A Memory Worth Dying For (15 page)

Marti laughed out loud. “Oh Stella, I’ve missed you.” She moved toward Stella.

Stella laid down the recipe file she was holding and turned around to give Marti a big bear hug. Stella was shocked at the emotion that one little hug stirred in her heart. She squeezed extra hard and was shocked at what she felt. The poor little thing needed more fat on her bones. Tears threatened to form, but she cleared her throat instead and thrust some force behind her words.

“My word, child. You need to eat a lot more of my cooking. If you get any thinner, you’ll have to rent a shadow.”

Marti laughed. “I hate to cook for just me, Stella. And, I never was the best cook in the world.”

Stella pulled out a four by six card from her file and waved it in front of Marti. “Well, we’re going to fix that . . . starting right now. I’m going to teach you how to make your favorite dessert. You go to the fridge and pull out those fresh peaches I’ve been saving. We’re about to make a peach cobbler.”

“Really? Do you mind? I’ve longed for your peach cobbler so many times I can’t even count them.”

“It’d be a pleasure, child. Now you get the peaches, and bring the milk and two sticks of butter too.”

Stella pulled canisters of self-rising flour and sugar out of the cabinet and grabbed a fifteen by ten inch casserole dish from the cabinet beside the stove. Then she opened two sticks of butter and laid them in the bottom of the glass pan and stuck it in the oven, right under the roast beef.

Stella pulled two paring knives from the drawer and handed one to Marti. “Let’s get the peaches peeled while the butter’s melting, then we’ll be ready to mix everything together. We need about six cups.”

They sat down on the tall stools behind the bar that divided the kitchen and placed the peeled peaches in a large bowl. Marti worked with her head ducked down, concentrating on peeling with as little peach wasted as possible.

Nostalgia prompted Stella’s musing. “Remember how you used to visit with me in the kitchen on rainy days?”

Marti looked up from peeling and smiled. “Yeah, and you always pretended I was in the way.”

“Well, you weren’t. As a matter of fact, that’s what I missed more than anything when you left.”

Sadness rounded Marti’s eyes, and they filled with tears.

“I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted you to know how much I missed your sweet face around here.”

Marti nodded and smiled through her tears. “Thanks, Stella. That means a lot.”

When all of the peaches were peeled, Stella told Marti, “Now we need to cut the peaches into thin slices. Then I’ll let you mix everything together.”

They worked together for a couple more minutes, and finally, Stella pushed the rest of the ingredients toward Marti.

“First, you mix the flour, sugar, milk, and peaches together, and then pour it all into the melted butter. This is the simplest recipe you’ll ever find, but since we’re cookin’ for a passel of folks today, we have to make more than usual. Remember that if you ever decide to cook it just for yourself. Today, we’re gonna double the recipe. Mix two cups each of flour, sugar, and milk into this big bowl.”

Marti measured out two cups of each ingredient and stirred it together with a wire whisk.

“Do you have to use fresh peaches?”

“Oh no, you can use canned peaches if you like, but they’re not quite as fresh. Make sure, if you buy fresh peaches, you get ones that are good and ripe. If they’re hard, they won’t cook soft enough or have enough juice to make that wonderful flavor.”

She watched as Marti mixed the ingredients together.

“Now we just pour the peaches into the sugar mixture and stir it all up.”

Stella pulled the pan of melted butter out of the oven, set it on the counter, and watched as Marti poured the peach and sugar mixture into the middle of the butter. “Now, take a spoon and sort of scoop some of the butter in the corners of the pan up onto the middle of the peach mixture.”

When they were done, Stella took the roast beef out of the oven, and put the cobbler on the top rack. “Now we’ll let it cook for an hour—on three hundred and fifty degrees.”

“Wow, that was easy. I wish I’d let you teach me how to cook years ago. Who knows? I could be a famous chef by now.”

They both laughed.

Stella heard a strangled “
humph
” from the doorway, and she turned to see Anita standing inside the door.

“Come on in, Anita. Did you need something?”

Anita turned a wary look in Marti’s direction and walked over to the cabinet beside the refrigerator. “I just came to get my iron tablets.”

