The Healing Touch (Stories from hope haven)

by Hanson

  “Silly, it's the onion and cilantro in the salsa.”

  “How can a wife as sweet as mine not have the fragrance of flowers?” he teased.

  “What's gotten into you?” she asked laughing.

  “Do I have to wait for a special occasion to tell my wife how much I love her?”

  “Please don’t,” she said turning to him with a warm smile. “I believe you’re the best-natured man in town today.”

  She asked Rafael's friend to join them for supper, grateful that he’d found the trouble with the van and fixed it. They had just sat down at the table when the doorbell rang.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Cesar asked.

  “I’d forgotten. Maria Acuna's husband is picking up the quinceañera dress. She's scheduled to be dismissed from the hospital tomorrow, and he thought it would make her very happy to see the completed gown when she gets home.”

  Elena got up from the table, but she didn't miss the disgruntled look on her husband's face.

  “I thought you still had a lot to do on it.”

  “Oh, it went faster than I thought.” She hurried to the door before Cesar could ask more about how she’d finished it so quickly. The truth was, she’d worked into the small hours of the night. She didn't like deceiving her soundly sleeping husband, but it would only make him unhappy if he knew how she had pushed herself to finish.

  “Mr. Acuna, won't you come in?” she asked the short, gray-haired man who stood outside her door.

  “Oh, no thank you. I don't want to trouble you.”

  “Just give me a minute to get the dress,” she said, dashing to her bedroom where she’d hung it in the closet.

  It was a lovely creation, shimmering white with dainty lace on the bodice. Elena had truly loved working on it, daydreaming about the day when she might make a wedding dress for Izzy.

  When she handed it over to Maria's husband, his face glowed with pleasure.

  “Can I pay you for your trouble?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “Oh no, I won't hear of it. I loved finishing it. It's the most beautiful gown I’ve ever sewn.”

  He thanked her profusely, and she was just closing the door when Cesar came to the entryway to see what was keeping her.

  She sighed at her husband, sad to see the dress go. “I learned a lot from sewing that dress, and who knows? Maybe someday I’ll make Izzy's wedding dress.”

  Cesar sighed at her, but she read the pride in his eyes.

  “Rafael wants to drop a bombshell on you, but he's feeling guilty about it,” he said. “I want you to know that you can say no, even if it's for Izzy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I guess I’d better warn you. Izzy needs a costume for her ballet recital, something fancy and frilly.”

  “You know I can't say no to that,” she said. “Anyway, how much time will it take to make a dance costume?”

  Cesar shook his head and smiled at her.

  “Promise me you won't sneak out of bed again when you think I’m asleep,” he said with mock sternness.

  She gave him a quick hug and hurried back to the dinner table.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I THOUGHT I MIGHT SEE IF EVAN NEEDS ANY HELP today,” Cameron said to Anabelle after they finished a breakfast of bran cereal, fruit, and yogurt on Saturday morning.

  Anabelle gave him a wifely look across the table. “You promised we could check out the new cookware store this morning.”

  “I didn't exactly promise,” he hedged. “I only said maybe.”

  His wife shook her head. “You never used the word maybe.”

  “Working in the business is good for me. It gets me outside. I’d much rather do some landscaping than take that class at the Y. Last time the instructor had us stepping on and off risers. Where's the sense in that?”

  “It was probably part of a full-body workout,” she suggested. “Anyway, it's only March 12. I can't believe the ground is soft enough to start planting.”

  “We’re having an early spring.”

  “Not that early. It might be nice this week, but we could still get some late snow. I’m sure Evan hasn't started any projects that require your help.”

  “I can't believe that you expect me to take cooking lessons,” he said, carrying his dishes to the sink. “You don't want me to eat anything I like, so why go to a class?”

  “You don't have to sign up today. Let's just visit the store and see what the setup is. Maybe after you meet the owner who's teaching the classes, you’ll feel differently.”

