Christmas Cake (13 page)

Rachel nodded. “Rainey knew about him. She knew he would kill me, so when she heard that I had took up with him, she came back to try and get me not to leave with him.”

Charlotte slid her elbows on the desk and leaned her face into her hands. She was glad to hear Rachel talking so much. It surprised her because the young woman had been silent for so long.

“But you went anyway?” Charlotte asked.

Rachel grinned. Her front tooth was still broken where Roy had hit her in the face with a baseball bat. “I'm kind of hardheaded,” she confessed.

Charlotte smiled.

“So, your sister is the one back in Texas and you're the one who left?” she asked.

Rachel shrugged. “I guess,” she replied.

“Don't you want to see her?”

She gave another shrug. “I don't know,” she replied. “I guess I never thought about it.”

“Well, I'm leaving next week for a town fourteen miles south of Childress to see a friend of mine who is dying. You are welcome to ride along with me and I will drop you off in your grandmother's town and pick you up on my way back, or you can go with me to Goodlett and see your old boyfriend.”

Rachel smiled. “I might just think about it,” she replied.

“Good enough.” And the phone rang, pulling Charlotte back into
the job and the multiple tasks at hand. “Tell Tempest what you need for the cake and she can pick the stuff up at the grocery store when she goes.”

“Okay,” Rachel responded. And for the first time, she actually seemed at ease with herself and the place where she had landed.

 

 

Lemon Lavender Pound Cake

3 cups flour

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ pound butter

½ cup vegetable shortening

3 cups sugar

5 large eggs

1 cup milk

1 teaspoon lavender

1 teaspoon lemon extract

 

Sift flour, salt, and baking powder together. Cream butter and vegetable shortening thoroughly. Add sugar a little at a time, creaming well after each addition. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each egg. Add sifted flour mixture and milk alternately, beginning and ending with flour. Add lavender and lemon flavorings. Bake in a tube pan at 325 degrees for 1 hour and 20 minutes or until done.

T
ell her it's Beatrice Witherspoon from Hope Springs, North Carolina,” Beatrice was trying again to reach the famous Cake Lady by phone. Since the first phone call when she talked to some assistant, she hadn't been able to get past this person she assumed was the receptionist at the studio.

“Do you know if she's gotten my letters?” Beatrice asked, sounding a bit helpless. “Well, do you know if she's made a decision about the contest?”

The woman on the other end was of no help at all to Beatrice.

“No, I don't want to leave a message. I've left a hundred messages and no one will call me back.” She blew out a breath and hung up the phone.

She didn't know how she was going to follow through on her promise to have the Cake Lady serve as the judge for the contest. Here it was only a few days before Christmas, the cake cookbooks had been printed and were “out on the market,” as Louise said; and
her phone, when she wasn't trying to reach the woman in New York, was ringing off the hook with people wanting to know which cake was the winning recipe.

She had even gotten a call from the prison. That hadn't happened in a long time, not since she stopped writing a few of the inmates. It seemed that one of the men had heard about the contest and sent Louise a recipe. Beatrice had found it in the cookbook. It was for Lemon Lavender Pound Cake and it actually sounded pretty tasty. But now he was calling Beatrice as well. He wanted to know, if he won, whether he would need to arrange a work release permit to bake his cake on the television show.

This whole thing was turning out to be a huge mess and Beatrice knew it. She sat by the phone as it rang and chose not to answer it. She couldn't take being asked the same question one more time.

She knew she should have listened to her husband and even Louise. She should have simply admitted that she made a mistake and that the Cake Lady wasn't going to judge the contest, and made arrangements for some other kind of prize, a kind of prize that she could manage.

Beatrice could have managed a small cash prize; even the pastor of the church had said there was a little money left over in the miscellaneous budget. She knew she could have gotten an article in the Greensboro paper. She could have managed getting the cake featured in the local bakery or served at the church Christmas pageant. At the very least, she could have put the recipe and the winner in the church newsletter. She could have found some suitable prize that would have been acceptable to all those who entered a recipe in the contest.

She should have just admitted that she couldn't get the Cake Lady and moved on. She could have said that the Cake Lady changed her mind or that it was just too difficult to talk to such a big star. If she
had done that, she would be finished with the project by now, able to sit back and enjoy Christmas, instead of having her phone constantly ringing with poor, desperate people looking for their fifteen minutes of fame.

She wouldn't have to run from people in stores and avoid those women at church wanting to know when the Cake Lady was going to name the winner. And she wouldn't have to worry about seeing Betty Mills at the funeral home Christmas party.

