by Karen Kelly
“Come to think of it, the first time Herb mentioned getting serious was after I fed him some of this soup,” mused LeeAnn.
Joanna stared at her bowl and leaned over toward her mother. “Mama, you won’t forget to give me the res-pee, will you?”
“Grandma and I will make sure you carry on the family soup tradition,” LeeAnn said, keeping her chuckles on the inside.
John snorted. “It’s gonna take more than soup to get some guy to marry you!” He popped the last corner of his sandwich into his mouth.
Before Joanna could follow up her scowl with words, Annie deployed a diversionary tactic. “John, since you’ve finished your lunch, you may ice your whoopie pie. Keep in mind the cream has to fill eighteen pies. And please make one for your sister with just as much icing as yours.”
His father added, “And Joanna’s whoopie pie needs to be accompanied by a request for forgiveness for those unkind words, John.”
“OK,” John answered quietly, eyes downcast. He stood up, first taking his bowl and plate to the sink. He took two dessert plates from the stack by the bowl of cream and selected four of the biggest cookies. By the time he had finished slathering the cookies with the white cream and pressing them together into the pies, Herb was ready for his turn at the bowl.
John carried the two plates to the table. He set one in front of his sister, cleared his throat and said, “Joanna, I’m sorry ’bout what I said. Will you forgive me?”
Joanna stared at the whoopie pie, thinking. Her parents always taught that you didn’t say you forgave someone unless you meant it. She wanted to mean it, but it was hard. A few long moments later she nodded. “I forgive you.” Then she picked up the whoopie pie and took a bite.
The weight lifted, John murmured, “Thanks,” and plopped down in his chair, making fast work of his whoopie pie.
After Joanna took a second bite, Annie noticed her face grew serious again as she chewed. “Is there something wrong, Joanna?” she asked, wondering if her brother’s teasing was already coming back to haunt her.
“I just thought about John’s friend, Jacob. You know, the one with celery disease.” A long sigh trailed from her. “He will never know how awesome a whoopie pie tastes. Not in his whole life. That’s sad!”
John examined the remaining morsel of his dessert clamped between thumb and pointer finger, contemplating his friend’s celiac disease. “Yeah, it is.” Then his face brightened. “But Jacob can have M&Ms and some kinds of chocolate bars. That’s what his mom brought to class for his birthday.” Though twins, John and Joanna were in different classrooms at school.
Herb glanced at his watch. “We need to finish up our meal and start taking the suitcases to the car soon.”
“I’ll pack up the rest of the whoopie pies while y’all make sure you don’t leave anything behind,” said Annie.
For just an instant Annie regretted that she was what her family would be leaving behind.
5
The congregation of Stony Point Community Church stood as Reverend Wallace gave the benediction: “Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times in every way. The Lord be with you all.”
Annie turned to Alice while the church pianist played the postlude. “Would you like to come for lunch? With the kids gone, there’s a little too much peace for my comfort.” Annie bent down to restore a hymnal to the rack attached to the back of the pew in front of her. “Be warned, though. Leftovers from Thanksgiving are on the menu.”
Alice picked up her Bible from the padded pew. “You say that as though it’s a negative. My mouth is watering at the chance to have more of the cranberry nut stuffing with the ginger-glazed turkey. Wicked combination. Wish I’d thought of it.” She followed Annie into the aisle, and the two friends made their way toward the double door of the sanctuary where Reverend Wallace stood greeting everyone.
“Sadly, not one teaspoon of the sweet-potato casserole you made is left,” Annie said as she waved across the room to the Steiners, who owned Stony Point’s shoe-repair shop. “The twins gobbled it all up like it was their last chance to have sweet potatoes for the rest of their lives! And of course, I had to make them a batch of whoopie pies before they left.”
Alice chuckled. “What good is it to come to Maine, if you don’t leave with whoopie pies—right?” She stretched her hand out to Reverend Wallace. “Good morning, Reverend. Thank you for your sermon today.” Lifting the church bulletin she held in her hand, she showed him the blank back page she had filled with notes. “I think I’ll be referring to these often.”
