by Darien Gee
Friendship Bread is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As of press time, the URLs displayed in this book link or refer to existing websites on the Internet. Random House, Inc., is not responsible for, and should not be deemed to endorse or recommend, any website other than its own or any content available on the Internet (including without limitation at any website, blog page, information page) that is not created by Random House. The author, similarly, cannot be responsible for third party material.
While all reasonable care has been taken during the preparation of this book, its recipes and the preparation and baking instructions contained herein, neither the publisher nor the author can accept responsibility for any consequences arising from the use thereof or from the information contained therein.
Copyright © 2011 by Gee & Co., LLC
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Gee, Darien.
Friendship bread : a novel / Darien Gee.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52536-9
1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Female friendship—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3611.I5834F75 2011
813′.6—dc22 2010048268
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Acknowledgments
The following people have helped make the town of Avalon and its wonderful residents a reality:
Patricia Wood, a good friend and fellow author who was so enthusiastic about Friendship Bread that she introduced me to her agent; her husband and first mate, Gordon Wood, who read the novel and (very neatly, in Adobe) annotated pages with useful comments; the Wirth family (Greg, Tina, Amelia, Eli, Masie), who gave us our first bag of Amish Friendship Bread starter and later read Leon’s passage to make sure I didn’t mess up the heavens or at least how one would view them; artist Mary Spears, whose friendship (and cooking) have been a true gift, for which I am very thankful, and her hubby, Phil Slott, who always knows the right thing to say. My dear friend Nancy Martin’s friendship is the basis of my books and this one especially—we are blessed when people whom we least expect become good friends. Her keen eye and honest emotional response to my novels have helped me become a better writer. Mary Embry keeps me grounded so I can do what I love, never doubting for a second that I can do it.
Darien Gee/Mia King friends and fans stepped up to help with reading an early draft of the novel, providing lots of helpful feedback: Anne Alesauskas, Kari Andersen, Linda Bass, RoxAnn Batovsky, Robin Blankenship, Susan Buetow, Linda Buron, Philip Carmichael, Kelli Jo Calvert, Bertha Chang, Traci Clark, Maria Cogar, Kelli Curtin, Jacqueline Graves, Elaine Huntzinger, Chris Hijirida, Marcia Hodge, Patricia Hopkins, Layla Johnston, Gaby Lapus, Wilma Lee, John Martin, Shannon Martin, Sharon McNally, Megan McNealy, Rose Milligan, Elaine Monteleone, Becky Muehling, Holly Nakfoor, Melissa Nichols, Kari Noel, Vanessa Primer, Vickie Sheridan, Val Stark, Jan Terry, Amanda Villagomez, Kathryn Wilkie, Philip Yau.
Writing a novel, of course, is only half the battle. Publication is another matter, the not-so-simple act of putting all the pieces together so that readers may have another good book to savor and keep on their shelves. Big hugs to Dorian Karchmar and her wonderful team at William Morris Endeavor who have championed the book here, there, and around the world: Rayhané Sanders, Laura Bonner, Raffaella De Angelis, Michelle Feehan, Tracy Fisher, Rachel McGhee, Margaret Riley.
At Ballantine/Random House, my heartfelt thanks to publisher Libby McGuire and my lovely editor, Linda Marrow. I know the sales and marketing teams worked hard to share their enthusiasm for this book, and I’m grateful for the many reads and editorial suggestions by Linda and senior editor Dana Isaacson. Junessa Viloria makes sure we’re all connected (since I am literally an ocean away) and the copy editorial team including Penelope Haynes and Angela Pica have cast a careful eye over the manuscript. Thank you all.
My appreciation to Lawrence Hsu, Monika Wiatr Kwon, Neil Morris, and Matthew Pearce, who have helped in countless ways.
My never-ending gratitude to Mia King readers who told me to keep writing so they could keep reading.
I’m lucky to be surrounded by a supportive family—the Hsus and the Gees—and my own little clan: my husband, Darrin Gee, and our three kids—Maya, Eric, and Luke. I love you all, and yes, this is what Mama was spending all her time doing (“You’re writing again? Are you ever going to be done?”). To answer that, I hope not. I love what I do, and it’s my wish that we all find—and do—the things that make our hearts sing.
Friendship is precious, not only in the shade, but in the sunshine of life.
