He went back toward the office and supply areas to a small space and opened the door. There, all the equipment was installed inside.
“See here.” He picked up a small device. “This remote controls everything. You don’t have to be right in front of it to manipulate the system.”
Faith was so excited about everything she’d seen today. It really lifted her spirits, but she still hated that she couldn’t share this moment with Michael.
She looked at Ezell. “If I have questions, will someone be able to answer them?”
“There is a premium level of support for the first two years and a lifetime of dedicated support after you’ve been using it for a while.”
Satisfied with the product and Ezell’s quick demonstration, she needed to get to the other things that hadn’t been completed. “Well, you can carry on. I’ll get out of the way. I need to finish some things in my office.”
Faith was even proud of her office, which they’d finished long before they even got halfway through the renovation of the rest of the store.
“Mrs. Montgomery is in the supply area on the sewing machine,” Ezell said.
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“I just didn’t want her to startle you.”
Faith wondered if Michael had told his mother anything about their breakup. It hadn’t seemed like it so far, but as the days passed Margaret had to wonder why Faith hadn’t said anything about him. Or why Michael hadn’t come around the shop.
She walked to the back and peeped into the room in which Margaret was working.
“Good morning, Margaret.”
Margaret turned around. “Morning, Faith. How are you, dear?”
Faith wanted to reply “heartbroken”, but instead she put a big smile on her face. “Fantastic. I just wanted to show you how the dresses turned out.”
Margaret’s eyes shined as she got up from her seat and took the garment bags from Faith. “You finally got them completed.” She looked into Faith’s eyes. “Now we’ve got a complete line. Let me look at them.”
Faith unzipped the bag while Margaret held the hangers. “This first one is my favorite of the three,” Faith said, removing it from the bag.
“So pretty,” Margaret said. “Try it on,” she suggested, putting the bag with the other dresses down on the empty chair to the side.
Faith was so proud of her design she was anxious to try it on as well. She slipped out of the boots and brown-suede, knee-length A-line skirt that she was wearing, and into the tea-length dress.
“Margaret, can you help me with the straps?” Faith asked, pulling her angora sweater over her head.
Margaret assisted Faith. “So this one has a halter top?”
Faith nodded, pressing the wrinkles out of the bottom as she waited for Margaret to fasten the collar.
“Okay, Faith, then we will need to make a little bolero jacket so that it could be worn in cooler months. It will make the dress more versatile.”
Faith stared at herself in the mirror, thinking of Margret’s suggestion. “You know what? You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“It would complement the dress beautifully,” Margaret said.
Being with Margaret and working like this made Faith feel so good. She no longer had the heavy feeling of that morning. But there was still something missing and she knew exactly what it was—Michael.
Chapter Twenty-Two
OLD-FASHIONED COLLARD GREENS
1-1/2 pounds smoked ham hocks
1 tablespoon hot sauce (such as Tabasco)
1 teaspoon celery salt
3 bunches fresh collard greens (about 2-3/4 pounds)
By the time Faith arrived at her parents’ house on Thanksgiving eve, her mother had already started the preparations for dinner. Faith and her sisters would be assisting with the monumental task of cooking for twenty-five adults and she didn’t know how many rambunctious children, who would be darkening the door in less than twenty-four hours.
When Faith entered the home, she could hear the music from the front of the house, which always meant her Aunt Francis had arrived. Francis McClendon was Russell’s younger sister and the nosiest one of the bunch, constantly in other people’s business. But everyone loved her, plus she was a great cook.
Faith took her things upstairs to the room that she would be sharing with Patrice later that evening and found her already there.
“What’s up, Treecie,” Faith said, rolling her small suitcase into the room.
Patrice was lying across the bed and looked over her right shoulder. “I’m just taking a break before going back downstairs.”
Faith leaned closer to Patrice, just in case there was someone else upstairs who could hear them. “Is Aunt Francis here? I heard Shirley Caesar.” Faith stifled a laugh as she thought about how, if her aunt liked a song, she would play it constantly.
“Yes, but she’s leaving soon. Mom said they’ve been in the kitchen all day because Aunt Francis’s oven went out.”
Faith’s eyes widened. “Wow, that means Mom is going to be really tired.”
Patrice sat up straight. “No, because Mom said she just let Aunt Francis have at it. She went on doing her other work, getting the house ready, so we’re all good.”
Faith was happy to be there with them because it was better than sulking at home, eating butter-pecan ice cream. It should be fun since they all were spending the night, making it a girl’s night. They hadn’t had one of those since she graduated from college and her sisters came up to New York a few days before graduation.
Faith rolled her suitcase inside the closet and hung up her coat. “You ready to go back now?”
Patrice stood up. “Yes, I’ve decided to make those chocolate peanut butter cookies that the kids go crazy over.”
Faith hadn’t thought any more about what she was going to prepare or if she was going to even compete in the McClendon best-dish contest. “Are you entering the cookies in the contest?”
