Friendship Cake

by Lynne Hinton

  “Does the church have a written statement about alcohol use by its members?” she asked.

  “No,” Jessie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve never made a written statement about anything, but I’d have to guess that more than half the congregation would say that drinking is wrong.”

  “You think? Really, Jessie.” Margaret looked surprised. “I guess I’m naive about some things. I would figure most of the folks have a bottle of wine sitting around the house and that nobody would really have a problem with fruit marinated in hooch.”

  Louise was coming up the hall with Roxie, who overheard the last bit of the conversation and began to yell, “Hooch, hooch, who’s got the hooch?”

  Everybody laughed.

  “Not this bunch, Rox. This ain’t the hooch type, if you know what I mean.” Louise sat her on the bed and starting taking off her shoes.

  “You drink hooch, Louie?” Roxie seemed clear.

  Louise stopped and looked her in the face and smiled. Roxie hadn’t called her Louie since she had been in her house. “Oh yeah, I’m the queen of hooch.”

  Roxie tipped back her head and squealed. “You are the queen of hooch, Louie. Louie’s the queen of hooch!” And she clapped her hands together while the women laughed with her.

  “Louie, queen of hooch, huh? So that stuff we hear about Mrs. Bonner’s boardinghouse in town is all true then?” Jessie was intrigued.

  Roxie began to talk. “Oh, Louie could drink a fish out of its bowl. You remember the night we drove down to Fayetteville, Louie? You remember that drinking game you played with the soldiers?”

  She looked away from Louise and at the other women. “Louie drank every parachute jumper under the table. She was the last one to vomit. Way to go, Louie!” Roxie stood up and pretended to give a toast.

  “You must be so proud, Louise.” Beatrice was enjoying the story and nodded back at Roxie with her coffee cup balanced on her palm.

  “That was the night George gave me the ring, wasn’t it, Louie? We had a fight, and then he showed up at the bar and gave me a diamond. So while I was getting hooked up you were getting hooched up.”

  All the women laughed.

  “Good ole Louie, queen of the hooch.” Roxie sat back on the bed, winded from the excitement.

  “Yep, that’s me! Good ole Louie.”

  Roxie reached over and gave Louise a hug. “Good ole Louie.”

  Louise took a tissue and wiped Roxie’s nose. It was a bittersweet story that they were remembering.

  Beatrice cleared her throat. Somebody had to break the spell. “Well, Louie,” she said with a disapproving voice, “we still haven’t made a decision about Lucy’s recipe. I think Rev. Stewart should have the final word.”

  Charlotte pushed back a hair that had fallen into her face. “Then I say, keep it in. It’s not worth hurting Mrs. Seal’s feelings over it. If somebody gets upset about a fruit recipe, then we’ll deal with it when it happens. But, really, I can’t see much controversy about a cookbook.” She picked up her cup and took a drink of coffee.

  “Well, you should know by now that churches can have a controversy about anything. That Baptist church on King Road split over the picture behind the baptismal pool. Some thought Jesus should be coming out of the water, and some thought he should be going in. They had to go to court because the family paying for the painting got a lawyer. Split them right in two, and the lawyer is now the proprietor of the church.”

  Bea interrupted. “Well, I heard the preacher stirred everybody up by changing Sunday School from nine forty-five A.M. until after preaching. They say it was after that change that the whole baptismal pool incidence occurred.” Bea raised her eyebrows and nodded at Jessie.

  “So what are you saying, Bea, that altering the time of Sunday School made everybody stupid? This is the preacher’s fault?” Margaret always cut to the chase.

  Charlotte cut her eyes to Beatrice and listened closely.

  “No, well, no, I’m just telling the whole situation of what happened, or at least the way I heard it.” Bea was defensive but not rattled.

  “That’s the problem, Bea. The way you hear things is sometimes distorted.” Margaret seemed to take this issue personally.

