Finally Home

by Lyn Cote

  “Guthrie? This is Hannah. I’m sorry. Tomorrow I won’t be able to work a full day….”

  Aha! I was right! She won’t last.

  “I’m really kind of excited. I’ve done my food column for three years now, but I’ve never done a live cooking demo for TV. The Madison station that does on-the-scene interviews called my agent and asked if I could fill in for a noon cancellation.” Her voice bubbled.

  “Great!” Saved by a noon cancellation!

  She giggled in his ear. The sound made his neck hair feel funny. “You’re not off the hook, fella! I’ll still be able to help out after the noon show. I mean, after I clean up my cooking mess in the church kitchen.”

  “Is that where you’ll be cooking?”

  “Yes, since neither my mother nor I have a kitchen, as yet.” She paused pointedly.

  He felt the little pinch of the scold she’d meant for him. “Okay! Okay!”

  “Tell your mom and great-aunts to come to the demo if they want. They’d like a live audience. Dad’s going to set up chairs in the basement.”

  “Will do.” The change in plans and the fact that Hannah wouldn’t be working with him hit him funny. Why wasn’t he happier?

  “Okay then. See you tomorrow after lunch!”

  “Who was that?” his mother asked.

  As Guthrie relayed Hannah’s good news and her invitation to his mother and aunts, the image of Hannah sitting in the steeple opening earlier in the day with her short, walnut-colored hair fluttering in the breeze against the blue sky flashed in his mind.

  The church basement was alight and a-buzz. Metal poles with racks of lights brightened the drab room. Fortunately, the basement kitchen, if not stylish, was neat and clean. A TV camera’s black coils of thick wire snaked around the tan metal folding chairs, set up in four neat rows of ten across. Senior citizens primarily filled the chairs, along with a few mothers holding children on their laps. Sitting beside Martha with Hunter on her lap, Guthrie’s great-aunts, wearing matching lavender dresses, circa 1966, sat primly in the front row. They waved at her.

  She waved back and smiled. Then she realized she’d been searching the audience for Guthrie’s handsome face. Get real! He’s on the roof shingling!

  “Now, Miss Kirkland, we’ve only got a few minutes to go, then we’re on live.” The producer of the crew, wearing a headset like some techno-tiara, asked, “Do you have everything ready?”

  Hannah glanced at the precise plan she’d typed and nodded. “I’ve already prepared one casserole and have the ingredients to demonstrate one for the camera.”

  “Great! We really appreciate your filling in on such short notice.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You have three minutes, forty seconds. So just hit the highlights.”

  “I will.” She took a deep breath.

  “Good choice of outfit.” He gestured toward her. “The solid red will be a good background to the green beans.”

  Thank you. I picked it out just for that reason. I saw it on the hanger and thought, Now, that shade of red will be a good background for green beans. She felt a bit slaphappy from nerves. Live TV. That meant no-mistakes-please TV. Why did I think this would be a good idea?

  “Okay, here we go,” the head of the TV crew announced to the audience. “Everyone, clap after I introduce Miss Kirkland and at the end. Otherwise, please stay still. Thank you.”

  The TV local-assignments reporter, wearing matching gray sport coat and slacks, took his place beside her in the kitchen and looked through the louvered opening into the fellowship hall.

  The producer counted down. “Four, three, two, one.” He pointed at the reporter.

  “Hi, Jim Harue here, in tiny Petite Portage at the historic Petite Community Church. I’d like to introduce Hannah Kirkland who writes the syndicated column Real Food, Healthy Food for newspapers all over the Midwest.”

  On cue, the audience clapped. The reporter continued, “Ms. Kirkland—”

  “Please call me Hannah.” She smiled extra wide and felt like a fake.

  “Hannah, what are you cooking for us today?”

  “Well, Jim, this is the season of bounty. All the carefully tended gardens in central Wisconsin are pouring out tomatoes, zucchini and green beans, which is our topic today. This is the type of vegetable recipe that takes a traditional favorite, green beans with bacon, and gives it a new healthy twist. It’s high in calcium and makes a great side dish to any grilled meat. Or it could be the heart of a delicious meal.”

  “What are the ingredients?”