Marti seemed to shrink in the seat, and it irritated Stella that Anita acted so ugly. “Anita, would you like to stay and help us set out the good china for supper?”

Marti looked up—surprised. Stella winked.

“Uh, no, thank you. Parker and I have work to do.” Anita’s emphasis on the word
work
made it clear she thought they were socializing instead of getting supper on the table. “Besides, I don’t think Mr. Gerald would appreciate using the good china without a special occasion.” She gave Marti a snide look that roamed from her head to her toes.

Marti turned her head and looked out the window.

Stella gave Anita a reproving look. “We do have a special occasion—Marti’s visiting.”

“I hardly think a
visit
from Marti is something the whole family thinks is a special occasion. Besides, I happen to know that Veronica will also be here tonight. How do you think Mr. Daniel’s fiancée will like having his ex-wife here in the same house?”

“Anita!” Stella voice held a touch of censure.

“I’m just saying—Mr. Rushing invited her here, not Daniel. And I don’t think Daniel will be at all happy when he finds out who she really is. If I hadn’t been ordered by Mr. Gerald not to say anything, I’d have told him already.”

She huffed out of the room, and Stella saw the stricken look on Marti’s face. “Don’t you mind her, child. She’s always in a snippy mood lately. Now come on and let’s get that china out of the hutch. Tonight we’re going to celebrate.”

“That’s okay, Stella. I think I’ll just have supper in my room tonight, like I did last night. It would be better all around.” She put her hand on Stella’s arm and looked her straight in the eyes. “But, thank you for teaching me how to make the cobbler. I’m going straight upstairs and writing down the recipe. I hope mine tastes half as good as yours when I get up enough nerve to try it.”

Marti smiled, but the glow was gone from her eyes. Stella knew why Marti was here, and she was hoping with everything inside her that Mr. Gerald’s plan worked. But from the stricken look on Marti’s face, Stella could tell Marti had no hope whatsoever.

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE NEXT MORNING MARTI CHECKED
her image once more in the mirror beside the door and smoothed her powder blue, sleeveless top. The soft collar angled gently to end at the tan buttons down the front of her blouse, and the waistline of the blouse fell just above the identical blue buttons on the pockets of her khaki capris.

She tugged at the band on the capris and adjusted the seams. It was a little big, but it had a special meaning and was perfect for the situation. Daniel gave her this outfit on her twenty-third birthday—the year she left the house. He said he’d searched for the perfect color to match her eyes. It was the best birthday of her entire life. He took her horseback riding to the waterfalls at the back of the property joining the mountain range, and they enjoyed a wonderful day—picking flowers, eating the picnic lunch Stella prepared, and bass fishing in the ten-acre pond.

She sighed. “Maybe, just maybe, this outfit will stir up some of those memories.”

Pushing the soft auburn curls behind her ears, she applied extra concealer to the dark circles under her eyes and took a deep calming breath.

“May as well start the day,” she said as she headed out her bedroom door and into the light and airy studio.

A few butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach as they always did when she contemplated starting a new portrait commission. On one hand, she was itching to get started, but on the other, this portrait would be harder than all the rest.

This was Daniel she’d be painting.

The butterflies became bats, and she clutched her stomach when Daniel’s big brown eyes came to mind. The details of this painting would affect her like none she’d ever done.

She walked over to the tall double-paned windows and begged the blue mountains to calm her heart. The sun’s rays filtering through the pines vibrated on the red tin of the gambrel stable roof and mocked the peace she was searching for. She turned to the floor-length mirror hanging on one side of the tall windows and noticed the pallor of her skin.

“This not sleeping for a week is for the birds, and it’s murder on the makeup.” Her nervous laugh frightened even herself. “What am I doing here? This is crazy!” she whispered. “Hashtag: ludicrous.”

“Talking to yourself?” Daniel’s voice boomed behind her.

Marti jumped and turned. “Oh, you scared me.”

Daniel laughed. “I have a habit of doing that, it seems. Did I hear you say something about a hashtag? Do you tweet?”

She grimaced. “I write tweets for the gallery in Landeville. My boss got me started.”

Daniel smiled. “I’ve heard it’s good business practice for retailers.”

Marti shrugged. “It keeps your name out there.”