Patrice smacked her lips. “Child, no. I’m not entering that contest. I had enough of that last year. I just didn’t say anything to Mama the other day when we were talking about it.”
Faith frowned. “Why, what happened?”
“Too much of a hassle and Gwen always tries to say somebody cheated. That girl should just accept the fact that she can’t cook worth a damn.”
Faith cracked up laughing. “Lawd, poor child.” Faith shook her head as she walked to the door, with her sister following behind her.
When Faith and Patrice entered the kitchen, they found Myra standing in front of the stove. The rest of the kitchen was a mess—splotches of sticky batter on the counters, sink filled with dishes.
“I take it Aunt Francis left already?” Patrice said, from behind Faith.
“Yes she did…” Myra turned toward the table in the corner, waving her hand all around, “…as you can see from all the food laid out.”
Faith didn’t understand why her aunt didn’t clean up after herself. She realized that when cooking for a large crowd, you never got the kitchen completely clean until you were done. But this was inexcusable and, frankly, unbelievable that their mother didn’t insist Aunt Francis clean up after herself.
“Mom, you just let her leave with all these dishes in the sink?” Faith asked.
“Well, if I could have gotten her out of here sooner, I would have. I felt sorry for her because her stove went out.”
“That’s no excuse to tear your kitchen to shreds,” Patrice added.
“Well, I have you girls to help me.”
“She should have brought her daughters then, to help her.”
Myra gave Patrice a knowing look that made her press her lips together tightly.
Faith went over to the table where the finished desserts were being kept. The delicious aroma of nutmeg waft
ed into the air from the three sweet-potato pies. The three tall, generous layers of red velvet cake frosted with homemade cream cheese icing looked like something out of a magazine. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the ooey-gooey goodness of the chocolate turtle cake with the glaze of melted chocolate and the sprinkle of toasted pecans on top.
“She baked up a storm today. These kinds of desserts are for the serious sweet lover. We’re going to have to be rolled out of here if we eat all of these tomorrow.”
“That’s not nearly enough, she only made two cakes and three pies. I still need to make the chocolate pound cake, strawberry cheesecake and some other dessert.”
“I was going to make cookies,” Patrice offered, pinching off some icing of the turtle cake.
Myra walked over and smacked her hand. “Girl, if you don’t cut it out. Don’t pinch the icing off the cake, Treecie.”
“Hmm, it’s delicious,” Patrice said, eyeing the cake and then her mother. “Aunt Francis is messy, but the woman can throw down.”
“Treecie, I thought you didn’t cook,” Faith said to Patrice.
“I don’t. Why do you think I chose cookies? I just didn’t want anybody saying that I didn’t make anything.”
Faith chuckled. Her sister was always trying to be funny. She walked over to the stove where Myra was standing, Faith’s gaze meeting hers. Faith knew her mother wanted to say something to her about Michael, but she was glad she hadn’t because Patrice would ask a million questions.
“This smells good,” Faith said, opening the oven door, the smell of maple- and brown-sugar-glazed ham wafting through the air.
Myra pulled open a drawer and retrieved two aprons. “Here, put these on so you won’t get your clothes messed up.” She handed both Patrice and Faith the cloth cover-ups.
“Where are Jenn and Renee?” Patrice asked.
“You know it takes Jenn a little longer to pack everything and get the twins from the day care, so she’s running late. Everybody wanted to get their hair done for the holiday.”
“I take it Renee’s working?” Faith said.
“She’s on her way; she sent me a text message about twenty minutes ago.” Myra took the lid off her pot and stirred the contents. “I think you girls should get started. Francis helped us with the desserts, but we’ve still got the heavy lifting to do. I’ve put the ham in the oven and I’ve snapped the ends of the green beans.”
Faith glanced at her watch. “Did Daddy go and pick up Laurence from the airport? I really wanted to go with him.”
Myra dropped the kitchen towel on the counter and turned toward her daughters. “I wanted to tell you girls this when you were all together.”
Faith’s heart raced. She didn’t like the tone of her mother’s voice nor the expression she had on her face. “Mom, please tell me that Laurence is okay.”
“He’s got to be okay. Mom isn’t freaking out,” Patrice added.
“No, he isn’t injured, but he won’t be coming home for Thanksgiving either.”
Faith felt as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She had been looking forward to seeing her brother, Laurence, whom she hadn’t heard from in a couple of months, but hadn’t seen in years. She missed him, and while talking to him on Skype, FaceTime and Google Hangout gave her some comfort, she wanted to physically touch him.
“What happened?”—Faith wanted to know. She glanced over at Patrice, who had taken a seat at the table. Faith knew she was just as disappointed.
“They put him on some special assignment. He couldn’t go in to any more details,” Myra explained.
“But—” Patrice started before Myra could stop her.