The minister’s smile widened. “Music to my ears, Alice. Not everyone appreciates sermons on humility.” He next grasped Annie’s extended hand. “Annie, it was a pleasure to meet your family. Have they arrived safely back in Texas?”
“Yes, Reverend, they have,” Annie answered. “The storm delayed their departure, and it was very late by the time they made it home last night. We’re all thankful they have today to rest before school and work tomorrow.”
“Oh good.” Reverend Wallace nodded farewell before turning his attention to the next person exiting the sanctuary.
Each had driven her own car, so while Annie went home to Grey Gables to begin fixing lunch, Alice drove to her cozy home—the former carriage house of Grey Gables, which was right next door—to park her car and drop off her purse and Bible. As she walked up the well-worn path from the carriage house to Grey Gables, Alice had to step over some debris left by the storm, and resolved she would take time to clear it up the next day.
“Hi, Boots,” Alice greeted the cat when she entered the kitchen, reaching her hand down so Boots would come for a chin rub, if she so desired. After Betsy Holden had died, Alice had given Boots a home until Annie arrived in Stony Point to take possession of both Grey Gables and the gray feline. Boots padded over to her former foster-human and nudged against her hand. “Did you enjoy your visitors?”
Annie withdrew her head from the refrigerator where she’d been pulling out items for lunch. “Her response was as changeable as the Gulf of Maine,” Annie responded. She set a container of stuffing and a bowl of cranberry sauce on the counter. “Sunny one minute and stormy the next. By the end of the week, John and Joanna had learned how to read her moods and knew when to give her some space.” Reaching back into the refrigerator, she grabbed the turkey, squash casserole, and green beans.
Alice gently rubbed under Boots’s chin. A bemused look took over Alice’s face. “I wish it only took a week to figure out my mother’s moods,” she said. “I’ve been puzzled about her for more than 40 years, and I still don’t have a lock on her.” Giving one last pass over the cat’s sleek back, she straightened up. “Shall I set the table?”
“Sure.” Annie turned the oven to a temperature suited for warming and slid a covered pan of leftovers inside. “Anything new going on with your mother?”
Alice washed her hands at the sink and then opened the cutlery drawer and selected a set for each of them. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell. It’s getting to the point where I can’t tell if she’s still using selective remembrance to make a statement, or if she truly has CRS disease.” She took two large plates and two small ones from a cabinet and carried them to the table.
“CRS disease?” Annie asked, eyebrows raised. She set the teakettle on a back burner and turned it to the highest setting.
“Can’t Remember Squat.”
“Oh.” Eyebrows lowered. “Doesn’t every female her age have that? Sometimes I think I have it.” Annie thought back to the week before when she’d rushed upstairs to retrieve something but couldn’t remember what as she stood bewildered in the hallway outside her bedroom. It had taken her a full two minutes to recall what she had wanted.
Alice shook her head. “No way you’re even remotely close to having CRS, Annie. You’re still sharper than kids half your age.” The table set, she sat down.
“Mother has always shown disapproval for parts of my life or personality through her memory, or lack of it.” A
lice placed a perfectly manicured hand with rings on each finger over the knife by her plate, slowly flipping it over and over. “She never could remember the names of certain boyfriends, always calling them different names, even to their faces. To this day she mangles the companies I represent. You’d think Divine Décor and Princessa jewelry were in Swahili or Mandarin. It’s her way of chiding me for not being a lawyer or doctor, or at least the wife of one of those. Yesterday she asked me if I could fly down next week and help her decorate for Christmas.”
Annie spooned several teaspoons of loose tea leaves into a tea ball and lowered the ball into a white teapot decorated with poinsettias. “Hmmm, I see what you mean. How many years have you been a consultant?”
“Ten full-time years and five part-time before that. Have I ever been a doctor or lawyer type?”