THOMAS JEFFERSON
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue: Leon Ydara, 81 Amateur Astronomer
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Clinton Becker, 36 Copy Machine Technician
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dr. Norma Meehan, 37 Therapist
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Sergeant Robert Overby, 55 Avalon Police Department
Chapter 11
Clyde Thomas, 64 Pharmacist
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Bernice Privott, 58 Town Librarian
Chapter 14
Connie Colls, 21 Laundromat Attendant
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
A. A. Gilliland, 58 Bike Me! Shop Owner
Chapter 17
Gloria Hugel, 56 Fortune Teller
Chapter 18
Friend or Foe? Amish Friendship Bread Craze Takes Over Small Illinois Town: Reported by Edith Gallagher
Chapter 19
Oma Frank, 68 Part-Time Receptionist, Dental Office
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
The Start of Something Beautiful in Avalon, Illinois: Reported by Edith Gallagher
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Amish Friendship Bread Recipes and Tips
Reader’s Guide
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Leon Ydara, 81
Amateur Astronomer
Leon adjusts the 25mm Plossl eyepiece and swings his scope toward the heavens. It’s a clear night, perfect for stargazing, with a moon so bright it’s actually interfering with his night vision. He slips in the moon filter at 9mm and takes another look. Mare Crisium is simply beautiful.
Next he turns the scope toward the horizon, toward the crescent-shaped face of Venus. Then Mars in the southern sky. He can see the Cassini division between the rings of Saturn. Pleiades, the Orion Nebula. A satellite blinks across his field of view, typical at this time of year.
Leon stands back to change the eyepieces, taking his time to put everything back in its proper box. That’s the problem with beginning astronomers. They get so excited by what’s in the sky that they shove spare filters into their pockets, not wanting to lose a minute of time at the risk
of missing something. But it can damage the lenses, and then what have you got?
There’s a chill in the air. He buttons up his coat slowly, his fingers stiff. Old age is hard on the joints. Standing over his homemade Dobsonian telescope makes his back hurt, so when Leon gets tired he simply sits down on the lawn chair and takes out his binoculars.
Most people don’t realize that you don’t need an expensive telescope to see the night sky. A lot of backyard astronomers rely on only two things: a dark night and their eyes. You don’t need much else to see the best show in the world.
It was Marta who first turned him on to stargazing. They were at a party, each with different dates, each bored out of their mind. He found her outside, down the lawn from the party, staring up at the sky. Her russet-red hair tumbled down her back as she tipped back her head, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in the night air. Even in the waning night Leon could see her skin, clear and pale as moonlight.
“The Milky Way,” she said softly, pointing. He didn’t know her name, but looked up anyway. “Ursa Major—the Big Dipper. Ursa Minor—the Little Dipper.” Her finger trailed across the sky. “Orion’s Belt.” Three stars in a row.
It was winter 1962. Six months later they were married, her ring a constellation of three diamonds. Their only child, a girl they named Rosa, came one year later. She had her father’s dark hair and her mother’s fine features, their pride and joy.
Leon lifts the binoculars to his eyes. He should probably invest in a 10 × 50 pair, something with a broader angle of view and better optics, but he can’t let this pair go. Marta gave it to him for their first anniversary, and it means something to him to know that she held and looked through these very same lenses.
Over the years they’ve seen a lot. Planets, stars, comets, meteor shows, star clusters, galaxies, nebulae. The birth of their daughter, three miscarriages, four moves, numerous job promotions, the loss of both sets of parents.
His daughter, Rosa, and her husband, Jack, visit when they can. They live in Grand Rapids. Rosa will cook for days and then they’ll pack up the car with ice coolers and drive the five hours from Michigan to Illinois, arriving with enough food to feed Leon for a month. He tries to tell his daughter that he doesn’t need so much, but she doesn’t listen. Food has always been a comfort in their home, and it’s what Rosa does best. Just like her mother.
Rosa came for a visit last month. She and Jack are trying to have a baby, but can’t, and it makes Leon sad to see her sad. He tries to tell her that these things sometimes just happen, but he knows that’s a flimsy excuse. He’s an engineer by training, a scientist at the end of the day. He looks for the reason behind everything. When he and Marta were first together, she couldn’t believe that he didn’t believe in God.
“How can you not?” she’d asked, surprised.
Leon shrugged. “I just don’t.” The truth was, he didn’t really need God. He had all the answers he needed and didn’t think any more of it. Marta wasn’t religious, but she had a spiritual outlook on life that was contagious to anyone who came in contact with her. Even when she was sick, she held on to her beliefs. When Leon tried to contact every doctor, every specialist, anyone who could give her a different diagnosis, Marta had simply smiled, almost amused. She was too weak to argue with him, but her eyes were still bright and full of life.
In the end, she’d had enough of the doctors, enough of the hospitals, enough of the heavy medications that made her sick. She was okay with dying, even though Leon implored her to live.
“Oh, Leon,” she said. “I am so tired. My body is tired. Can you let me go?” She placed her hand against his cheek while he cried.
So they stopped the chemo and moved her home so she could be in her own bed and see the stars. She slipped away two weeks later.
On her tombstone he wrote MARTA YDARA, BELOVED WIFE, 1935–1995. And beneath it, her favorite quote, which he reads aloud every time he visits her grave.
THE TRUE HARVEST OF MY LIFE IS INTANGIBLE—
A LITTLE STAR DUST CAUGHT,
A PORTION OF THE RAINBOW I HAVE CLUTCHED.