Daniel smiled. “So, are you ready to do this thing?”

“The portrait, you mean?”

He nodded.

“As ready as I’ll ever be . . . I mean, I’m always ready to start a new painting.”

“How about we eat before we get started? I heard Stella’s making pancakes this morning.” His smile transformed the whole room into a ray of light.

“I can see pancakes are your favorite.”

“Stella can make cardboard taste good.”

She laughed, but her body felt as tight as a drum. Forcing her muscles to relax, she nodded.

He glanced at her attire and turned back toward the hall without making a comment. The hope that he’d recognize the matching outfit vanished into thin air like fog on the mountain when the sun pops out from behind the clouds. Her heart took a tumble but slowly rejuvenated. She hadn’t lost the war, only one battle.

He must have noticed her silence because he said, “If you don’t like pancakes, you could probably get her to whip up about anything that suits your fancy. I don’t know of one thing Stella can’t cook.”

The smile still clung to his features, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “Pancakes are fine, but I’m hoping she’ll make triple chocolate gravy and biscuits sometime while I’m here.”

Daniel stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her. “What did you say?”

Marti gulped. Should she have mentioned the chocolate gravy and biscuits? It was something Daniel had taught her to love.

“I said I love triple chocolate gravy and biscuits. You know . . . chocolate sauce made into good, thick gravy and poured over hot buttered biscuits. Mmm . . . Hashtag: delectable. The best breakfast in the world—and one of the most fattening too—even if you do eat it with fruit.” Her nervous laughter filled the hallway.

Daniel’s eyes sought hers and crinkled. “You know, I didn’t know anyone else but my family even knew about that recipe. Stella started making it when I was very small. I thought it was one of her own concoctions. Who introduced it to you?”

Marti looked at him out the corner of her eyes. “Uh . . . my ex-husband used to eat it when he was growing up.”

Daniel stopped and looked at her. “You were married before?”

She nodded silently, not looking at him.

Daniel stood perfectly still. “I was married before too, but she’s been gone three years now.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember her at all. Of course, that’s not saying much.” He grinned. “I can’t remember anything else either.” He raised his arm and motioned toward the kitchen door, indicating she should enter through the open archway.

“Watch out for the wheelchair. My dad bought it for one of the neighbors down the road, I think.”

A smile formed inside Marti. She’d thought it was for Daniel.

Daniel led her into the kitchen where she’d spent time with Stella the day before making peach cobbler. She stood just inside the door, noting some of the changes in the room she’d overlooked while cooking the night before.

Everything in the room had been modernized and expanded. State-of-the-art, stainless steel appliances formed a comfortable, triangular work space. And, how had she missed the cute little breakfast nook hiding over in the corner? Pastel blue curtains stretched across the top of the airy space, and comfortable cushions covered a café-style bench seat and several matching chairs.

Stretched out on the bench seat was a white and chocolate colored Snowshoe cat. When Marti walked by the table, the cat scrambled up with a loud meow and launched herself into Marti’s arms.

“Princess!” Marti buried her chin into the cat’s neck and rubbed the soft fur. Musical purring filled the room as the cat rubbed her head against Marti’s neck and curled into the crook of her arm, squirming for more attention.

Daniel stopped, stunned. “How odd. She hates strangers. Sometimes she hibernates for days when we have company, and usually she growls or hisses when anyone gets close. She only barely tolerates me touching her.” He paused. “Did I hear you call her
Princess
? How do you know her name?”

Too late once again, Marti realized her mistake. “I’ve seen her before,” she answered truthfully.

Daniel shrugged, obviously satisfied she’d been introduced to the cat when she arrived and the cat had taken a liking to the visiting artist. “That’s amazing. She must sense you like animals.”

Daniel motioned to a breakfast bar loaded down with pancakes, syrup, muffins, and several different kinds of fruit. “Go ahead and fix yourself a plate. I’ll get us some coffee.”

Marti washed her hands in the kitchen sink and picked up a plate from the breakfast bar. As she began filling it with homemade pancakes, she watched Daniel fill two cups with coffee before he picked up the sugar spoon. She inhaled sharply when he dumped two scoops of sugar in one cup and enough cream to make the coffee white.