“Well, I have seen you resuscitate more than one ailing living room or bedroom since knowing you.” Annie switched off the back burner and poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot. “Remember that summer you interrogated me about my room in Texas? I had to tell you exactly everything I had in it and where they were placed, as well as where the windows and door were positioned.
“And I gave you a detailed floor plan drawing to take home and rearrange it,” Alice finished.
“Then you sent me magazine clippings of curtains, bedspreads, and lamps that you thought were more ‘me.’” The edges of Annie’s mouth turned up. “You were right too. I loved everything you suggested, but missionaries rarely have decor changes in their family budgets.” Annie set the teapot on a trivet in the middle of the table and turned back to the oven to retrieve their lunch. “It was kind of a no-brainer that you would end up in a creativity-driven career.”
“If only Mother could embrace that fact too. Obviously she hasn’t, or she wouldn’t bother asking me to come during the two busiest weeks of the business year.” Alice grimaced. “Maybe I’m being judgmental, and Mother is simply becoming more forgetful.”
Annie placed a platter of turkey and bowls of side dishes on the table and sat down. “Have you had a chance to talk to Angela lately? Surely, if your mother were beset with any particular ailment—like Alzheimer’s—your sister would share it with you.” When Alice remained silent, Annie glanced at her face. “Wouldn’t she?”
“Not necessarily,” Alice admitted. She speared a slice of turkey breast, transferring it to her plate. “Angela is younger than I am, but I think she has always compensated for that by being the ‘take control’ kind of person. She took perfectionism to a level completely incomprehensible to me, and she used it as a way to show me she didn’t need my help.” Alice dug the serving spoon into the cranberry nut dressing, placed a hearty portion next to the turkey. “After Dad died, and Mother needed more support, I thought surely she’d welcome my help.” A scoop of cranberry sauce gently landed on top of the turkey. “Instead, she convinced her executive husband to transfer to Florida so Mother could have—how did she put it?—‘a stress-free retirement.’”
“Did Angela know you wouldn’t be able to relocate?” Annie filled Alice’s cup with steaming oolong tea.
Alice nodded her thanks. “She knew the companies I represent were northern companies and based on networking. She also knew by then my marriage was on rocky ground. I got the distinct impression it was a large part of the stress she wanted to relieve for Mother.”
Having filled her own cup, Annie set the teapot back on the trivet and reached over to lay a hand on her friend’s arm. “Alice, please don’t believe Angela’s actions reveal anything but her own personal struggles. You are one of the most supportive people I’ve ever known. Your sister is robbing your mother, as well as herself.”
Alice considered Annie’s words as she chewed her food. “I agree with you that Angela’s actions are self-influenced, but it still hurts. Reverend Wallace’s sermon got me thinking, though. I need to change how I react to both Angela and Mother. I realize I’ve let my pride rule me as much as Angela’s perfectionism rules her.”
“Pride—the proverbial sugar in the gas tank of relationships.” Annie shuddered. “Now I see why you said you’ll be rereading your sermon notes. I hope they help you know how to love both your mother and sister.”
“You and me both.” Alice raised her cup for a sip of tea. “But enough about me. What’s your next project with the family back in Texas?” She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the tension of her emotions leave her.
Annie cocked her head toward the back door. “You’ll have to see the big piece of driftwood in the mud room.”
“Driftwood? What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to see if Wally can make it into a lamp for the twins. I’d love to send it to them for Christmas.”
Alice cut another bite-sized piece of turkey. “That’s a cool idea, Grandma.”
“I can’t take the credit for it,” Annie admitted. “We played all afternoon in the attic on the day of the nor’easter, and the kids found an old driftwood lamp up there. When they found the wood on the beach, they asked me if it could be made into a lamp.”
“Annie’s attic strikes again!” Alice speared the turkey and a dollop of dressing, popping it into her mouth.
“It struck with more than a driftwood lamp.”
Alice’s blue eyes, which had closed in her enjoyment of the food, opened wide again. She swallowed. “Really? Another mystery?”