Myra beckoned for the girls to come to her, and then she enveloped them in her arms. She kissed each one before stepping back. “Listen, girls, I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be sad. I’m sad too, but your brother is fine. He promised me yesterday that he was fine.”
Faith wiped away the one tear that broke free and took a deep breath. “I was just so excited that we were all going to be together on my first Thanksgiving back.”
“Well, we still have something to be thankful for. They aren’t sending him home in a box. I know the Lord will take care of him, just as he always does,” Myra said, rubbing Patrice’s back.
Faith cleared her throat. “Okay,” she inhaled air through her nose, then released a long sigh. “Do you want us to tell Jenn and Renee?”
Faith saw her mother’s eyes get glossy, so she reached out and grabbed her hand. “We can tell them, Mom.”
Myra only nodded, then turned around and picked up the sifter, pouring the measured flour into it. As soon as she started to hum her favorite song, Faith realized that her mother was worried. They rarely saw Myra in distress, but who wouldn’t be concerned when a loved one was in another country fighting. She knew her sisters would be disappointed too, but they all would be okay because Faith was sure they would see their brother soon.
Faith’s personal drama would have to take a backseat to the food preparation for the massive meal they’d be serving on Thanksgiving. Myra had given each person a specific responsibility in getting the dinner ready. Faith’s first task was to get all those dishes washed and put away. They liked to do this as much as possible while cooking. It made the final cleanup much quicker and easier.
She then removed green peppers, onions and celery from the fridge to start chopping the vegetables for the cornbread dressing. She reached for a large red ceramic bowl from the cabinet above her to put everything in.
Patrice retrieved a huge block of sharp cheddar cheese, grabbed the stainless-steel grater, then went over to the counter and began to grate it, sending a tangy scent into the air. Faith never understood why their mother had them shred the cheese instead of buying it prepackaged. Myra always said that it didn’t taste the same, but Faith never could tell the difference.
The three women worked for another hour before Renee, Jennifer and their father came in. They got straight to work on their assigned duties.
Russell set up the tables and Renee followed behind him, laying the elegant chocolate-colored tablecloth down first, then adding the tableware and crystal glasses. Once she placed the candy-apple-red-colored tulip flower vases on the table, the mood had been set for the festive holiday meal.
Faith admired the beautiful setting and was looking forward to seeing all of their guests, but there was one in particular she wondered about—Michael. Would he show up after the huge fight they’d had? Would she be able to emotionally handle his presence? She would soon find out.
Early Thanksgiving morning, Michael stopped by his mother’s house to let her know that he wouldn’t be attending the McClendons’ Thanksgiving dinner. He still hadn’t informed her that he and Faith broke up, so he hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed.
As soon as Michael walked in the house, he found Margaret in the kitchen, putting his favorite dessert into a plastic cake carrier.
“You made a German chocolate cake to take to the McClendons’?”
“Hey, baby. Yes I did. I thought it was the least I could do. I spoke to Myra the other day and asked what I could bring. She said I didn’t have to worry about anything, but you just can’t go to folks’ house empty-handed.”
“I don’t think I’m going to go to dinner today,” Michael said quickly. There was no need to hesitate any longer.
Margaret’s brows furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Michael hated when his mother was silent because he always wanted to know what she was thinking.
Michael dropped his body into the first open chair at the table.
Margaret took the seat directly across from him. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table, her hands folded. “Okay, spill. What happened?”
Michael cleared his throat. “Faith and I broke up.”
“How long ago did this happen?
I’ve been working with Faith all week and she hasn’t said a word.”
Michael hunched his shoulders. “It’s been a week since I’ve spoken to her.”
Margaret’s mouth opened then shut. She hesitated before speaking again. “So you spoke to her when you left my house that day?”
“Yes, and now it’s over.” Michael dropped his head because he still missed Faith so bad his heart hurt. “I thought our bond could withstand anything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked with concern.
“I was embarrassed.”
Margaret frowned. “Embarrassed?”
“You’d already told me not to get too excited because she might say no.”
Margaret shook her head. “No, son, I told you that she had been through a lot.”
Margaret got up from the table and continued to pack her things. “I still think you should go. It’s Thanksgiving and they are expecting us.”
“Why don’t you just go then, Mom?”
“Michael, if you love this girl like I know you do, you will fight for her. You say you thought your bond could withstand anything; then fight for it.”
Michael sat for a couple of minutes, contemplating what he should do. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
Margaret, with her back turned to him, looked over her left shoulder. “Come on now, Michael, you know what should be done in this situation. Stop trying to think of an excuse because you’re frightened. I understand that you’re heartbroken, but she could have split up with you because she was upset. I bet you anything her heart is aching just as much as yours.”
Margaret went over to him, placing her palm in the middle of his back. “Okay now, go home, shower and change. I want to see that handsome son of mine when you come back. We can walk over together.”
Michael got up, hugged his mother and left the house. Maybe she was right. Fighting for Faith might be the only way.
A McClendon Thanksgiving Page 20