  “I start with six cups of fresh green beans, lightly steamed and drained.” She held up a silvery aluminum colander with prepared green beans in it. “One cup of bread crumbs—”

  The sound of two feminine voices and footsteps in the audience caught Hannah’s attention, but she kept her mind on the recipe. “And four slices of crisp bacon, crumbled. Set these aside—”

  “That’s not the way this recipe goes,” Guthrie’s great-aunt Ida insisted. “I’ve made this for years and years. You don’t need bread crumbs for bacon and green beans.”

  “Absolutely not,” her sister Edith agreed. “Mother never made it that way.”

  The reporter beside Hannah froze, his eyes bugging out.

  Hannah wondered if she wore the same expression. Her chest felt pinched. She had a hard time catching a breath.

  “Ladies,” Hannah said quickly, “I’m making a new recipe. Why don’t you—”

  “A new recipe? How marvelous!” Ida said.

  “Oh, we can’t miss that, then.” Edith crowded close on one side of Hannah, forcing back the reporter. Ida hovered on the other side.

  Hannah trained her eyes on the camera. Oh, Lord, help me! This could be a disaster. What can I do but go on with the original plan? “Now I…we will make the sauce.”

  “Oh, this is wonderful! She’s going to make sauce!” Ida crooned around Hannah to Edith.

  Edith applauded.

  Everyone else applauded along with her. The reporter eased out of camera range.

  Don’t desert me now! Coward!

  Hannah went on adhering to her plan. “Melt one-fourth cup of margarine and stir in one-half cup of chopped onions.” She dolloped the premeasured margarine into a nonstick skillet, instantly producing a cheery sizzle. “Sauté them lightly, then stir in—”

  “I’ve never been able to digest onions, Hannah,” Ida interrupted. “They make me bilious.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Edith lamented with a sad shake of her silver head. “Can we take out the onions, Hannah?”

  “Of course you can.” With a wooden spoon, Hannah womanfully stirred the aromatic margarine and onions. “I’m stirring in four tablespoons of flour and two teaspoons of salt—”

  “Oh, we’d have to take out the salt. We have high blood pressure, you know.” Ida looked apologetic.

  “You might use another favorite seasoning or a salt substitute,” Hannah ad-libbed. “Then you add plain low-fat yogurt and cottage cheese and a dash of pepper.”

  The producer held up one finger, the signal that she had one minute to go. Feeling a bit light-headed, she said, “Bring these to a nice bubble, then pour the sauce over the green beans and half the bread crumbs already in a casserole dish. Top with your favorite low-fat cheese, the rest of the bread crumbs and the crumbled bacon. You may substitute turkey for bacon if you wish, or delete the bacon for a vegetarian dish. Microwave for approximately ten minutes, and voilà!” She bumped Ida’s arm, but managed to lift the still warm prepared casserole.

  “Oh!” Ida and Edith crowed. “It smells delicious!”

  The reporter stepped into camera range. “Thanks so much, Hannah.” He paused. “And ladies.”

  The sisters beamed at him.

  He continued gazing fixedly at the camera. “The complete recipe is available on our Web site, shown at the bottom of your TV screen, or you may send us a self-addressed stamped envelope for a copy.”

  Hannah gave another bright smile to
the camera. “Don’t forget my latest cookbook, Real Food, Healthy Food, Volume two. It’s available at any bookstore, or order it from my Web site.”

  The twin great-aunts led the audience in an enthusiastic finale of clapping.

  Setting down the casserole with intense relief, Hannah stepped around the sisters to thank the reporter, the producer and the cameraman.

  The demo had been a roller-coaster ride from start to finish. The crew said all that was polite but kept glancing sideways at the sisters. Her heart still palpitating in little jerks, Hannah accompanied the men through the church and outside.

  Within minutes, the crew and reporter loaded their equipment and got into their white van, which sported a communication dish on its top. As the van drove away, Hannah waved one last time.

  The two sisters led the rest of the audience out the front doors of the church. “Oh, that was fun!”

  The happy seniors of Petite crowded around Hannah, congratulating her. Hannah nodded, shook hands and tried to put names with faces. Martha waved as she hurried away with Hunter.