“Maybe,” Annie said slowly. “The lamp was sitting on top of an old Bible. Turns out it belonged to Grandpa’s Uncle William. From the inscription page, I think it was used during his years as a Superior Court judge for Cumberland County.”
“What was it doing in the attic?” Having helped Annie organize the extensive library of Grey Gables after Betsy’s death, she was well aware it was the usual location for the family’s books.
“My question exactly.” Both their plates empty, Annie moved them to the sink and then brought the chocolate mousse she’d made earlier to the table from the refrigerator. “Of course, I brought it down from the attic, and I put it in my bedroom. After the kids had gone to bed, when I was doing my nightly Bible readings, I noticed something.” She pulled two bowls down from the glass-front cabinet. “Several somethings, actually.”
“Such as?” Alice leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands.
“Notations alongside underlined verses.” Annie scooped several spoonfuls of mousse into each bowl. “Oh, and the notations are not in English.”
“What are they in?”
“At first I thought it was French, and then I thought it was Italian. Now, I’m thinking it’s Latin. Would you know Latin, if you saw it?”
“I wouldn’t know Latin if it bit me. I didn’t take Latin in school—you know, not being the doctor or lawyer type,” said Alice. “But I might be able to recognize it or at least verify if it is or isn’t Spanish since I did take that in high school.” She glanced around the table. “Why don’t I wipe the table clean while you get the Bible? I promise to eat dessert neatly.”
Annie hurried upstairs to her bedroom to retrieve the heavy Bible from her nightstand. When she reentered the kitchen, Alice was running a dry towel over the table to absorb any remaining moisture from her cleaning efforts.
“Wow, it’s almost as huge as the family Bible in the library,” Alice marveled when Annie placed it on the table in front of her. She scooted her chair over so both of them could see the pages. “Where are the notations?”
“All over the place.” Annie gently turned the pages. “They start in Exodus and are scattered all the way to Revelation.” Her turning hand stopped. “Here’s the first one, Exodus 22:22: ‘Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child.’ See how it’s underlined in blue ink, and the notation here?” Annie skimmed her little finger underneath the handwritten words, bellis perennis and filia.
Alice bent close to the page, examining the writing and underlined verse. “You could pull out that verse
when persistent telephone marketers get annoying.”
“Ha! I’m sure quoting scripture would be so effective. Do you recognize the words?”
“It’s not Spanish, as far as I can tell. You might be right about it being Latin. Let me see more.”
“There’s something on the next page.” Annie turned over the page with a gentle touch. “No notations on this one, so I don’t know yet if it fits with the others.”
She read aloud: “‘Thou shalt not raise a false report: put not thine hand with the wicked to be an unrighteous witness.’”
“Important verse for a judge. Maybe William was reminding himself of what the judicial system is meant to do,” Alice suggested.
“Maybe,” said Annie, “but later verses don’t fit with that theory.”
“Do you want me to help you input the verses and notations into a computer document?”
Annie nodded. “Great idea. It’ll save wear and tear on the Bible. I could make a spreadsheet!” Annie’s eyes danced in anticipation.
“Spoken like a true accountant.” Alice tried to hide a giggle, unsuccessfully. “Your love of spreadsheets is a little scary.”
Annie stood. “Is it really very different from your room plans? The laptop’s in the living room. Be right back.”
“Touché.” Alice smiled at her friend’s back as she left the kitchen. By the time Annie returned with the computer, she’d refilled their teacups, checking to make sure the liquid was still hot enough to enjoy.
For the next two hours the two women were lost in their work. Alice paged through every chapter of each book and read aloud the underlined verses with any notations accompanying them, while Annie inputted them into the spreadsheet. At last Annie typed in the final verse, Revelation 18:17: “For in one hour so great riches is come to nought. And every shipmaster, and all the company in ships, and sailors, and as many as trade by the sea, stood afar off … .”
Alice closed the Bible, her head spinning. “Whoa! That was some whirlwind tour Uncle Will took us on.”
