neighbor’s sudden announcement. “Um, sure, let me just get my cake plate.”
“Okay, so, good night, everyone.” Louise threw away her trash and walked back towards the meeting room to get her purse and Bible.
“Good night, Louise.” It was Twila trying to convince herself and the others that there were no hard feelings.
Louise nodded in her direction.
“I’ll call you later,” Margaret said. But Louise had already left the kitchen.
The women glanced around at each other and then looked away quickly.
“Wow, it is later than I thought.” Jessie was studying her watch. All the other women then looked at theirs as well. With sunlight lasting way into the evening hours, it was always a surprise to discover that the day was gone. It was 8:45.
Small talk continued well past 9:15. Twila and Lucy cleaned up the table while Beatrice made a little plate for the preacher to take home with her. Margaret and Jessie walked out together, the other women close behind them, and Beatrice and Charlotte were the last ones in the church.
“So, your meeting went well, I hope.” Charlotte walked to the sink to put her glass down.
“It was a bit rocky at the beginning, but we hung in there and were able to carry out the important business.” Beatrice was wiping the seats of the chairs.