  Finally, only the sisters remained. “We’re going to make that recipe this week and bring it to the potluck on Sunday,” Ida said with a decided nod.

  “Oh, yes. Of course, we might make a few bitty little changes.” Edith giggled, and the sisters walked away still chattering with excitement.

  Hannah plopped down on the church steps. Her mother sat beside her. They exchanged glances, which communicated a family motto—never a dull moment.

  “A very interesting experience,” her mother murmured. “But you handled it well.”

  They looked at each other again before bursting into laughter.

  Evidently the aunts had taken her invitation as a request to be a part of the program. Hannah felt the tension drain out of her. Well, God, thanks for an interesting experience. Thanks for keeping me humble.

  Nearly an hour later, wearing her brand-new safety harness over a pair of denim overall shorts and a buttery yellow T-shirt, Hannah scooted through the opening in the steeple. “Guthrie! I don’t want to startle you again!” she shouted over the noise of his nailing. “Guthrie, I’m coming out!”

  His hammering halted. “Hannah, I don’t want you out on this roof!”

  “Too bad. I’m out on it already!” Straddling the peak, she inched her way around until she faced him. Laughing with her mother over the “live-TV disaster” earlier had brightened her mood. She grinned at him. “I’m an experienced roofer.”

  “Of course, you are!” he agreed with a sarcastic twist. “But I don’t want you up here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Please, let’s just drop this argument, okay? You’ll never get the church and house done this year without help. Now, I’ve got on my safety harness, and it’s hooked to the support.” She jiggled it at him. “Plus I noticed the scaffold for shingles and the roof jacks you’ve put in place. I can see you’ve taken every precaution, and I won’t take any chances, I promise!” She pulled on white cotton work gloves. “Now you just stick to your side of the roof, and I’ll stick to mine.”

  “So much for me being the boss of this job!” Guthrie groused.

  “I don’t mind your deciding what work is to be done and how, but I think we’ve exhausted the ‘sweet little Hannah doesn’t know one end of the hammer from the other’ routine—thank you very much!”

  Guthrie growled at her. “For the record, I’m still against this! And I’m coming over to show you how to do this right. I don’t want to waste time and good money ripping off perfectly good shingles!”

  “Yes, Guthrie, of course, Guthrie!” She giggled, then let herself down the side of the roof, as if it were the side of a mountain, to the scaffolding that spanned this side of the roof. Yesterday had been gloomy. Today only cottony white clouds blocked the sun.

  The bundles of green asphalt shingles had been delivered directly onto the roof. Guthrie appeared on the peak and looked at her. Before he could speak, she said, “Just watch me and see if I do it to suit you!”

  He grunted suspiciously.

  She ripped open the brown paper covering the nearest bundle and with attention to detail, she trimmed the first shingle, positioned it and nailed it into place. She did another, conscious of the boss’s scrutiny. “So, how’d I do?” she challenged him.

  “All right.” He disappeared to the other side of the roof.

  She suppressed another giggle and nailed down the next shingle.

  Their two hammers pounded a raucous duet—sometimes counterpoint, sometimes in unison. High above Petite, Hannah experienced a freedom and a lightheartedness she hadn’t felt for three long years. Her hands busy, her mind wandered. Looking back on it, being engaged to Edward had been similar to a prison sentence, one she’d given herself. She realized that she’d never really “understood” the real Edward. She’d fallen in love with the life they’d have together as pastor and wife.

  Today she didn’t feel like the same woman who’d worn Edward’s speck of a diamond. That struck her as good, but unnerving. If marrying Edward and being a pastor’s wife wasn’t what she was intended to be, what was? She’d had a plan for her life, but no more. Coping with this fact felt similar to shingling a roof without any safety harness. It was scary, sweaty-palms scary.

  Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand, she measured and hammered, staggering the notches of the shingles and overlapping them to insure water resistance. She’d hadn’t shingled for over a year. Her straining arm and shoulder muscles would ache in the morning. Oh, yeah!

