“But the good news about this recipe, no kneading. You mix the ingredients one day, let set in a covered bowl, let it rise, scoop it into a pan, let it rest, then in the oven. I like to slash the top, sprinkle on coarse salt, and bake it in a hot oven. Can’t fail.”
“You serious?”
“Now, would I lie to you? All the instructions are on that card. My son gave me the recipe. He’s baking bread all the time now. Folks think he is some kind of genius chef just because of that bread.” Tell her about the UFO group or not? Amalia decided to leave it ’til later as she noticed Lily staring at the bowl as if her head was too heavy to hold up anymore. “How about I help you back to bed?”
“I—I think my get-up-and-go just ran out the door. My land.”
“But you ate it all.”
“Step in the right direction. Beginnin’ to think I was never gettin’ out of that bed again.”
Amalia pulled the tray stand out and helped Lily to her feet. “The walker?” At the shake of her head, she put one arm around the woman’s waist and held her arm with the other hand. “We can do this together. Then I’ll park your friend there”—Lily snorted—“by the bed so you can use it at night.”
“Got the potty chair right by the bed so should be good.” Even her voice was fading.
“You call me if you need anything?”
“I will, I will. Thank you for comin’.” Lily sank down on the edge of the bed. “You want to push in that night-light as you go out?”
“You have one in the bathroom too?”
“I do but the potty chair and I are becoming buddies.” She collapsed on her side so Amalia lifted her legs and got her settled. “I’ll dump the pot for you.” Ignoring the stink, she did that and brought the rinsed pot back. “We’ll get someone in to help in the morning.”
“Thank you beyond measure. I prayed our Lord bless you and keep you strong. My daughter-in-law will be here Saturday and Sunday if I need her by then.”
“Good. You’ve got your phone. Has it been plugged in?”
Lily fought to keep her eyes open. “Right there on the stand.”
Amalia checked and plugged the phone into the charger on the wall. “You can still reach it, and you have your Life Line in case you need it?” Lily nodded. “Good, talk with you tomorrow.”
Amalia rinsed out the dishes and left them in the drainer, then headed back to check on Agatha. Since she was sound asleep, even snoring, Amalia took the stairs back to her floor and apartment. Good thing she’d left the Crock-Pot on warm so her soup was hot. Perhaps she’d better make up another batch of that bread. She clicked her phone to Pandora, and the Celtic harp brought more life into her too-quiet apartment. While she ate her supper, she opened her latest novel and picked up where she’d left off. Shame she couldn’t crochet and eat at the same time.
Were her eyes too tired for counted cross-stitch tonight? Her phone sang the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Gracie checking on her. At least she had family who checked on her.
Chapter Three
A UFO group? What in the world will you come up with next?” Ginny Clarkson asked, then smiled to herself and shifted her phone to her other ear. Roxie and MJ were amazing with their crazy ideas.
“Someone sighted an unidentified flying object over Wisconsin?” Her husband of forty years looked up from his morning paper and lifted his coffee mug in a silent request.
“Just a minute.” She held the phone with one hand and picked up the coffeepot with the other. After filling his cup, she warmed her own. The timer went off on the oven. “Look, MJ, how about I call you back after breakfast? The muffins are ready to come out. Trying a new recipe that, if you are good, I might bring you later,” She clicked off on MJ’s chuckle.
“What was that all about?” Fred asked.
“UFO stands for ‘unfinished objects,’ you know, like those in your workshop and mine in the sewing room.” At the arching of his eyebrows, she shrugged. “Okay, and the greenhouse, and the flower gardens, and the basement.”
“Don’t forget the barn.” He returned his attention to the paper.
“That can go on your list. We started that together.”
“Well, I can’t go any farther until you make up your mind which style you want.”
“Oh.” She’d conveniently forgotten that. Sometimes it was nice to be able to blame undone things on “I forgot.” Supposedly as one grew older, the memory lagged. His didn’t. Hers did.
