Christmas Cake

by Lynne Hinton

  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 ch
ange 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.”

  “But maybe the healing isn’t about the physical body, Lou. Maybe the healing has to do with her spirit, with her soul. Just because a person gets healed doesn’t mean that they live forever. We all have to die, right?”

  “That’s a lovely little sermon, Beatrice. I’m so glad a patch on your butt has given you such theological expertise. But I don’t care about any other healing for Margaret. I want her around. I want her to decide to take the chemotherapy again and I want her to fight and I want her to stay here for me.” Louise rubbed her eyes. She was tired from everything.

  “That’s why you’re going to Texas?” Beatrice asked, surprised at what Louise was saying.

  “Yes, I would say so,” she replied.

  “You think that if she goes to her mother’s grave that maybe she’ll change her mind and go back into treatments?” Beatrice had no idea this was the way Louise was considering the trip they were taking together.

  “Yes,” Louise replied. “I’m hoping that Margaret will think about her mother’s death and how early it came and decide that she has lived a lot longer and that she can live even longer if she fights. I’m thinking that a good sit at her mother’s grave will give her the resolve to come home and keep fighting.”

  “She’s fought a lot, Lou,” Beatrice responded.

  “I don’t care,” Louise confessed. “She can fight more.”

  Beatrice studied her friend. She could see the struggle she was undergoing. She knew that Louise was not at all prepared for Margaret’s death. She wondered if Louise was dealing at all with what was happening.

  “Lou, I don’t know Margaret’s reason for wanting to take this trip, but I seriously doubt it’s to gain strength to come home and start taking treatments again. If anything, it seems like something totally opposite to me. It sounds to me like she’s making her peace, saying her good-byes, and then she’ll come home—”

  “I know what it sounds like,” Louise interrupted her. “But that’s what I pray. That’s what you asked me and that’s what I pray.”

  Beatrice backed off. “Okay,” she remarked. “I understand. But Lou, at least rethink the promise you’re making.”

  Louise considered what her friend was saying. “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t really think God would want you to be a television preacher.”

  Louise got off the stool and headed for the door. “Maybe,” she noted. “Or maybe I look really good on camera.” She smiled. “Get the van and pick me up after lunch.”

  “I’m taking care of it,” Beatrice said as she opened the door for Louise.

  And there was something about the way Beatrice responded that made Louise flinch.

  Pecan Cake

  3 cups sugar

  ½ cup butter, softened

  1 cup shortening

  5 eggs

  3 cups flour

  1/8 teaspoon salt

  1 cup milk

  2 cups chopped pecans

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  Cream sugar, butter, and shortening in mixing bowl. Add eggs. Mix well. Combine flour and salt. Add alternately with milk. Stir in pecans and vanilla. Pour into 10-inch Bundt pan. Bake at 300 degrees for 2 hours and 15 minutes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  But why now?” Lana wanted to know. She was visiting Jessie, showing off Hope’s pictures taken with Santa Claus.

  “James, where’s that black suitcase?” Jessie yelled out the door to her husband. She waited for his response before answering her granddaughter-in-law.

  “In the closet, on a shelf,” he yelled back.

  Jessie walked over to the closet and opened the door. She looked on the top shelf and there it was. She reached up to pull it down and felt Lana right beside her. Lana helped her get it from the shelf.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said as she walked with it over to the bed. “I’m not really sure about why we’re going now. I didn’t ask her that,” she finally answered Lana’s question. “Margaret just wanted to go and we’re taking her.”

  Lana nodded. She wanted to ask the obvious question about Margaret’s condition and whether this was some end-of-life request but she didn’t. She didn’t want to pry.

  “I really hate that I’m going to miss you on Christmas,” Jessie said as she turned to look at Lana. “I love seeing the baby open her presents.”

  Lana smiled. “It’s okay. We’ll take lots of pictures, and besides, you’ll be back by next weekend, won’t you?”

  Jessie nodded. “As far as I know. I don’t think w
e’ll get back by Christmas Day but I don’t think Margaret intends to stay more than just a couple of days. There’s supposed to be a storm coming though; that’s why we’re leaving today instead of tomorrow.”

  “Did you find it?” James was walking into the room. “Oh.” He was surprised to find Lana sitting on the bed. “I didn’t know you were here. Where’s Hope?” he asked, looking around the room.

  “She’s at a party,” Lana replied. “In fact, I should go to get her. I just wanted to stop by before you leave and give you the pictures.” She got up from her seat.

  “Here, let me see that,” James took the photographs. “Ah, isn’t she just the cutest girl you’ve ever seen?” He smiled and winked at his grandson’s wife.

  “I do think that they turned out pretty good.” She glanced over the pictures again.

  “Well, I guess I should be leaving. We’ll miss you, Miss Jessie.” Lana reached over and hugged the older woman. “You be safe and we’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Thanks, Lana,” Jessie said. “You have a nice Christmas and we’ll get together next weekend.”

  Lana waited before she left. Jessie could see that she had something else to say.

  “I’m sorry about Miss Margaret,” she said, the tears welling in her eyes.

  James walked out of the room. He thought the two women should have the moment alone.

  “I know how much I feel about her; I can only imagine what this is like for you.”

  Jessie hugged Lana again. She felt the tears sting her eyes as well. And she ended the embrace and got a box of tissues from the dresser. She held them out to Lana, who took one, and then pulled one out for herself.

  “It’s terrible,” Jessie confessed. “I go from feeling angry and frustrated to really, really sad.” She sat down on the bed, and Lana sat beside her. “I think that’s why Louise and Beatrice and I are willing to go on this trip. It’s really silly but I just think otherwise we would be too sad to try and face Christmas without some sort of adventure.”