Dying to Decorate

by Cyndy Salzmann

  On that subject, I have some unfortunate news to report. Big Henry has contracted smallpox. As is the regulation, he must be relocated to the smallpox hospital located on an island in the Mississippi River. Henry has been such a true and loyal friend both in the field and at this post that I could not, in good conscience, trust his care to an unknown practitioner. Thus, I requested a transfer to work at the island hospital.

  Do not worry for my safety, my dear, for the island is one place the rebel forces do not dare tread for fear of contracting the disease. As I told Henry when he attempted to dissuade me from accompanying him, I’d rather dodge pox than bullets.

  Since my relocation to the island, I do not have easy access to the mail, so my letters may be few. But please know that I would give anything in the world to see you and Anna and enjoy a large slice of your delicious sour cherry pie on our own front porch. Unfortunately, I have no idea when I might have that pleasure. I had hoped it would have been by Christmas, but now we both know that was not to be.

  I must close for fear I do not get to send my letter off. My love and a thousand kisses to my own sweet Emily and dear Anna. Good-bye, for the present. I think of you and pray for you every day we are apart. I dream of the day we can be together again.

  As ever,

  Your loving husband,

  J. C. Simmons

  “That’s it,” Jess proclaims, folding the letter and slipping it back in the journal. “No other entries or letters.”

  Marina is already on her feet. “Are you sure there’re no more entries, Jess? I can’t believe Anna would leave us hanging like this.”

  “Marina, this is a young girl’s journal, not a drugstore novel.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to know the end of this story. I wanna know what happened to Joseph and Big Henry. Did they come back from the war? And Anna and Emily . . . what happened with them? I’m serious; I won’t be able to sleep until I find out.”

  “Lucy, do you think your Aunt Bette might know the rest of the story?” asks Mary Alice.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Let’s ask her,” Kelly insists. “Janelle told me she plans to give Aunt Bette a ride to church in the morning. Why don’t we invite them both to dinner afterward?”

  “We can certainly ask them,” says Lucy. “I’d also like a chance to apologize for my harsh words last night.”

  “Hold on,” I interrupt. “I’d like to set up this little soiree, too, but I want to know who you think will be cooking this dinner? I’ll make breakfast, and then I go off duty.”

  “Whoa, Lizzie!” Marina exclaims. “Don’t get your undies in a bundle, girlfriend.”

  “Very funny. But I’m serious.”

  “We’ll take them to Sally’s,” says Kelly. “I’ve been craving that coconut pie for weeks.”

  Marina gives a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan. But I still don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep tonight without knowing what happened to Joseph and Big Henry . . . or Anna and Emily and that young family on the run. It’s like going to bed in the middle of CSI.”

  “Don’t worry, Rina, we have lots of yard work to do,” Jess suggests. “I’ll tire you out.”

  “Me and my big mouth.”

  BAKED EGGS WITH SMOKED SALMON

  AND CREAM CHEESE

  10 eggs

  1/2 cup milk

  3 oz. cream cheese with chives

  8 oz. smoked salmon

  1/4 cup butter

  1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill (or 1 teaspoon dried)

  1 cup prepared hollandaise sauce (optional)

  Instructions

  1. Beat eggs and milk together in a large bowl. Fold in cream cheese, and smoked salmon.

  2. Melt butter in a 7x12-inch casserole dish. Pour egg mixture into the pan.

  3. Sprinkle dill over top. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes until set.

  4. Serve hot with hollandaise sauce, if desired.

  AUTUMN FRUIT SALAD

  2 red apples

  2 green apples

  2 pears

  2 sliced bananas

  8 oz. seedless red grapes

  8 oz. seedless green grapes

  1/2 cup sliced natural almonds, toasted

  1 cup vanilla yogurt

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

  1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

  2 tablespoons apple juice or cider

  Instructions

  1. Wash, core, and slice apples and pears. Slice bananas 1/2-inch thick. Wash grapes and cut in half.

  2. Combine fruit and almonds in a bowl.

  3. Mix remaining ingredients.

  4. Pour over fruit salad and stir to coat fruit evenly.

  5. Chill before serving.

  There’s something inherently peaceful about waking up in the country. Instead of being startled by an alarm clock, lawn mower, or city traffic, I awaken gently as the rising sun quietly shoos away the night. Taking a long, catlike stretch in my sun-filled bedroom at Locust Hill, I think this must be how God intended the rest cycle—before the age of artificial illumination tangled up our biorhythms.

  I sigh in satisfaction, noting that the spot in the bed next to me is empty. That means Marina has taken off on her predawn run without rousing me. Standing up to my bossy friends might just become a habit.

  While brushing my teeth at the bathroom sink, I notice that I have a serious case of bed head. I’ll have to wash my hair. Knowing from experience that anything having to do with my hair is a lengthy process, I decide to get breakfast going before my shower.