  “Well, I’ve led us off on a tangent. Back to Lucy’s recipe, I agree with you, Reverend. Besides, we aren’t always intended to anticipate and prevent every conflict. Sometimes a good fight shakes a place up and reminds folks what’s really important.” Jessie nodded at Charlotte.

  “Or nobody learns a thing and the lawyer ends up with the building.” Margaret looked over at Beatrice. “Now what else is there, Bea?”

  Bea looked down at her notes. “Well, somebody needs to decide about headings. Do we put the fruits with the vegetables or with the salads?”

  “Vegetables.” Roxie and Louise said it together. Louise looked at Roxie, unsure of how it could be that she was so clear. “Why vegetables, Rox?”

  “Because it just sounds nicer. Now, I think I would like to give Ruby a call. Could you bring me the phone, dear?” Surprised at this sudden burst of clarity, Louise hurried out of the room and brought the cordless phone to Roxie. She dialed the number of Roxie’s daughter and put the phone next to her ear, but Roxie had already fallen asleep. She pulled the phone away, listened for a minute as Ruby’s machine picked up, then turned off the phone.

  Louise stood up and spoke quietly but with excitement to the group. “Maybe the social activity of this committee helped her. Do you think that could be it? Do you think us being together and discussing instead of just me speaking to her helped her remember better?” She was talking very fast while she ran into the kitchen to get her notebook.

  There was a pause. Margaret walked over to Roxie’s bed while Louise came back into the room. “Louise, I really don’t think there’s any pattern to this. With Daddy, some days he just knew and some days he didn’t. I don’t think you can write down notes and figure this out.” Margaret was taking off Roxie’s glasses and putting her feet under the covers.

  “Yeah, but did you hear her? She hasn’t been this clear, well, not since she’s come to stay with me. Maybe it was the talk about food. She loved to cook. She had tons of cookbooks. Maybe this conversation just brought her back to me.”

  Jessie began to clean up around where she was sitting. “I once had an aunt who in her later years couldn’t even tell you her name, but ask her a question about how to plant beans or when was the best time to harvest melons and she could be just as clear as a bell. She would know when the moon would be full and whether or not the tomatoes had enough lime in the soil.” She shook her head. “It was that way right until she passed.” Then she looked over at Louise as if she shouldn’t have mentioned death, but Louise hadn’t seemed to notice.

  “Okay, well, it’s getting late.” Beatrice seemed uncomfortable. “I just have one more question.” She was writing something down. “Is grits a vegetable or an old favorite?”

  “Somebody gave a recipe for grits?” Margaret shook her head and looked over at the preacher, who shrugged her shoulders.

  “Dorothy West said that her sister had a recipe for fried grits that would make your mouth water.” Beatrice took her last sip of coffee.

  “Who needs a recipe for fried grits?” Jessie asked. “You just take the leftover grits, put them in a loaf pan, and then put it in the icebox. When you take it out, you cut it into slices and dip them in flour and eggs, then you just stick them in the frying pan until they’re done. Don’t you do that with your leftover grits?”

  The women looked at each other stunned. “No, I stick mine in the microwave with a little water,” Margaret said.

  “I don’t eat grits,” replied Louise.

  “Well, don’t look at me,” Charlotte said. “I haven’t ever cooked grits in my life.”

  The women smiled.

  “We’ve been doing that with grits for as long as I can remember. I thought everybody around here knew about fried grits. I guess I wa
s wrong. This cookbook is going to be a community culture lesson for us all.”

  “Jessie, speaking of Dorothy West, is Wallace doing some work over there?” Beatrice had sat back down with her books by her side. She had heard something. Everybody could tell. Margaret rolled her eyes.

  “No,” Jessie said with a knowingness of Beatrice’s ways. “I think he’s become friends with her granddaughter, Lana. They’re in the same classes at school. He says she’s better in science and he’s better in English, so they help each other out. He’s third in his senior class at the high school, you know. Janice is real proud of that boy, and so am I. He’s gotten invitations to several of the colleges to come and visit, but I don’t think he’s made up his mind about what he wants to do or where he wants to go yet. Beatrice, since you’ve asked, do you have some concern about my grandson and who he spends time with?”

