Christmas Cake (9 page)

Beatrice smiled nervously. She could feel Louise's eyes on her. She fidgeted with the collar of her jacket.

“You wrote the Cake Lady?” Louise asked Beatrice.

“Yep,” she replied.

“And you asked her to judge our little cake recipe contest?”

“I did.”

“And the Cake Lady agreed?” Louise was getting to the bottom of this, and fast.

“Unbelievable,” Jessie said again. “The women are going to be thrilled.”

“And the Cake Lady agreed?” Louise asked again.

“That is beautiful, Beatrice, just beautiful.”

“Well, she didn't exactly agree,” Beatrice confessed.

Louise nodded. She leaned back against the sink.

“Would you two like some pie?” Beatrice jumped up from her seat and walked over to the refrigerator. “I think we have some chocolate left over from Dick's family reunion.”

“We're talking about cakes, Bea.” Louise sounded impatient.

“I don't have any cake,” Beatrice responded politely. “But Dick says this pie is really good. I didn't have any, on account of being depressed and all.”

“Beatrice, did the famous cake woman agree to judge our contest?”

“Well, not exactly,” Beatrice answered. “But she did agree to read my letter,” she added as if this was something important.

“Ah, Bea,” Jessie said, sounding disappointed.

“I called her studio and her assistant, well, actually I think it was the assistant to the assistant, but he promised me that he would make sure that she got the letter. He was in charge of her mail.”

Louise rolled her eyes. “Why do you think a famous baker would care about our little contest?” she asked.

“Because she bakes cakes and our contest is for a cake recipe, a Christmas cake recipe. It's right up her alley!” Beatrice exclaimed.

Louise sighed. “Jessie, can you call Lester and ask him if he would be the judge and feature the cake for one night at his restaurant?”

Jessie nodded. She was disappointed.

“I will not have the winner of this contest having their cake eaten in a barbecue shack!” Beatrice slammed the pie plate on the counter. “I said that I would handle the prize and I am going to do it! The Cake Lady is going to judge the contest!”

“Bea, it's almost Thanksgiving. That means Christmas is just a month away. If this woman hasn't agreed to judge this contest by now, she isn't going to do it. It's the holidays. She isn't going to want to mess with this during the holidays.”

“I said that I would handle it!”

“Bea, Louise is right. It's too late now. Just let us handle this. You call your doctor and get you some estrogen. It's fine. Nobody knows the prize anyway.” Jessie was trying to smooth things between her two friends.

“Well, actually they do now,” Beatrice said timidly.

“What?” Louise asked.

“I happened to mention this to Betty Mills over at the funeral home.”

“Flapping Tongue Betty?” Louise sounded outraged. “There's probably an ad in the paper by now!”

“She was giving me another hard time about our contest and our little church and how we couldn't afford a good prize like the Episcopalians and I just got tired of it.”

“So you told her the Cake Lady is going to judge our contest?” Louise dropped her head in her hands. “Beatrice, really, what is wrong with you?”

“Well, how do I know? You should be the one who can answer that. You're the ones who were supposed to be bringing me an invention!”

“It's intervention. And I'm not sure it can help. Now, could I please have a piece of pie?” Louise glanced over to Jessie, and the two women simply shook their heads.

 

 

Peaches and Cream Cake

1 18½ ounce butter-flavor cake mix

1½ cups sugar

4 tablespoons cornstarch

4 cups chopped fresh peaches

½ cup water

2 cups whipping cream

2 to 3 tablespoons powdered sugar

1 cup sour cream

fresh sliced peaches

 

Prepare cake according to directions, using 2 8-inch cake pans. Cool and split each layer. Combine sugar and cornstarch in saucepan and add peaches and water. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until smooth and thick. Cool completely. Combine whipping cream and powdered sugar. Beat until stiff peaks form. Spoon one third peach filling over split layers. Spread one third sour cream over filling. Repeat procedures on layers. Frost with sweetened whipped cream and garnish with fresh sliced peaches.

P
eaches and cream cake?” Margaret had taken her seat in a large recliner in the treatment area of the cancer center at the hospital. She was there for her second chemotherapy treatment. She was waiting for the nurse. Louise had tossed a blanket across her legs. She was facing out the window. “That doesn't sound very much like Christmas.”

“I know it but that's the recipe that Dorothy wanted to enter.” Louise was standing next to Margaret. She was holding a red stocking that one of the volunteers had given them when they came in.

“There's a candy cane in here, you want it?” She pulled it out and showed Margaret.

Margaret shook her head. “No, you eat it.”

Louise shrugged and stuck it back in the stocking. She could see that there were other pieces of candy inside and what looked to be a card bearing a message of goodwill. Apparently some church had made the gifts for all the cancer patients.

“You figure out a prize yet?” Margaret asked. She slid over in her chair a bit.

Louise could see that she was anxious. She wondered if her friend was in some kind of pain or if she was just nervous about the treatment.

“Beatrice told me that she was handling it so I'm staying out of that part.” She paused, concerned about how Margaret was acting. “I'm just collecting the recipes and typing them up. She said that she was arranging for the prize so I am staying out of her way. Besides, she is grouchy since they haven't been able to get her hormones adjusted.” She hesitated again. “You okay?” she asked.

