Ansley's Big Bake Off

by Kaitlyn Pitts

  “Hey! Doesn’t anybody smell this?” I called out.

  Just then I heard the footfalls of the twins (as well as a set of four paws) coming down the stairs. The girls were each holding on to the end of a banner they had made with colored sheets of paper cut into triangles. On each triangle was a letter made of sparkly washi tape that spelled the word “WELCOME!” (Exclamation point included.)

  “We need to put this up!” Kitty said breathlessly. She jumped up and down. “She’ll be here any minute!”

  “Where’s Dad?” Cammie added, craning her neck to look through the French doors of his office.

  Austin ran around them, hopping on his back legs and looking like he wanted to try to hang up the banner for them. His excited barks were probably doggy language for “I help! I help!”

  “Here I am, girls! We’ll hang this over the dining room entryway, so she can see it when she comes in,” Dad said.

  Lena came down the stairs with another sign. “You almost forgot this,” she told the twins. It was another fluttering banner made up of smaller triangles. This time they spelled out the names “AUNT SAMANTHA & ZETTE!”

  While Dad began stringing it up under the first banner, Cammie handed the camera phone to Kitty. “Film this!” she commanded, and she picked up Austin’s front paws and began to dance with him. “Are you looking forward to having your bestie move in, boy?” she asked him, her voice pitched higher than usual. “Are you, boy? Are you? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

  Austin’s “bestie” was Aunt Samantha’s French bulldog, Zette (short for Crepes Suzette). Austin and Suzette had been friends since their puppy days, so the two dogs really got along, which was especially good now that Samantha and Suzette were coming to stay.

  A car horn honked outside. “That’s them!” Kitty squealed.

  Austin started barking while Cammie peeked outside from behind a window curtain. “There’s a moving van too.”

  “Lena, put Austin in his crate for now. We’ll have to keep the front door open when we bring Aunt Sam’s things in, and you know how he likes to run off.”

  “Okay. Come on, boy,” Lena said with a grunt as she hauled Austin away from the excitement.

  The rest of us ran out to greet Aunt Samantha.

  She had just stepped out of her car and was throwing her arms out in a stretch when she saw us. “Mmmm! That feels good!” she said. Then, putting her hands on her hips, she bent her body sideways once to the left, then once to the right. Finally, she twisted her torso back and forth. “Ahhh. I needed that!”

  I got to her first, so when she finished stretching, I launched myself at her. She wrapped me in a warm bear hug. “Hi, Ansley, sweetie.”

  “Hi, Auntie Sam,” I said, breathing in her signature scent. Aunt Samantha wore the same perfume every day. It was a light, lemony smell like magnolias in a spring breeze. “Where’s Zette?”

  “Oh, I let her out so she could stretch her legs too,” she said, pointing behind me.

  Zette scurried over to my dad and started yipping at his feet. The twins bent down and began cooing over her.

  Dad waved at the mover’s van parked on the street. “You can pull up closer,” he called.

  The man behind the steering wheel saluted and turned the ignition key. Suddenly there was a loud, popping sound, like a small cannon going off, and a puff of smoke shot out the back of the van. We all started at the noise, but Zette let out a terrified yelp and dashed down the street.

  “Zette!” Aunt Samantha cried out.

  “Oh, no! Zette! Come back!” I yelled and set off after her at a run.

  For a short-legged dog, Zette turned out to be a fast runner. I could hear her panting, and I began to pant myself. What if she gets lost and I have to go back empty-handed? What happens if I’m the one who ends up lost instead? I still don’t know the neighborhood well enough! My thoughts were running faster than my feet.

  Then I heard my aunt behind me, calling her dog by her whole name. “Crepes Suzette! You come back here!”

  But Zette did not stop. Instead, she barreled down the sidewalk, straight toward a pair of girls around my age who were sitting at a table with a big pitcher of lemonade, a stack of paper cups, and a platter filled with cookies.

  My shouts turned to a whisper. “Oh, no.” Then I yelled, “Watch out!”