  “Who takes cooking classes anyway? New brides who can't boil water? Women who don't know what to do with their time? I don't want to be the only rooster at a hen party.”

  “I can't believe you said that!” Anabelle said, beginning to believe that her dear, sweet husband had been switched with a look-alike.

  “If it will make you happy, I’ll go with you to check it out,” he said, giving her the sweet little grin that confirmed he was indeed her husband.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That's all I ask.”

  Once he’d committed himself, Cam was a good sport about driving into town and parking near the Chef's Corner. Anabelle wasn't sure what to expect, but as soon as she stepped through the door, she was impressed by the way the old store had been renovated. They slowly wandered among shelves of shiny new appliances and cookware, and even Cameron was impressed by the variety of goods on sale.

  “Goodness,” Anabelle said. “Our kitchen is certainly outdated compared to all these new things. Look at this mixer!”

  “Costs as much as a good used car,” Cam said in a soft voice. “You’re not thinking of buying a lot of new stuff, are you?”

  “No, that's not why we’re here.”

  Anabelle knew how old most of her equipment was, but she wouldn't trade it for high-tech gadgets. So many things in her kitchen had sentimental value. Her children had given her a waffle iron for Christmas when they were still in grade school, and her shelves were still full of wedding gifts that she used all the time. She fondly remembered her Aunt Betty every time she cooked in one of the set of copper-bottomed kettles. She had a wicked-looking knife that had been handed down from her grandmother. In fact, she’d always kept it on a high shelf away from her children, and now that she had a grandchild, it would stay there. Cam laughed at her whenever he saw her using it, which was seldom, but there was nothing like it to halve squash or slice watermelon.

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  A soft-spoken voice with a southern accent brought her attention back to the present. She turned to see a pleasingly plump woman with a huge mane of teased yellow hair and lively blue eyes. She was wearing a pink-and-white-striped cotton dress and a fluffy apron that tied at the back. Anabelle couldn't remember seeing anyone in a fancy little apron for ages.

  “We’re just looking,” Cam said.

  “Actually,” Anabelle said, “we came to find out more about your cooking classes.”

  “Just out of curiosity,” her husband added, trying to make it clear that they weren't there to sign up.

  “Splendid,” she said enthusiastically. “I’m Sherry Randall. This is my store, and I’ll be teaching most of the classes for now. I grew up just outside of Atlanta, so you might say there will be a southern flavor in many of the recipes we’ll be cooking. But let me show you the kitchen first.”

  They followed her to the rear of the long store, and Anabelle was pleasantly surprised by the ultraefficient setup. There were several long, gleaming white counters; two sets of double ovens; and a restaurant-sized refrigerator. Pots and pans hung from ceiling hooks, and there seemed to be more than enough to accommodate a fairly large class. Countertop burners, a large double sink, and glass-fronted cupboards all had a new, sparkling clean look; and long rubber mats provided foot comfort for people working in the space.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m new in Deerford,” Sherry said. “My husband was career air force un
til he retired, and we lived all over the world. I like to think I learned some new culinary tricks every place we went. We were living in Omaha when he passed away.”

  “That's a shame,” Anabelle said. “Losing your husband, not living in Omaha. How did you pick Deerford to open a business?”

  “I used to visit a dear friend here. Sadly, she's passed away too, but I always loved coming here. It's my idea of a picture-perfect small town, and the people I’ve met so far haven't disappointed me. Everyone has been so friendly and kind. And what do you folks do?”

  “My wife is a nurse at Hope Haven Hospital,” Cam said, answering before Anabelle could. “I recently turned my landscaping business over to our son, but I still like to keep my hand in. I’m Cameron Scott. This is Anabelle.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you both. I never would’ve taken you for a retired man, Mr. Scott.” She offered her hand, first to Anabelle, then to him.

  “Just call me Cam.”

  “This is where we hold our classes,” she said, gesturing at the impressive setup.

  “Do you have other teachers?” Anabelle asked.