Beatrice knew that Betty would gloat when she found out that the Cake Lady wasn't participating. She knew that her husband's first cousin's wife would be pleased as punch to know that Beatrice Newgarden Witherspoon had to eat her words, go back on a promise, not be able to deliver up what she had promised. Beatrice knew that Betty had been waiting for such an opportunity ever since Bea had married into the family. The truth was that she knew that Betty had never liked her and had never thought she was good enough for Dick.

The ringing stopped and Beatrice gave a sigh of relief. At least she was spared one more query. At least she wouldn't have to put off what she knew was bound to happen soon enough. She didn't have to say that the Cake Lady was a no-show and that there was no prize for the contest.

She glanced across the room at her Christmas tree. She and Dick had put it up a couple of weeks before, and when they had done so, it had been a lovely evening for the two of them. The hormones had kicked in by then and she was feeling cheerful and eager to decorate.

The two of them had laughed and listened to carols and even had little glasses of sherry. It had been the nicest time they had shared in many months. She was glad to be feeling back to herself and she was grateful for her husband and for her friends for helping her get her
back on track. If she had known that a patch on her butt could have made her feel this good, this levelheaded, she would have stuck one on there years ago. She smiled to herself with that thought.

And then Beatrice thought about Margaret. She wished there was a patch to stick on her butt to help with her grief or a patch that could wipe away Margaret's cancer. That would be something to celebrate. She closed her eyes. She could hardly let herself imagine what was happening with Margaret, what the future more than likely held for her.

She wondered if it was true what Jessie had said to her yesterday, that this was her friend's last Christmas. She wondered how it was for Margaret, how she was feeling, if she knew that this was her last Christmas. Beatrice thought about herself and wondered how she would feel if she thought that this would be her last holiday celebration, her last tree, her last occasion to sing the songs she loved, “Silent Night” and “Joy to the World,” all those carols she and Dick had only recently sung through the night.

Beatrice thought again of Margaret and how she was dealing with her circumstances, what she would say to Beatrice if she heard her complaining about the mess she had made. She knew Margaret would simply say that Beatrice was crazy for worrying about what people thought of her for making a mistake or promising something she couldn't deliver. She knew that no-nonsense Margaret would tell her that what Betty Mills thought of her was insignificant and that Beatrice should just shake it off and move on. Margaret never worried about what others thought about her and she never worried about saying she was wrong or had made a mistake. In her entire life, she had never seemed anxious about the small things.

After all, it had always been Margaret who had said, “Life is too short for this silliness.” And that had been years before she had gotten sick, years before the cancer and now this recurrence. Margaret had always had a way of approaching life that was unsullied and clear. She was someone who always knew what had to be done and just did it. She was unwavering and coolheaded in all her life's decision, all her life's dealings. So it didn't really surprise Beatrice that Margaret would be handling her death in the same sort of clear, precise way.

There had been no outbursts of self-pity, no momentary lapses of faith. Margaret had heard the prognosis, tried the treatments, then denied them, and was facing the inevitable outcome like some super person, some saint. In truth, that was why this idea to go to Texas surprised Beatrice. It was not like Margaret to become sentimental in this way, to have a need to make something right with a ghost, even if the ghost was her mother. It just didn't seem like something Margaret would need to do on her last Christmas.

Beatrice, however, had no intention of blocking this idea. She certainly was not the one to question this crazy whim of the cookbook committee members. In fact, with her circumstances as they were, getting out of town sounded like a perfect solution. She just wasn't sure what Margaret was thinking, and she was worried that Margaret might not find what she was searching for. And the disappointment that might follow worried Beatrice. She was concerned about the trip to Texas, to Margaret's mother's hometown, because she was worried that whatever Margaret needed, she wouldn't get.

Beatrice opened her eyes when she heard the knock on the door. She thought about not answering it, worried that it was someone else from the church trying to find out about the contest. And then she
heard Louise's voice. It had become very familiar after she and Jessie had dropped by with their intervention.

“Beatrice, it's Louise, open the door.”

Beatrice got up from her chair and went over to the door. “Hey,” she said to her friend.

“Hey nothing. Where have you been?” she asked as she walked in the room.

“Nowhere,” Beatrice replied. She shut the door behind Louise.

“I have been trying to call you. Are you not answering your phone? Are you taking your hormones?”

“Oh, um…” She tried to think of an excuse. “No, I still have the patch, want to see?” And she turned around and lifted up her blouse. She started to pull down her pants.

“Never mind.” Louise waved off the answer and turned aside. “Jessie says we're leaving today. There's a winter storm supposed to hit Texas by Christmas Day; so we're moving out this afternoon.”