  The girls, who had been talking to one another, turned at the sound of my voice and leapt to their feet. One girl had been holding a metal money box on her lap, and it fell to the ground with a clatter and the sound of scattering coins. This just spooked Zette more, and the dog backed away from the box and into one of the table legs, knocking the aluminum table off balance, as well as the lemonade and cookies on top of it. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together when it all came tumbling down.

  The commotion she caused increased Zette’s panic, and she came running back toward me and Aunt Samantha. I bent down and snatched her before she had a chance to run past us and create more chaos. Then I hurried over to the girls, my sandals smacking against the now lemonade-drenched sidewalk.

  “I’m so sorry!” I told the girls. “Your lemonade stand is ruined.”

  The girls were picking up the money from the ground. One girl, who had a long, red French braid and freckles, had her mouth set in a grim line. The other girl, who had a blondish-brown bob with bangs, looked ready to laugh.

  The grim-looking girl said, “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

  The happier looking girl said, “Is this your dog? Are you our new neighbors?” And she began petting Zette on the head saying in a baby voice, “No, you can’t have a cookie, silly doggy. Cookies are bad for you.” Then her voice took on a more normal tone. “Well, unless of course, they’re doggy cookies.”

  Zette’s ears perked right up and her tail began to wag. She thought she was getting a treat.

  “No, Zette,” I said sternly, “those aren’t doggie biscuits—and you don’t get a treat for making a huge mess!”

  Aunt Samantha finally caught up to us. “Oh, ladies, I’m so sorry,” she said, and her eyebrows turned up at the sight she saw before her. “What a disaster! And I bet you baked those cookies too.”

  The redhead bit her bottom lip and nodded.

  I handed Zette back to Aunt Sam and bent down to pick up the now-empty pitcher of lemonade. “Everything is ruined.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” the girl with the bangs said, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I was getting bored of the lemonade stand anyway.” Behind her, the redheaded girl crossed her arms. The girl with the bangs didn’t notice. “I’m Krista, by the way. Krista Matthison. I live right there.” She pointed at the house behind her just as a short-haired woman in a pink tunic shirt and white cropped pants came hurrying out of the front door, a concerned expression on her face. “That’s my grandma, Hunni, and this . . .” Krista nodded at the redhead, “. . . is my friend, Taylor.”

  “Best friend,” Taylor mumbled. “Taylor Lang.”

  “What’s your name?” Krista asked me, and grinned widely, showing off aqua-and-pink-colored braces.

  “I’m Ansley Daniels. This is my Aunt Samantha and her naughty dog, Crepes Suzette.”

  Krista squealed. “Oh! That name is adorable! And so are you!” She pouted at Zette, who wagged her stump of a tail.

  I flashed Taylor a smile, but she wouldn’t look directly at me. “I really am very sorry about all this,” I said again, as Krista’s grandmother came up to us, waving hello. “The moving truck backfired. The dog freaked out,” I explained to her.

  “I see, I see,” she said, inspecting what used to be the lemonade stand. “I’m Krista’s Grandma Hunnicut,” she said, extending her hand to Aunt Samantha. “We were planning to come by a little later to welcome you to the neighborhood. We only just got back last night from seeing some family out west.”

  “Do you also live around here?” I asked Taylor, trying to include her in the conversation. But Taylor just shook her head.

  My
aunt dug into the pocket of her pants. “Let me pay for those cookies and lemonade.” She took out a twenty-dollar bill.

  Hunni pushed her hand away. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that . . .”

  As the grownups went back and forth, trying to be nice to each other, I had an idea. “Why don’t you two come with me?” I asked the girls. With Hunni’s permission, the two girls followed me and Zette back to my new house.

  Dad was still outside, directing the movers in and out of the house. “When I saw that you and Aunt Sam caught up with Zette,” he told me, “I decided it was best to take care of this end of things. And who do we have here?”

  I introduced Krista and Taylor to Dad and explained what happened. Then I took a deep breath. “And I figured . . . Dad? I think I know just the way to make it up to them. Would you be okay with me giving them what I was going to give Aunt Samantha?”