Fred’s brow was puckered. “You know that chest of drawers I was working on? That’s been sitting in the corner how many years? You’re strong, but not strong enough to handle the frame while I dovetail the sides. Be nice to see that finished; the spalted maple drawers are such pretty wood.”
“I agree.” She turned off the oven and pulled out the pan of nicely browned poppy seed muffins to set on the hot pad on the counter. She put four in a napkin-lined basket and flipped the rest on their sides, still in the pan.
“You want eggs with this?” She set the basket on the table and slid into her chair. Her right hip grumped at her, a habit it seemed to be developing.
“What’s the matter?”
“The hip again,” she replied, “but too bad, I am going out to the greenhouse right after we eat.”
“You going to do something about it?”
“The greenhouse?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes and reached for a muffin. “You know what I mean.”
“I got a deal for you. I’ll talk to the doctor about this hip if you will talk to him about that episode the other day, you know, the one where you had a pain in your chest.”
“That was heartburn. I told you.”
“Right. All I ask is that you stop self-diagnosing and mention it to the one who knows more about that kind of thing than you do.”
“I told you, I’d get around to it after…” He glanced up, caught her over-the-top-of-her-glasses stare, and reached for the butter. “All right, you make an appointment for both of us and we’ll”—he put the emphasis on the plural—“go. Just don’t make it this week.”
“I will check both our calendars, but if I make it, you have to promise to go.” He’d been known to cancel for any number of reasons in the past, some of them a bit flimsy. But she had to admit, he was always busy. Not just on their place, but if anyone needed help, it was can-do-anything-that-needs-doing Fred to the rescue. She buttered her muffin and took the first bite. “Ahh.”
“They are good. How about some yogurt to go with this and maybe a bit of granola sprinkled on top?”
She smiled. “And blueberries?”
“Now that is a fine idea.”
“You sure you don’t want bacon and eggs with that?” Another eye roll.
“No, thanks, honey. That will be fine.” He was involved with the paper again. “Did you hear about that fire out by the park?” He read her the opening paragraph. “Can you believe that arson is a strong possibility?”
Ginny went to the kitchen, but on her way glanced at the bird feeder out the sliding glass door to the deck. She could hear a squabble going on. “The squirrel is back.”
Fred slammed his paper down, pushed to his feet, and muttering imprecations, some more colorful than others, banged on the door as he slid it open. “Well, you…”
She knew the squirrel was long gone, usually with a flick of his tail. Somehow being flipped off by a squirrel incensed her usually placid husband. She wasn’t sure which antics tickled her more—his or the squirrel’s.
After they’d finished breakfast, he cleared the table while she loaded the dishwasher, another of those daily chores they had learned to divide up to keep life flowing more evenly.
“If you have any commitments next week, you need to give me a list because I am calling the doctor next.” She added a hefty dose of firmness to her voice.
He was an expert at giving her disgruntled looks but only muttered as he retrieved his pocket calendar. Flipping through the pages, he finally said, “No morning
s, but Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons are free.”
“All right. Now remember, you promised.”
“Just say I agreed. You know how I hate making promises.”
“Nothing can push this out of the way,” she insisted.
“Just do it and make sure you write it in.” He handed her his calendar and headed for the bathroom to shave.
The brief conversation with her friend, Ann, the receptionist at the doctor’s office, lengthened when she mentioned the UFO meeting. Business done, she hung up and wrote, Doctor’s appt., 2 p.m., on Friday, May 5, in both their pocket calendars, then went downstairs to her office in the walkout basement to write it on her desk calendar too. She huffed a sigh. That Friday was taken. Now she’d have to change her afternoon meeting to some other time, all because she’d forgotten to write the meeting in her pocket calendar. She could hear their son’s voice: “Just use the calendar on your cell; you always have that with you.” Right, easy for him to say. Fred had tried it for a while but said he could do it ten times faster with pen and paper. Especially since she did most of his bookings.