Margaret nodded, although it wasn't very convincing.

“Mrs. Peele, how are you today?” A nurse had walked up and was getting the medicine bags ready. She was pulling an IV pole with her. She was young, looked like a teenager, and was wearing a lab coat with reindeer and snowmen stenciled on it.

“Ready to get this behind me,” Margaret replied.

“I understand,” the nurse responded. “These are not much fun, I know,” she added.

Louise smiled. “Nice coat,” she said, and then moved out of the way as the nurse put on her gloves and prepared to start the treatment.

“'Tis the season, right?” the young nurse asked as she swabbed the area above Margaret's chest and inserted the needle into the portacath under Margaret's skin.

Louise noted how Margaret flinched when the needle went in. She reached out and placed her hand on top of Margaret's as the nurse finished. “You okay?” she asked.

Margaret nodded, but she kept her eyes closed. Louise had sensed all morning that Margaret wasn't acting herself. Something seemed
different about her, but Louise hadn't asked. She was afraid to ask.

“All right,” the nurse said as she punched in buttons on the machine. “I'll check in just a few minutes to make sure everything is okay.” Then she patted Margaret on the shoulder. “Does it feel like it's supposed to?” she asked, and then smiled as Margaret nodded.

“Okay, push the red button if you need me,” she instructed the patient, referring to the nurse's call button on the large remote that hung next to the chair.

Louise pulled a chair next to Margaret and they both looked out the window. There was a large garden area behind the cancer center. Volunteers had planted small fruit trees and different kinds of flowers. There were several stone sculptures, mostly angels, a few squirrels and rabbits. There were four bird feeders close by, and all of them were full of seed.

The garden was strategically located for cancer patients to observe as they sat and received treatment. Margaret had said before that she thought it was a nice idea but that it still didn't do much to ease the sting of needles, cover up the smell of the hospital, or distract anyone from the idea that they were fighting their hardest battle. “Still,” she had noted once to Louise, “it's better than some television show blaring at them.”

“You want something to drink?” Louise asked.

Margaret shook her head.

“You want headsets to listen to music?” she asked, reaching into her bag to pull out the CD player she always brought with them.

Again, Margaret shook her head.

“You want to talk?” Louise asked, even though she hoped Margaret didn't.

Jessie had told Louise that they all needed to spend some time with
Margaret letting her talk about things, about how she felt and about what she wanted, but Louise had not been able to start or even allow for such a conversation. She wasn't ready and she knew it.

Margaret waited and then shook her head again. She reached out and took Louise by the hand. “I don't feel much like talking today.”

Louise nodded, relieved.

The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Louise noticed that Margaret began to fidget in her chair. “You okay?” she asked.

Margaret didn't answer. She struggled as she tried to change her sitting position and then flinched when it appeared as if the IV line got caught.

“Is something wrong with the needle?” Louise asked. “Do you want me to get the nurse?” She stood up beside Margaret.

Margaret shook her head.

This was her second treatment since the new prognosis, and she was having some difficulty in receiving the medication. One slight infection had already occurred at the IV site after the first treatment, and she had been sick for a couple of days.

The doctor had suggested that they might have to replace the portacath. Margaret hated the thought of another surgery, so she had not complained about the infection and was hopeful that this treatment would go more smoothly. They had already postponed it an extra week, and she just wanted to get through with them. She was scheduled for six and was supposed to be finished just after New Year's Day.

“No, it just feels a little different. I'm sure it's okay.” She closed her eyes and thought a distraction might help. “Okay, let's talk. So, what about Beatrice?” she asked.

“It's nothing,” Louise replied, recognizing that the treatment was difficult for her friend. “Just rest.”

Margaret didn't argue. She was trying to make things better for herself; but she was tired and uncomfortable and she had been right the first time, she didn't really feel like talking. She knew that Louise didn't expect to be entertained so she tried to do what her friend had suggested and rest. After a few minutes more, however, she couldn't stand the discomfort any longer.

“I think you're going to have to get the nurse. Something just doesn't feel right.”

Louise pulled Margaret's blouse away from the site to see for herself. The site just below her collarbone was red and swollen. When the hospital had scheduled the appointment, Louise had thought it was too soon for another treatment; but she had not said anything because she wanted Margaret to get through with them too. Now she was angry at herself for letting Margaret go through this ordeal. She placed the blouse back and walked over to the nurses' station. The doctor was called, and it wasn't long before the IV was pulled.

By five o'clock that afternoon, Margaret was in a room on the oncology unit of the hospital. The portacath had been surgically removed and she was being given high doses of antibiotics. Jessie and Beatrice had met Louise at the hospital, and all three of the friends went into the waiting room just around the corner from where Margaret was sleeping.

“What exactly did the doctor say?” Jessie asked Louise as they pulled chairs out and sat together around the table.