Henry David Thoreau
Leon lowers his binoculars. The lenses are fogging up. It happens. Some nights the equipment won’t work right, or the weather won’t cooperate. The night sky teaches you patience.
He turns to cast an eye over his neighborhood. At this hour families are tucking their children into bed, ready for the quiet relief that graciously accompanies a long day even though there will be dishes to wash, toys to pick up, lunches to be made. This is part of what keeps Leon here in Avalon, in this house. The house itself is much too big for an old man like himself, but he has secretly fallen in love with the people who surround him, their familiar faces, their history now a part of his own. They remember Marta, her laugh that put everyone at ease, made everyone smile. There are still so many wonderful Marta stories they share—every now and then he is reminded of a memory long forgotten—and it fills his heart with unexpected joy, like a child discovering a silver dollar beneath his pillow the morning after losing a tooth.
He imagines Marta watching over them, over the sadness that hangs over one house that used to be filled with laughter, and he wishes she could tell him how he can offer comfort, if such a thing were possible. There are so many unspeakable tragedies, things that are over in a moment but leave so much unhappiness in their wake, lives put on hold, families torn apart.
What do you think, Marta? What is there left to do?
He feels her warm breath on his neck, a tickle, a hint of a smile.
Oh Leon.
He feels her chiding him, or is it his own foolish mind beginning to fail? Leon is practical about this. He has seen death take the people he loves as it will one day take him. There is no use in arguing … or is there?
He reaches for his mug of hot water, picks at the crumbs of the cake he’s been making since Rosa’s last visit. Now that he is in the dusk of his life, Leon has time to indulge in such thoughts. After everything that has happened, does he believe in God? That is the question, perhaps the only one that really matters. How can anyone be absolutely positive that God exists? Is there a God, yes or no?
He feels his head tip back as he is startled by a sudden realization. He wants to burst out in laughter.
The answer is there—in the stars, in the universe, in the galaxies.
You just need to look up.
AMISH FRIENDSHIP BREAD
NOTE: Do not refrigerate the starter. It is normal for the batter to rise and ferment. If air gets in the bag, let it out. DO NOT use a metal spoon or bowl for mixing as it will interfere with the fermenting process.
Day 1: DO NOTHING
Day 2: Mash the bag
Day 3: Mash the bag
Day 4: Mash the bag
Day 5: Mash the bag
Day 6: ADD to the bag: 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar, 1 cup milk.
Mash the bag.
Day 7: Mash the bag
Day 8: Mash the bag
Day 9: Mash the bag
Day 10: Follow the directions below
1. Pour the entire bag into a nonmetal bowl.
2. Add: 1½ cups flour, 1½ cups sugar, 1½ cups milk.
3. Measure out four separate batters of 1 cup each into four one-gallon Ziploc bags.
4. Keep one of the bags for yourself, and give the other bags to three friends along with the recipe.
REMEMBER: If you keep a starter for yourself, you will be baking in 10 days. The bread is very good and makes a great gift.
CHAPTER 1
I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.
Julia Evarts looks up from the paper in her hand and studies the gallon-size Ziploc bag. Inside is a substance that reminds her of dry-wall compound, except it’s much pastier and filled with tiny air bubbles. It would have gone straight into the trash had Gracie not been standing beside her, eyes wide with curiosity.
“Mama, can I try one?” Gracie asks. She holds up a china plate decorated with pansies and ro
ses. Several slices of what looks like banana bread are fanned out on the plate and covered with plastic wrap. Gracie was the first to spot it when they pulled up to the house—the plate, the Ziploc, and the accompanying instructions for “Amish Friendship Bread” sitting on their front porch. There was no card, only a yellow sticky note with the five words written in shaky cursive.
For a moment Julia was confused—had the weekly meals started up again? Not that she’d mind having a casserole to serve for dinner tonight, but this? This smelled suspiciously like a chain letter, with the added headache of having to bake something. Julia can’t remember the last time she’d baked something.
Gracie tears off the plastic wrap before Julia can stop her. “This looks good!”
Julia has to admit that it does look good. It’s coming up on 3:00 P.M., time for an afternoon snack anyway, and as usual she hasn’t thought this far ahead. She has no idea how other mothers do it, or how she managed to pull it off before.
“Gracie, hold on. Let’s get inside first.” Julia unlocks the front door and ushers her five-year-old daughter inside.
She puts their things on the kitchen island and then opens the fridge. It’s pretty bare because Julia has forgotten to go grocery shopping, and there’s no milk. She doesn’t want to have to go out again, so she pours Gracie a glass of water from the tap and heats up the remains of this morning’s coffee for herself.
“Now?” Gracie is practically bouncing in place.
They eat straight off the plate, using their fingers. It’s not banana bread or like anything Julia’s ever tasted before. It’s moist and sweet with a hint of cinnamon. It hits the spot, as unexpected kindness always does, and soon there is only one slice left.
“I bet Daddy would like it,” Gracie says. Her fingers have crumbs on them, and she licks each one.
