Laid Out and Candle Lit (27 page)

Instructions:

**If the edges of your crust start to get too brown before the pie is firm, cover the edges with foil or a pie crust shield.

You can use a frozen store bought pie shell if you like. However, we make our crust by hand.

Recipe for Handmade Crust

Ingredients:

Instructions:

Sift together flour and salt

Cut in shortening with a pastry-blender—Sugarpie does this by hand. Pattiecake uses the dough hook with her stand mixer. (Either way is fine, but Pattiecake’s method is easier.)

Blend until pieces are the size of small peas.

Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the water over the flour-shortening mixture continuing to blend either with the pastry-blender or the dough hook. You keep adding water, 1 tablespoon at a time, until all is moistened. Your dough should be “wet” enough to gather into a ball and hold together.

On a lightly floured surface, flatten ball slightly and roll with rolling pin to 1/8 inch thick. If edges split, pinch together. Always roll spoke-fashion, rolling from center to edge of dough, using light strokes.

To transfer pastry, roll it over rolling pin, then unroll it over pie plate, fitting loosely onto bottom and sides.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A native of the Lone Star state, Ann Everett is a former school secretary and for many years did stand-up comedy for businesses, corporations, and non-profit organizations. She is an active member of Northeast Texas Writers’ Organization, where she currently serves as Director for their twenty-sixth annual writers’ conference.

Ann is an award winning short story author and has been published in on-line e-zines as well as several newspapers. She lives on a small lake in Northeast Texas with her husband.

WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

Read
You’re Busting My Nuptials

T
wenty-four hours ago Tizzy Donovan was naked in Ridge Cooper’s bed, screaming to get God’s attention. She loved everything about Ridge. How his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck when he needed a haircut. Steel blue eyes set against the hard lines of his face. Broad shoulders, thick chest, the way he held the steering wheel of his truck. God, she could see him, standing straight, thumbs hooked in his front jeans pockets, hat settled just right. The more vivid the image, the hotter she got.

A knock at the door snapped Tizzy from her thoughts. She turned as Matron of Honor, Rayann Tatum, poked her head in. She was holding a large mug and offered it to Tizzy.

“Sorry, I should have warned you, that’s tequila, not punch. I thought you probably needed something stronger by now. But, you may want to go easy on it because I don’t think you’ve eaten today.”

“Wonderful, now I’m going to hell for drinking in the church house, not to mention all the fornicatin’ I’ve been doing with Ridge, and today he doesn’t show up to make an honest woman of me,” she said, knocking back the rest of the drink.

Rayann rested her hands on her narrow hips. “Tizzy . . .”

“No, Rayann. Its been over an hour. He isn’t answering his phone. Daddy went to his house. His truck’s gone. He’s not coming.” She started to pace, her bare feet sinking into the deep carpet, a small comfort against the ache which the rest of her body was suffering. “What’s wrong with me? My first husband joins the Marines to get away and now Ridge doesn’t show up for our wedding. Am I that bad?”

Rayann fell in beside Tizzy and matched her pace. They zigzagged across the room like a band formation during a half-time show. “C’mon, Tiz. It has nothing to do with you. Boone joined the Marines to avoid Marlene. You know better than anybody what a witch his sister was. He didn’t want to spend his life working with her at the bank.”

Tizzy stopped and stared into empty space, feeling warm from the tequila. “Ridge told me he fell in love with me at first sight. I think
you
realized I was in love with him before I did,” Tizzy said.

Rayann embraced her. “Oh, honey. You’d been a widow and without a man for five years. To say you were horny would be an understatement. You’d named your vibrator.”

“Yeah, and
Clark Kent
was getting plenty of action.” A lump formed in Tizzy’s throat, her thoughts jumbled and she rested her head on Rayann’s shoulder. “Ridge is the perfect man for me.”

Tizzy rested her head on Rayann’s shoulder again and distracted herself with happier thoughts. First United Methodist church held wonderful memories. Youth fellowship, Bible school, choir. She felt love from her
church
family. They grieved with her when Boone died and rejoiced with her when Gracie was born. They even accepted her weird habit of sometimes talking to dead people.

She raised her head. Outside the window, brilliant leaves danced on the branches of the sweet-gum trees standing at the edge of the woods. She lost herself for a moment. “October is such a beautiful month, don’t you think?” She spoke over Rayann’s shoulder, then pushed away from her. “You go on now. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“No hurry, take your time. Nana McAlister and her Sunday school class have been serving the congregation punch and cookies for the last thirty minutes, so they’re happy.”

Once the door closed behind Rayann, Tizzy ran her hands across her ivory trumpeted lace gown.
Ridge would love this dress.
Fitted to her slender body with a drop waist and a shawl collar, it minimized her ample breasts.

She fiddled with her long dark hair, secured a loose strand, then pressed the top of her nose between her fingers to pinch back tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. She waited a full five minutes, her mind racing in competition with her heart. No need to rehearse anymore, she decided. She moved to the mirror and checked her makeup, especially the area around her eyes. Once she determined that all was in order, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the adjoining room.

She walked out into the sanctuary with the rest of the wedding members close behind. They stopped near the doorway. She moved to the center of the room and stood beneath the ivy-twined arbor. At the sight of her, a hush fell over the room.

Tizzy let her eyes sweep the full view of the area. Flower-filled wicker baskets hung from each pew. The sweet scent of roses and frilly snapdragons drifted to her. She realized she was holding her bridal bouquet. She brought the flowers to her nose, inhaled deeply, prayed silently for strength, and addressed the gathering.

“Thank y’all for coming today and being so patient. Unfortunately, there’s not going to be a wedding,” she announced, a slight tremble in her voice.

Every pew was packed to capacity and the crowd gave a collective sigh.

Tizzy forced a weak smile. “Nevertheless, I would like for y’all to go into the fellowship hall for the reception. The cake is absolutely to die for. Five layers, each one with a different filling. Raspberry, lemon, coconut, cherry, and chocolate. Ridge insisted on chocolate.”

The congregation didn’t move, shock and awkwardness holding them in place. “Please, go. I’m fine. Really,” she lied. The truth was, at the moment, she wanted to scream and release whatever was simmering just below her skin.

She turned to the organist. “Mrs. Steele, please play the recessional.”

The musician nodded and bore down on the first note, holding the tone for a few long beats before starting the song. One by one, the group came to their feet and whispered among themselves as they filtered from the room.

Tizzy settled beneath the arbor and gazed to the end of the aisle. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure what emotion she was experiencing. Maybe she had one of those post-something-or-other disorders. Post wedding disorder. PWD. Left at the Altar Disorder, LATA. That had a nice ring to it. Perhaps she should just call it WTF Disorder, Wed Tizzy—Forgetaboutit.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. A headache started to develop from all the questions spinning in her brain and the fact that she’d had nothing to eat all day except for a triple shot of tequila.

Members of the wedding party clustered together, waiting for instructions.

Tizzy’s parents, Saint and Pattiecake, sat down on either side of her. “What do you want us to do, Tizzy?” Pattiecake asked.

Tizzy lowered her head, massaging the area near her eyes. “Make sure everyone gets served. I took a long time deciding about that cake, and I hate for it to go to waste. That would be a shame. Also ask Aunt Sugarpie to take all the flower arrangements to the nursing home. I want someone to enjoy them. I realize I’m not going to be on my honeymoon, but I’d still like for you to keep Gracie for the next few days.”

Saint put his arm around her shoulders. “Of course we will, sweetie. Are you taking the trip anyway?”

She rested her hands in her lap and spoke around the knot in her throat. “No, Daddy. I’m going to find Ridge.”