  My dad’s smile was soft and proud. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  I grinned up at him, standing on tip-toe. “Thanks, Dad! Come on!” and led the girls into the house.

  Lena and the twins were in the kitchen. I gave Lena the dog, and after introducing everyone and telling my sisters what happened, I slid my tray of cinnamon rolls across the counter toward Krista and Taylor. “I want you to have these,” I said. “I’m sorry about the cookies. You can sell these if you want and try to make some of the money you lost.”

  I heard Lena take in a deep breath. And even though Kitty and Cammie were not identical twins, at that moment they both flashed me identical looks of horror. Not the cinnamon rolls!

  Taylor blinked down at the tray, looking thoughtful.

  But Krista shook her head. “Oh, we couldn’t!” she said, sounding a lot like her grandmother, southern accent and all. “But . . . maybe . . . we could try some?”

  At that moment, Dad, Aunt Sam, and Hunni came through the door, and with Dad’s permission, I began cutting the cinnamon rolls and handing them out. The grownups sat at the kitchen table, chatting (although Dad, Aunt Sam, and sometimes Lena took turns jumping up and telling the movers where to leave things) while my two new friends and I sat on the saddle-shaped stools at the kitchen counter, getting to know each other. The twins ran back and forth between us and the grownups (sometimes recording all that was going on) and with their giggling, the dogs barking, the movers tromping, and the adults chatting, it got very noisy.

  “So, you have three sisters?” Taylor asked, her eyes large as she looked around at all the excitement. She was almost cringing in her seat like a person adrift at sea with sharks circling her boat.

  “Yup,” I said. “Like Dad says, we’re ‘a foursome to be reckoned with.’”

  Krista sank her aqua-and-pink-braced teeth into the fluffy cinnamon roll and got a little glaze on the tip of her nose. “These are awesome! Did you make these, Ansley?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wow!” Krista licked her fingertips. “She bakes even better than you, Taylor!”

  Taylor froze midbite and stared at her friend over the cinnamon roll that was halfway in her mouth.

  “I mean,” Krista said with a cough, “she’s almost as good as you are!” Then she grabbed the glass of milk I had just put down in front of her and swallowed half of it in five loud gulps.

  I decided to change the subject, fast. “Do you girls go to Roland Lake?” I looked straight at Taylor to try to get her to talk. But Taylor wasn’t looking at me again. Instead she was slowly putting the uneaten half of her cinnamon roll down on a napkin. So it was Krista who spoke for both of them. “Oh, yes! We’re both starting middle school on Monday!”

  “Oh, great,” I said, relieved. “So am I. I was afraid I wouldn’t know anyone there. It’s scary to start at a new school where you don’t have any friends.”

  “Don’t worry,” Krista said. “Now you have two!”

  This time it was Taylor who coughed and took a long drink of milk.

  I smiled at Krista. “Thanks,” I said. While I really did appreciate her trying to make me feel better, I couldn’t help wondering if she was wrong. That is, I wasn’t really sure I’d made two friends that afternoon.

  I guess I’ll find out on Monday, I thought to myself, and sighed.

  Chapter 3

  After Krista, Taylor, and Hunni had gone back home, we got to work helping Aunt Sam get settled in.

  Her room was on the third floor, with ceilings that slanted like an attic, which made it look very cozy. After we made her bed, put up some curtains, and helped her put away her clothes, we all gathered in the family room just outside her bedroom. It was where we kept a lot of fun stuff like books, puzzles, games, and art supplies and where the twins had made the welcome banners earlier in the day. With a TV, two couches, and a carpeted floor, it was a perfect spot for all of us to hang out at the same time. But the coolest part of the room had to be the chalkboard wall.

  Dad had covered one wall with special, navy blue chalkboard paint that my sisters and I had a lot of fun drawing and writing on with different colored chalk. The first thing we did when the paint dried was to play a game of “pioneer school” with it. I couldn’t wait to try more games with it, but when we all sat down, I noticed there was something new on the wall: someone had drawn a pair of opened theatre curtains on it.