  Beatrice fidgeted in her seat, pulled at her chin, and picked up her papers. “No, Jessie, I just wondered is all.”

  “Your wondering, Bea, is sure an awful lot like nosiness to me.” Margaret was tired of the nonsense.

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve got to know that people will talk.”

  “What will people talk about, Mrs. Newgarden, I mean, Beatrice?” Charlotte was curious to hear an explanation.

  Beatrice looked around for someone else to answer, but Louise was busy filling in the pages of her notebook about Roxie, and Margaret and Jessie were staring at Beatrice, looking for an answer to the question.

  “Oh, come on, there’s no need to act naive, any of you. You all know what I’m talking about. Lana’s white and Wallace is, well, Wallace is…,” she stammered.

  “An A student,” Margaret answered. “And a fine young man and Jessie’s grandson. So I suggest that you tell any of your gossiping friends who feel the need to ‘talk,’ that two young people have the right to be friends and it’s none of their concern to comment or even notice. And, furthermore, a young black man can be at a white person’s house without doing manual labor in the backyard.”

  Jessie smiled and looked over at Beatrice, who was so stunned at Margaret’s challenge that she kicked over her coffee cup. Charlotte stood to help her clean up her mess, and even Louise stopped writing to see what would happen next.

  Roxie rolled over and began to talk. “No black people are allowed in the boardinghouse. It’s Mrs. Bonner’s only rule, but we can sneak her in the back when the old lady’s gone to sleep.” She yawned.

  “Yeah, Rox, we can do that.” Louise was at her side.

  “We can do that,” Roxie repeated.

  “I’m sorry, Jessie. I had no right.” Beatrice was flushed.

  “It’s okay, Bea. I knew the stuff that was being said. Years may roll by, but some things just never change.” Jessie glanced towards the window.

  There was an awkward pause.

  Margaret walked over to Louise. “Lou, I need to talk to you about staying with Roxie tomorrow morning. Cleo’s coming over to the house to check the chimney for bats. It’s the only time he could come this week, and I have to be there to let him in. What time is your doctor’s appointment?”

  Louise closed her notebook. “It’s at ten. But it’s no big deal; I can reschedule.”

  “No, don’t do that, Louise. Let me stay.” It was Beatrice, and the offer surprised everyone.

  Margaret and Louise looked at her, then at each other.

  “You never let me stay. I can take care of Roxie for a couple of hours. What time do you need me?”

  Louise stammered, trying to find the words to answer Beatrice. “Um, nine. I really don’t have to go, though. I can get another time. It’s just for my physical; I had scheduled it a long time ago, before, um, before Roxie came.”

  “Then you should keep it. It took me four months to get in to see Dr. Johnson. I waited for an hour, spent ten minutes with him, and paid a hundred and fifty dollars. Something’s dreadfully wrong with our medical system. But, anyway, you need to keep that appointment, and I’ll be back in the morning at eight thirty so you can go over any instructions. It will be fine.”

  Louise tried to respond, but before she could think of anything to say, Beatrice had put her cup on the table, cleaned up around her seat, picked her belongings, said goodbye to everyone, and headed out the door.

  “What just happened?” Louise asked.

  “Beatrice is paying for her sins,” Jessie replied as she gathered her things. “She’s actually trying to be your friend. It will be good for both of you to let her stay. Don’t you think, Margaret?”

  Margaret raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  “Well, I better go. Thank you for the goodies, Lou.” Jessie walked into the kitchen and back into the den.

  “Margaret, Reverend, have a good evening. We’ll see you Sunday.” She went over and spoke a few words to Roxie, then left.

  “Well, Cookbook Committee meetings certainly aren’t boring,” Charlotte said. “Ms. Fisher—”

  Louise interrupted her. “It’s Louise, dear.”

  “Louise, you’re doing a great job caring for your friend. If you need anything from the church, just let me know. Good night, you two.”