“He said that he didn't think that they could put the contraption back in again.” Louise rubbed her hand across the side of her face.
She was tired from the long day of waiting and she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

As if she had been asked by Louise to get her something to eat, Beatrice walked over to the vending machine behind where they sat. She dropped in four quarters and selected some juice for her friend. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of crackers and an apple. She set them on the table in front of Louise.

“Eat something,” she said.

“Yes ma'am,” Louise responded. She opened the crackers and took one. She offered them to Jessie and then to Beatrice. Both women shook their heads. They had both eaten already and were not hungry.

Louise glanced up and noticed how much better Beatrice appeared. “You see your doctor?” she asked her friend. “You get your woman juices straightened out?”

Beatrice stood up, turned around, and pulled at the waistband of her pants. She turned her head around, making sure that Jessie and Louise had seen what she was showing them, a small patch stuck just above her right hip, and then pulled her pants back up and sat down. “I am clearheaded and no longer hysterical or overwrought,” she announced.

“Estrogen patch, that's nice, Beatrice,” Louise noted. “And I think the old man across the hall really liked the show.”

Beatrice glanced out the door and then realized that Louise was only teasing her.

“See how much better you are?”

“Dr. Linden said I could probably use a little testosterone too. It seems that the older we get the less we have of that hormone too. But I said I didn't want to take that because I already had a little mustache.”

Jessie and Louise looked confused.

“Testosterone?” Bea asked. “That's the manly hormone,” she said. “You probably won't ever need any of that one,” she noted to Louise with a slight smile.

“What else did the doctor say?” Jessie had turned back to Louise. Neither of the two women wanted to have any more conversation with Beatrice about her hormones.

“He said that she wouldn't be able to have the portacath back in that same spot but that they would probably be able to put one in her arm.” Louise munched on a cracker.

“I don't have a mustache,” she said to Beatrice, suddenly considering what Bea had implied.

“I didn't say you did,” Beatrice responded.

“You said that I probably wouldn't have to take testosterone,” she added.

“Forget what Bea said,” Jessie instructed. “When did this happen?” she asked. “Was she already taking the treatment?”

Louise nodded. “She didn't seem to act right when the nurse started it. I don't think the needle ever went in correctly. I think she still had some infection.”

Jessie shook her head. She knew how much pain her friend had been in. She had tried to get her to put off the appointment for another week, but Margaret had seemed determined to go through with it.

“When can she go home?” Beatrice asked.

“In the morning if she feels like it,” Louise replied. She took a sip from her juice. “But the doctor thought she should stay,” she noted. “I think he wants her to finish the treatment. They had to stop it before she got the full dosage.”

“She's got an infection,” Jessie said. “She doesn't need any more of that mess in her system right now.”

“I know, but he thinks she needs to stay on schedule as much as she can. He also wanted to know if she might take a bone marrow transplant.”

“He just can't accept that she's this sick,” Jessie responded. “He wants to think he can cure her.”

Louise shook her head and ate another cracker.

“Did she say anything before they had to take it out?” Beatrice asked.

“Just that she was tired and didn't think she could do this anymore,” Louise replied.

“She's already been through so much,” Jessie added. “I just don't think she wants any more of this.”

“If she quits taking the treatments, then she's giving up,” Beatrice said.

“So, what's wrong with that?” Jessie asked. “Besides, who says these treatments are doing anything for her anyway?”

Louise and Beatrice didn't answer.

“Did she say anything about quitting?” Bea asked.

Louise shook her head. “But I don't think she wants this,” she added. “I mean, at first, I think she was okay about it, but now, after the infection, I don't think this is what she wants.”

“Then why is she doing it?” Beatrice wanted to know.

“For us,” Jessie replied. “It's like we said a couple of weeks ago. When the doctor told her that the cancer was back, we didn't give her a chance to make her mind up. We arranged these treatments for her. We made her schedule these appointments. No one ever asked her what she wanted. She's doing this for us.”

“Then maybe we need to let her stop,” Beatrice said. “Maybe somebody needs to tell her she doesn't have to do this anymore.”

“I'm not telling her that,” Louise said. Her voice was stretched and thin. “She can't stop. Jessie, you know what it means if she stops.”

Jessie reached out and took Louise by the hand.

“She can get over this infection and we can try again in January,” Louise said as she pushed the crackers and juice away from her.

Jessie glanced over at Beatrice, and both of the women looked at their friend.

“Lou, it's in her liver,” Beatrice said softly.

“So?” Louise asked, pulling her hand away from Jessie. “She can get a liver transplant. If they give them to drunks, they can give one to her.”

Jessie sat back against her chair. Louise had been acting like she was fine with everything that was going on with Margaret, but Jessie knew it was just that, acting.

“I just think it's time to let Margaret talk, to let her make up her own mind about what she wants,” Jessie said. She leaned in again to Louise. “You don't want her sick like this, do you?” she asked. “You didn't want that for Roxie?” she added. “Did you?”

“That was different,” Louise shot back. “Roxie didn't have her mind. She wasn't herself. Margaret is…” She paused. “Margaret is…”

“Margaret can make up her mind and she needs us to let her do that. She deserves to have her friends let her do that.” Jessie had taken a very serious tone.