  “Just one at the present. A young lady from the community college will be offering classes in pastry. I never did get the knack for making perfect Greek pastries like hers, but I’ll be teaching the rest for now, just good old home cooking, southern style. What's your favorite Sunday dinner, Cam?”

  “I’m partial to fried chicken.”

  “A man after my own heart. I dip my chicken in a secret recipe batter and deep-fry it and then serve it with zesty coleslaw and mashed sweet potatoes.”

  “Sounds great,” Cam said.

  “Of course, I love to finish with chocolate chip pecan pie. I still use a recipe passed down by my great granny.”

  “Sometimes they’re the best ones,” he said.

  “Actually, we’re interested in healthy cooking,” Anabelle said with a sideways look at her husband. “Your flier mentioned it as one of the courses.”

  “Yes, I have some delicious vegetarian recipes,” Sherry said. “Some you’d never miss the meat.”

  “I’m not exactly a vegetarian,” Cam said, “but I’m willing to try new things.”

  Anabelle couldn't imagine getting him to eat stew without meat or tofu stir-fry, but at least he wasn't showing any hostility to the idea of different foods.

  “About the courses…” she began.

  “Here I am chattering away,” Sherry said with a laugh. “Let me tell you how I operate. First, my list of course offerings.”

  She went to a drawer and took out a printed list.

  “I have a sign-up sheet for each course. Whenever enough people register, I start a class. The minimum is five, and the maximum twelve students. Each will meet for three sessions; but if everyone is having a good time, we can extend it.”

  “So if a person signs up, there's no guarantee you’ll be offering the course?” Anabelle asked.

  “No, but I’m confident that people will bring their friends, and most classes will start without a long wait. Here's my fee schedule.” She handed Cam another sheet of paper. “It varies a little depending on how expensive the ingredients are. Of course, after we cook, we eat. So come hungry and be ready for a taste treat.”

  Anabelle looked over Cam's shoulder at the fee sheet. It was a little more expensive than she’d expected, but certainly not too costly when her husband's health was at stake.

  “The fee includes an apron you can keep,” Sherry said. “There's nothing to bring, only your own sweet self, but I do ask that you wear closed-toe shoes for safety reasons.”

  “Good idea,” Cam said. “The whole program sounds great to me.”

  Anabelle raised an eyebrow at his unexpected enthusiasm,

  “Now, who's the chef in the family?” the buoyant blonde asked.

  “Me,” Cam said. “That is, I’m learning to be the family cook. Anabelle puts in long hours at the hospital, and I pretty much set my own work time.”

  “Splendid! You know, Cam, more and more men are getting into cooking. I think it's because of the chefs on television food programs. There's something so appealing about a man who can create a wonderful meal.” She purred with enthusiasm.

  “Well, should we sign up now?” Cam asked Anabelle.

  “Should we sign up? I thought you—”

  “A couple cooking together is so romantic,” Sherry said. “My husband and I shared some wonderful moments over a stove, although he did prefer to grill outside. I can remember him shoveling snow to get to our gas grill. Food tasted even better when he went to so much trouble.”

  “The plan was—” Anabelle began again.

  “I think we’ll start with the Happy Heart course,” Cam said decisively.

  “You’ll love that one,” Sherry said. “I even include a simple little dessert with hardly any calories but loads of taste.”

  “Imagine that,” Cam said. “I can't wait to get started.”

  He took the sign-up sheet she gave him and wrote both their names.

  “Now, is there anything else I can do for you today?” the storeowner asked.

  “There is one thing we could use,” Cam said. “I’m about ready to throw our old can opener into the trash. What do you have that will rip open cans with no sweat?”

  “Let me show you our best electric model.”

  Ten minutes later they left the store. Cam was carrying a sack with an opener that reminded Anabelle of a jet motor and a vegetable peeler that was so sharp it would probably require first aid when he used it.

  “That wasn't so bad,” he said.

  “I didn't plan to take cooking lessons myself.”