  Lena, of course, I thought. And when I saw her grab her guitar from behind one of the couches, pull up a chair, and set it in front of the wall, I knew exactly what she going to do: sing a song for Aunt Sam.

  Lena smiled shyly. “I’ve been working on this for a few days. It’s kind of short, but I hope you like it.” As she began fiddling with guitar strings to make sure they were in tune, I saw Cammie borrow Dad’s cell phone. Cammie pressed the record button just as Lena cleared her throat and began to sing,

  Welcome

  You are welcome under my roof.

  Although to tell you the truth

  You’ll find things in disarray.

  A lot’s been going on,

  And some of it’s been tough,

  But I hope you know that you’re welcome to stay.

  Welcome.

  I open the door and let you blow in.

  You knock things down, but your peace pours in.

  Your wind will set things right.

  Let it break through the clouds

  Of our hearts and our minds

  And carve out some space for the light . . .

  Lena trailed off. “That’s all I’ve got so far. But . . .” She shrugged. “Welcome, Aunt Samantha.”

  We all applauded.

  Aunt Samantha got up from the couch to kiss Lena on the head. “That was beautiful. Your voice is so good! Right, girls? Doesn’t your sister have an amazing voice?”

  We all nodded. It was true. We had to admit that Lena sounded like a recording artist.

  “Have you ever sung like that for Mallory Winston?”

  Lena shrank back and shook her head vigorously. “Noooo! I couldn’t do that. Mallory is a professional!”

  “Well, call me crazy, but I think your voice is just as good as hers,” Aunt Sam insisted.

  Dad piped up from behind Austin, who was trying to fold himself onto Dad’s lap even though he wasn’t puppy-sized anymore. “That’s what I keep trying to tell her. She’s really good.”

  Aunt Sam went on, “I think God is calling you, sweetheart. Listen carefully to Him. If He wants you to bring people closer to Him through your music, don’t let your fear stop you from following His voice.”

  Lena’s eyes looked big and serious. “Yes, ma’am. I just want to be sure that’s what He wants me to do.”

  Dad’s eyebrows knit together in curiosity. “What’s making you doubt? You said ‘yes’ to being in a movie a few years back and you weren’t even interested in acting.”

  “That’s just it,” Lena said. “I wasn’t interested in acting—just in meeting Mallory. But the movie kind of fell into my lap because God wanted me to have crazy faith and follow Him by doing
something that I found difficult. But singing is something I really like. Something I really enjoy. Something I do for fun! How do I know it’s something God wants me to do and not just something I want to do?”

  Dad tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, first think some more: were you able to help people by being in the movie?”

  “Of course. It was a movie for God. It brought a lot of people closer to Him. When I met people on the tour, they told me so.”

  “Can’t you use music in the same way? Doesn’t Mallory do that?”

  “That’s true,” Lena said slowly.

  “And didn’t you write that song?” Aunt Samantha asked.

  Lena flicked a few of her long braids behind her back. “Yeah.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, wasn’t that a song to the Holy Spirit?”

  Lena brightened. “Yeah!”

  “Doesn’t that make your song a prayer?” Aunt Sam put her hands in the air, palms up.

  Lena giggled into her hand. “Yeah,” she said a third time. “That’s also true.”

  My heart was pounding, and I sat up in my seat. “So think, Lena! When people hear your songs and learn the words and sing along, doesn’t that mean they’ll be praying and praising God?”

  “Don’t forget,” Dad added before flashing Austin a look of resignation when the dog let out a loud snore, “the ability to sing, to write music and lyrics—those are talents. Which means they are all gifts from God. God wants us to enjoy life. The Bible tells us in the book of John, chapter ten, that God wanted us to have life to the full. He wants us to have joy and fun and be creative while we’re on Earth. And in many places in the Bible, there are reminders about how good it is to offer God praise in song. Like in Psalm 95, where it is written:

  Oh come, let us sing to the LORD;

  let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!

  Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;

  let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! (ESV)

  Dad’s eyes were shining now. “God gives all of us talents to use in our lifetime. They are to help us enjoy His creation, and to help our neighbors, as well. He expects us to use those talents. Like in the Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25.”