Back upstairs, she tapped on the bathroom door and opened it enough to lay the book on the counter. “Two p.m., on Friday, May fifth. Maybe we can go out for an early-bird dinner afterward.”
“Why don’t you call and ask MJ and Daryl if they want to join us. I need to talk with him about that kayak he’s working on.”
“Okay, I need to return her call anyway.” At the rate I’m going, I won’t make it to the greenhouse till after lunch. She tucked her phone in her pants pocket, grabbed a denim shirt, and, whistling for Spook, headed out the door. “Come on, you big lug. And no, we are not going for walkies.” Their rescue Lab-Rottweiler cross grabbed his harness off the hook by the door. “No, we’re going to the greenhouse.”
“Spook can come with me,” Fred said. “I’m going to Tractor Supply for more shavings for the chicken house.”
When the dog heard his name, one ear perked up and his tail beat a tattoo against her leg.
“We’ll be out in the greenhouse when you’re ready. Come on, boy. Go find your stick.”
Ginny paused on the step and lifted her face to the warming sun. How she loved spring, especially after the winter that seemed to last forever. Spook brought her a stick and she tossed it out in the driveway. He’d been known to tear through a flower bed in a shortcut so she was careful where she threw it.
Fred had stopped to open the greenhouse door when he’d gone to feed the chickens earlier but still the moist warmth welcomed her. Even in February when Fred had shoveled a path to the greenhouse for her, she loved every moment of greenhouse time. She started various flowers, finally finding the lace ruffled pansy seeds she’d seen once, and other old standbys. State Fair Zinnias for height, Thumbelinas for borders, and several colors of newer varieties. Visitors could always tell zinnias were one of her favorite annuals. She set two gallon-sized pots on the bench and poured potting soil in the bottoms, then transplanted the Romas, Early Girl, cherry, and yellow pear tomatoes to the bigger pots and filled them with soil right up to the leaves so roots would grow all the way up the stem. Next planting would be in the ground, but she needed to wait until the danger of frost passed by. Wisconsin was known for frosts into May and even June once in a great while.
“I’m ready. You want anything from Tractor Supply?”
“Not that I can think of.” She wrinkled her forehead, supposedly to help her think better. “I had a list somewhere.”
Fred threw the stick for Spook. “Okay, then we are out of here. Come on, dog.”
She leaned out the door. “Did you get diesel for the tractor?”
“No. Thanks.” He detoured by the garage for the gas can. “You interested in fried chicken for lunch?” he hollered back.
“I am always interested in fried chicken, you know that.” She grinned to herself as she returned to her transplanting. Oops, forgot to call MJ back. She punched in the numbers and hit Speaker so she could keep on transplanting.
After the greetings, she could hear Looper barking in the background. She added, “Before I forget, I have extra tomato plants here if you want to come out and get them. Other starts too.”
“Let me ask Daryl. He’s been wanting to talk with Fred.”
“Fred wondered if you’d like to meet us for dinner after our doctor’s appointments in a few weeks. But maybe we could all go to the Purple Rooster for an early-bird dinner this Friday instead.” She could hear MJ and Daryl talking.
“Yes to the dinner and yes to the plants. How about later this afternoon to pick them up?”
“Good. Fred is on his way to pick up shavings for the chicken house. Sure is handy buying that in bales. See you later.” Ginny set a variety of tomato plants on one of the flats, added some flowers, and turned to the matching pots that always stood beside the front door.
They had the Fondy Flowers nursery fill all their hanging baskets every year, a unique service provided by her favorite nursery in the whole world, right near Fond du Lac. They would pick those up as soon as the frost was gone. So many things hinged on that magical date.
While she planted and potted whenever she could, Fred religiously gardened according to the routine of the old-timers who planted by the moon and the calendar. The produce from his garden fed their son’s family and half the neighborhood, besides all the two of them could can, freeze, and dry. Fred, especially, liked running the food dryer.