  From her lofty vantage point, she had a view of the little village below, the crisscross of streets and patches of green lawn dotted with leafy trees. Over her shoulder, she stole a glance at Guthrie’s mother’s backyard where Amber, Jenna and Hunter enjoyed the rare sunny day by climbing and swinging on the bright orange A-frame swing set. Squeals and happy shouts floated on the air, making her grin. Oh, to be as carefree as a child again!

  A battered silver pickup drove up the street and parked in front of Martha and Lynda’s house. Who was dropping by this late in the afternoon?

  “Hey!” Guthrie shouted from the opposite side of the roof. “Carpenter’s helper, this is the boss. It’s time for a break! Hop to it!”

  Hannah chuckled. Guthrie must be coming around if he was teasing her. She climbed to the peak and ducked into the steeple.

  Inside, propped against a sawhorse, Guthrie held out a candy bar. “Want one?”

  She shook her head. Taking a blue bandanna from her pocket, she wiped her moist forehead. “Don’t open that candy bar. I’ve got something better, a casserole left from my food shoot.”

  “Is it edible?” he teased.

  “Watch it, Guthrie! I’m holding a hammer!” She waved it at him, then dropped it into her open toolbox. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” She jogged down the steps, and he followed her.

  In the kitchen, she opened the white refrigerator, took out the green bean casserole and put it in the microwave. While it rotated and warmed, she pulled paper plates and two forks out of the well-stocked kitchen cupboards.

  Guthrie lifted two soft drink cans from the vintage refrigerator and popped both tops for them. The bell on the microwave dinged, and she spooned up a healthy portion for Guthrie and did the same for herself.

  “Green beans?” Guthrie looked at his plate.

  “Try it. You’ll like it.” She dug into hers and let the tangy cheese and bacon flavors roll over her tongue. “Mmm.”

  Guthrie forked up a small bite, chewed, then helped himself to some more. “Good.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah nodded.

  “How did the show go today? Did the TV people like it?”

  She swallowed quickly before laughter conquered her. Picturing the two great-aunts helping her cook, she vibrated with amusement.

  “What’s so funny?” He stared at her.

  She shook her head, then took a deep breath. “Your great-aunts.”

  “My aunts
? What did they do now?”

  She sighed, smiling. “I don’t want to insult your family, but what is it with your aunts?”

  He exhaled loudly, giving expression to exasperation. “They are eccentric. My mom says they’ve never really grown up. They’re over eighty years old and still act like two young girls.”

  “I know. But why?”

  “Well, they were premature twins back in 1919 and were sickly most of their childhood. They didn’t go to school because their mother didn’t want them picking up any germs. She taught them at home, and that was pretty much their life until their parents died after World War Two.

  “Then my grandfather, their brother, took over and worked the farm with his wife. In the fifties, Grandpa bought his sisters their bungalow in town so they wouldn’t have to live with my grandparents or my parents, but they’d still be close enough if they needed help.”

  “So what you’re saying is that they have just lived a sheltered and very dependent life in a small town and that’s why they seem to exist in a world, a reality of their own?”

  Guthrie shrugged. “I guess so. Exactly what did they do during your live cooking demonstration?”

  “They came up and helped me.”

  Guthrie groaned. “Was my mother there?”

  “Yes, but what could she do? She had Hunter in her lap.”

  “How did you handle it?” he asked.

  “Oh, I just ad-libbed my way through it, but the TV reporter and crew looked like they’d just spent time in the twilight zone.”

  Guthrie swallowed. “It’s my fault. The great-aunts were there in the kitchen when you called me last night and heard about the show.”

  “I invited them, too!” She playfully punched his rock-hard biceps. “Besides, in a town this size, someone would have told them. Don’t worry about it. They certainly kept me on my toes, and since I won’t be doing any more live TV demos, I don’t think we have anything to be worried about.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding. I wouldn’t have wanted them to get their feelings hurt.” He smiled at her. A deep, full, irresistible smile.

  Funny little squiggly shocks snaked through her arms and legs. Guthrie Thomas smiling at her at close range was obviously too much for her resistance. Fighting his effect on her, she imagined Captain Kirk asking Scotty for the defense shields to be put up. Brushing her unnerving reaction aside, she nonchalantly offered more of the casserole. “Seconds?”