  “It will be fun. Sherry said she's had several couples sign up for different courses.”

  “Cam, I’m so busy at the hospital. The task force is plan-ning a drill in case we have an epidemic and—”

  “You need some recreation. What could be nicer than doing something together?”

  She didn't have an answer to that. Apparently, she was going to take cooking classes. She wasn't looking forward to them, but her mood brightened that afternoon when her daughter Ainslee dropped off Lindsay Belle so she could shop without taking her little daughter with her.

  “I really appreciate this, Mother,” Ainslee said. “Doug has some work he has to catch up on, and it's really hard taking Lindsay Belle from store to store when she's all bundled up.”

  Anabelle had to smile at her little granddaughter. She was encased in a pink snowsuit that made her look as wide as she was tall. She sat down on the floor to pull off Lindsay Belle's shiny white boots and unzip the suit.

  “What have we here?” Cam asked, coming into the entryway.

  “Hi, Pop. Thanks to both of you for babysitting,” Ainslee said. “I’ll be leaving now if you don't mind. Everything you might need is in the diaper bag, including a fresh outfit if Grandpa tries to teach her to eat an ice cream cone again.”

  “I think we’ll pass on that,” Anabelle said with a light laugh. “When our little sweetheart comes, I have to watch two babies.”

  “We just know how to have fun, don't we, sweetheart?” Cam said, picking her up before Anabelle could help her wiggle out of her hooded snowsuit.

  He plopped her down on the couch and somewhat awkwardly managed to remove her snowsuit and then the two of them went to the dining room where they had a collection of toys in a special plastic box, some left from their own children and others new.

  Anabelle grinned broadly as her husband took Lindsay Belle's hand and shortened his stride to match the baby's none too steady gait. She was dressed in bright yellow tights and a blue knit dress with orange and yellow kittens in the pattern. Who knew that a tiny little person could bring so much joy to both of them?

  Her enjoyment was interrupted by a sobering thought. If Cam wanted to watch his granddaughter grow up, he was going to have to take better care of himself. Hopefully, the cooking class would contribute to his understanding of wha
t healthy eating was.

  “Nana,” Lindsay Belle said, summoning her grandmother to join in the fun.

  Anabelle followed the pair into the living room where they quickly spread the toys out on the carpet. What could possibly be more fun than entertaining their beloved granddaughter?

  Elena was delighted when Rafael was able to get the van running for a fee that he could handle on his small salary at the restaurant. She scarcely listened when he explained the intricacies of the aging motor, but the bottom line was that the band would get to their Saturday night gig. She watched as he and his friend loaded his equipment before leaving to collect the other members of the band.

  She thought they had gone, but Rafael rushed back into the house, waving a plastic bag.

  “I almost forgot. I had the directions for Izzy's costume in the van. I hope it won't take too much time to make it.”

  “I wonder what parents do when they don't sew,” Elena teased, taking the directions out of the bag.

  “Oh, there's a lady who will make them, but she charges quite a bit. I really appreciate your help,” Rafael said.

  “That's okay. It's fun to sew for Izzy.”

  “I’ll be late, but I have my house key,” her son assured her.

  As the door closed behind him, she shook out the directions for the costume along with a swatch of pink netting and another of pink satin. The pattern wasn't too complicated. Izzy was in the youngest group, but the teacher still expected all the children to have appropriate costumes.

  Elena smiled a bit ruefully. Izzy's part in the program would probably last two minutes at the most, but making the costume would take at least two evenings. The hard part would be finding the netting and matching the fabric color. She hoped it wouldn't involve a trip to Peoria. She would have to shop as soon as possible so the local store wouldn't be sold out.

  The important thing was that Izzy would be thrilled. Elena could visualize her in a pretty pink tutu, which reminded her that she would also need pink tights. She hoped that the ballet teacher had checked on availability before she decided what the children should wear. If worse came to worst, she could dye a pair of Izzy's white tights.