  “Here, I’ll walk out with you.” Margaret kissed Louise on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Louise shut and locked the door behind them, picked up the other cups and plates, and placed them in the sink. She turned out the kitchen light and hurried back into the den. She opened up the diary and began to write: “The Cookbook Committee met tonight. Roxie knew who I was, talked about the night in Fayetteville, remembered her daughter. I think there may be some improvement in her condition.” She dated the entry, changed into her pajamas, and came back to sit next to Roxie as she slept.

  Louise rocked in the chair next to the bed with a blanket pulled up around her shoulders, fighting sleep. Despite her attempts to convince herself that she was staying for Roxie’s sake, she was really hoping for just one more word.

  *

  Dorothy’s Fried Grits

  You must do some of this recipe ahead of time.

  1 cup grits

  4 cups water

  Flour

  2 eggs, beaten in a bowl

  Cook grits in water. Pour them into a loaf pan and place in the refrigerator. After a couple of hours, cut the grits into slices. Dip them in flour, then eggs, then back into flour again. Fry in grease until brown.

  —DOROTHY WEST

  *

  Margaret was surprised when she got home and found Lana Sawyer, Dorothy West’s granddaughter, on the porch, sitting on the steps. She parked the car in the garage and walked around front.

  “It’s getting late, Lana. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I can go later because my first class is study hour. I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you.”

  “Does your mom know where you are? Do you need to call home?” Margaret was unlocking the front door.

  “No. I don’t have to be home until eleven. They’re used to me being out late.” Lana walked in the house.

  Margaret closed the door and led the girl into the kitchen. “Want a soda or something? I have juice and cola and cocoa, if you’d like something hot.”

  “Yeah, cocoa sounds good.” She sat down at the table. She was holding her stomach.

  Margaret noticed and knew. Lana had to be more than four or five months along. How could no one have noticed? she wondered to herself. She heated up the milk while they talked about school and the teachers. Then Margaret mixed the cocoa with sugar and put it in two mugs.

  “I’m pregnant.” Lana said this as she stirred her hot drink.

  “Yes.” This was Margaret’s only reply. She pulled out a chair and sat down next to the young girl.

  “It’s Wallace Jenkins’s. We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year.” She took a deep breath, blew across the hot chocolate, and put the mug to her lips.

  “Who knows?” Margaret to
ok a sip herself.

  “Wallace, of course. He’s trying to figure out what to do. My best friend, Tina, and I’m pretty sure her mom knows. And I told the guidance counselor, Ms. Oakley. I haven’t had the nerve to tell my family yet. My mom and grandmother are going to have a cardiac.”

  “How far along are you? Have you been to the clinic?” Margaret knew that a lot of girls went across town when this sort of thing happened.

  “No. I guess I didn’t really believe it for a while. But I haven’t had a period in almost four months. I’ve been real sick too. Mama just thinks it’s a virus.”

  “Yep, it’s a virus all right.” Margaret smiled.

  “What do you think, Mrs. Peele? What should I do?”

  Margaret didn’t say anything for a few minutes. She was studying the girl. It seemed that already the pregnancy had aged her, not just physically but emotionally, maybe even spiritually. Lana was changed from the young girl she had been in Margaret’s Bible classes. Already the weight of motherhood was filling up her heart, changing her vision of the world.

  Margaret could see it. Lana had been empty in one moment and filled up in the next. She faced a future unlike one she had ever anticipated, and Margaret was sizing her up to see if she had what it took.

  Lana caught Margaret’s eye. “What you looking for, Ms. Peele?”

  “Courage, I guess.” She peered more deeply.

  “And? Do you see any?” Lana seemed nervous about the answer.

  Without a pause Margaret replied loud and strong, as if the very response made a difference. “Oh yes, child, I see lots of courage.” She reached up and brushed her hand across Lana’s cheek. “Your being here, that took courage. Your letting Wallace be a part, that’s brave too.” She cupped her hands around Lana’s. “You’re going to be a great mother; I can tell these things, you know.”