Beatrice looked stunned.

“You did find us a van, didn't you?” Louise asked.

“Of course,” Beatrice replied, trying to sound assured.

The truth was, with all of the decorating and worrying about the contest, she had forgotten her one assignment for the trip. She was supposed to call the rental agencies and reserve a van.

“Well, do you think you can get it today instead of tomorrow?” Louise asked. “What's this?” she asked, glancing over at a cookie tin.

“Brownies,” Beatrice replied. “Here, have one.” And she opened the tin and moved it closer to where Louise was standing.

“No.” She shook her head and raised her hand toward Beatrice. “I've had so much cake I could go all next year without anything else
sweet.” She made a face and then thought about it. “What kind of brownies?” she asked.

“Blond ones, with chocolate chips and coconut,” Beatrice replied.

Louise shook her head. “No, that's all right.”

“Oh, okay,” Beatrice responded, and pulled the tin over to her and put the top back in place.

“So, pick up the van this morning and come over and get me and then we will get Jessie and finally Margaret.” She patted Beatrice on the hand. “Thanks for taking care of this part. I've arranged us a place to stay in Knoxville and then in Little Rock, Arkansas. After that, we'll just have to figure out where to go next.”

Beatrice nodded. “You think we can be in Knoxville by tonight?” she asked, trying to think about how long of a drive that was.

“Well, I figure that it will be late, but it will depend upon what time we are able to leave this afternoon. How long will it take you to get ready?” Louise asked.

Beatrice shrugged. “I don't know. A couple of hours, I guess.” She thought about the new change in plans. She had not checked about renting a van. She suddenly became concerned she would not be able to find one. Renting a vehicle was going to take her a little bit of time. She glanced at the clock.

“How long should I reserve the van for?” she asked, shrugging off her concerns.

Louise considered the question. “Well, if it takes us three days to get there and then we stay a day, that takes us to the twenty-third. After that, I guess Margaret will decide about whether she wants to stay for Christmas or not.” She turned to Beatrice. “This okay with Dick?” she asked.

Beatrice nodded. “Yea, he's working anyway and the girls were all here at Thanksgiving so we weren't going to see them until January. And Teddy, well, he's still studying in South America somewhere.”

Louise smiled. She was glad that all the women were able to work out holiday plans to make this trip with Margaret.

“Once we get to Knoxville, then how far is it to Little Rock?” Beatrice hadn't had a chance to study a map.

“It's about five hundred and thirty miles,” Louise responded.

“So, that shouldn't cause for a heavy travel day on Sunday, right?”

“Right,” Louise replied. “Okay, so, you'll get the van and come to get me. What do you think, about one o'clock?” she asked. She was looking at the clock on the kitchen wall. She thought that allowing four hours was plenty for them all to get ready and for Beatrice to pick up the van. She assumed they had the one reserved for tomorrow already on the lot. She was going to ask Beatrice where she had called to make the reservation but then she noticed how her friend was staring at her.

“What?” Louise asked, sensing that something wasn't right about the look she was getting.

“Do you pray?” Beatrice asked.

“What?” Louise was surprised by the question, especially since there were so many things that had to be done before they left in a few hours.

“Do you pray? About Margaret, I mean,” Beatrice explained. “I think about her all the time, but I don't know how to pray about it.”

Louise, who had been standing the entire time, finally sat down on the stool at the bar. Beatrice thought she was going to yell at her for bringing up the subject so she stood very still, waiting for the onslaught.

“Every second, every minute, every day, I'm praying,” Louise replied. “I pray for a miracle and for her physical healing. I pray that she'll go back to the doctors after Christmas and discover that the cancer is gone. I promise God that if that happens I will become a television preacher and do whatever he asks.” She slumped against the counter. “I pray that he take me instead, move the tumors, the irregular cells, the cancer over into my body and let her live.”

She stopped and turned to Beatrice. “It's Christmas, right, so why can't we have a miracle in Hope Springs? Why can't we have Margaret healed of this crazy disease and let our lives go back to normal?”

Beatrice nodded. She was glad for Louise's candidness because she had thought and wondered the same things. She also knew that Louise was probably taking the news about Margaret harder than anyone else, and she was curious about how Louise was really doing.

“So I'll keep praying for the miracle, this Christmas miracle. I'm going to plead and beg for God to give her another shot. And I'm going to get in a van and drive with my three best friends to a place I've never been before, to some little hick town in Texas, and I'm going to do whatever Margaret wants to do.”