Like always, she totally lost track of time in the greenhouse, until she heard the truck drive in. Could it be lunchtime already? She stepped back to study the two big pots, nodding as she looked them over. When the grasses grew taller in the middle, the sweet potato vine trailed over the sides, and the coleus branched out, they should look about right. Every year she tried to add something different, and this year it was a new kind of coleus and the New Zealand begonias. She’d leave the pots in the greenhouse for a week or so to let the roots start growing, then harden them off in the shaded area under the elm tree. She grabbed her gardening diary, made sure the vents were open to keep the temp from climbing too much, and headed for the house. That same design would do well in the big pots by the church doors and she would have plenty of plants to do them. The thought of throwing growing plants away because she had no more room to plant them was anathema. But some years it happened. One year several of the tomato plants went ahead and grew in the compost heap when she tried to dispose of them.
Spook came bouncing out to meet her, as if he’d been gone for days. “I know, boy, you are sorry you deserted me, but face it, you would rather go for a ride in the truck with Dad than just about anything else.” She took his proffered stick and threw it down the driveway. “Except that.”
“Jason said to tell you hello and asked if you had any extra tomatoes.” Fred was setting plates and silver on the table. “Unless you’d rather eat outside?”
“No, this is good, the table isn’t washed down yet.” She hung her gardening apron on the hook by the door. “And tell Jason I probably will. If he’d come and get them before I transplant them again, like now.”
“I’ll call him back after we eat.”
She inhaled. “I do love fried chicken perfume.”
“I got extra coleslaw.”
“Smart man.”
As soon as Fred said grace, they helped themselves. Fred ignored two phone calls since several years earlier they had agreed not to answer cell phones—they no longer had a land line—during a meal.
“I’m going to ask Sam if I can pick the kids up after school so Andy can come spread the shavings. You want Addy to help you?” Andy and Addy were their son’s eleven-year-old twins, both of whom loved to be with their grandparents. Fred and Ginny had nearly raised them for the years their baby brother suffered from severe health problems so that their mom, Erica, could give Joey all the time he needed. When he went on home to heaven at three, the whole family suffered, as did their church family.
> “Of course, need you ask? Hmm, I wonder what kind of cookies Addy will want to bake today.” Although she was only eleven, Addy had already decided that someday she was going to have either a bakery or a coffee shop with home-baked goodies.
“You better have everything on hand. Think I’ll ask for peanut butter. We’ve not had those for a long time.”
“Let’s see, that UFO meeting is nine days away. I think after the group gets going, I’ll take Addy along; she wants to learn to knit.”
“Surely she can’t have UFOs yet.”
“Hopefully not, but she has our genes and you know Sam has UFOs around. The kids come by it naturally.” She watched ideas flit across Fred’s face. Wagging her head, she rolled her eyes. “Get the idea out of your mind that UFOs are a female thing. Men just aren’t as willing to admit they need help. What about that trailer you started how many months ago? ’Bout gardening time again. Would be handy for hauling stuff around.”
“I’m thinking to build removable low sides for it. Need to get a new tank of acetylene to finish welding the frame.”
“Why don’t you ask Sam to help you?”
“He’s got about all he can handle on his plate already.” The closer the school year drew to a close, the more frantic that shop department, trying to get all the students’ projects done by the end of the year. Sam taught shop, including welding and woodworking. He drew the line at automotive. Sometimes he gave continuing workshops both evening and some weekends for interested adults. More often, Fred was at the high school helping him.
“I’m going out to clean up my mess while you pick up the twins. Take Spook along or Addy will be on your case.”
“Was planning on it. Come on, dog.” Spook did not need a second invitation. He’d started his dance as soon as Fred took out his keys.
After she heard them drive out the driveway, she checked the peanut butter jar. Whoops. Should have done that before. Taking out her phone, she pressed his key. “Almost out of crunchy peanut better and bread too. Sorry.”
“Okay, we’ll stop. Anything else?”
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