  I pad down the stairs to the kitchen in my bare feet, wishing I would have taken a few minutes to dig out my slippers from my overnight bag. After lighting the old oven, per Janelle’s instructions, I set a pot of coffee up to brew. Uttering a quick prayer of gratitude that the house didn’t blow up, I put the casserole—Baked Eggs with Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese—I had assembled the prior evening in the oven and head upstairs to shower before church.

  At the top of the stairs, I see that one of my friends has had the same idea. Heading back to the kitchen—once again chastising myself for forgetting to grab my slippers—I decide to put together my Autumn Fruit Salad.

  I mix up a dressing of vanilla yogurt, spices, and apple cider before noticing that the water has shut off upstairs. Once again I head up to the bathroom, thinking Marina’s workout will have nothing on me after climbing all these stairs. Just as I round the corner, I see the bathroom door closing.

  Letting out a sigh of frustration, I decide to pass the time by finishing my salad. After slicing fresh apples, pears, and grapes and tossing them with the dressing, I cock my head to see if I can hear water running upstairs. Hearing none, I decide to make another go at a turn in the bathroom. Before I reach the stairs, Marina bounds in the front door.

  “Hey, Liz! What are you doing up so early?”

  “I was just putting breakfast on, and now I thought I’d—”

  “So that’s what that great smell is! I can’t wait to dig in as soon as I grab a shower.” She charges up the stairs.

  Remember, Liz, patience is a virtue, I tell myself, taking a cleansing breath to reinforce the concept. Checking on my casserole, I decide to grab a cup of coffee and take advantage of a little quiet time.

  In the freshly wallpapered library, I settle into a wing chair with a copy of the Daily Light. As always, the truth of God’s Word calms my spirit. I am so immersed that I hate to respond to the minute timer that indicates my casserole is done.

  On the way to the kitchen, I see Jess and Lucy coming down the stairs.

  “Good morning, ladies,” I say in a much better mood.

  Jess yawns. “Hi, Liz. I didn’t know you were up.”

  “Jess, how could you not know . . . with that heavenly smell coming from the kitchen,” says Lucy.

  I smile in response to her compliment.

  “So what is that wonderful smell, Lizzie?” asks Jess.

  “
Secret recipe,” I tease. “Hey, is the bathroom open?”

  “I think so,” Lucy replies. “I saw Marina in the hall.”

  “Great! Jess, would you check on the casserole? It’s probably done . . . and there’s a fruit salad in the fridge.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “I’m going to try to sneak in the shower.”

  Once again my plans are thwarted by the sound of running water behind the closed bathroom door. I slide down the wall, resigned to the fact that the only way I’ll get a turn is by standing vigil outside the door. Some things never change.

  TCC CINNAMON ROLLS

  1 (3 lb.) package frozen bread dough, thawed in package

  1 cup butter, melted

  1 cup brown sugar

  1 tablespoon cinnamon

  1 cup heavy cream

  Vanilla or cream cheese frosting

  Instructions

  1. Punch down thawed dough and let rest 5 minutes. Roll out on floured surface into a 15x24-inch rectangle.

  2. For filling, brush dough liberally with melted butter. Mix brown sugar and cinnamon; sprinkle over buttered dough.

  3. Roll up dough, jelly-roll fashion. Cut into 24 slices.

  4. Place cinnamon roll slices in two, well greased 9x13-inch pans. Let rise in warm place until dough is doubled in bulk, about 45 minutes.

  5. Pour cream over top of rolls.

  6. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Bake 20–25 minutes, or until rolls are nicely browned.

  7. Cool rolls slightly and spread with frosting.

  MELT-IN-YOUR-MOUTH POT ROAST

  3 lb. beef roast (any kind, except brisket)

  1 can cream of mushroom soup

  1 envelope dry onion soup mix

  1 (16 oz.) package baby carrots

  Instructions

  1. Put roast in Crock-Pot.

  2. Top with onion soup and mushroom soup. Add carrots.

  3. Cook covered on low 8–10 hours, or high 5–6 hours.

  MOM’S BANANA PUDDING

  1 1/4 cup sugar, plus 3/4 cup

  4 tablespoons flour

  4 cups milk

  6 eggs, separated

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  4 tablespoons butter

  1 box vanilla wafers

  5–6 ripe bananas

  Instructions

  1. Mix sugar, flour, milk, and egg yolks.

  2. Cook on low heat, stirring constantly, until thick. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and butter until butter is melted.

  3. Arrange 3/4 of the box of vanilla wafers on the bottom of 2 1/2-quart baking dish. Pour 1/3 of pudding over wafers. Layer sliced bananas on pudding. Pour remaining pudding on bananas.

  4. Beat egg whites until stiff, add 3/4 cup sugar, and continue beating until stiff. Spread over pudding.

  5. Bake at 350 degrees until meringue is lightly browned, about 10–12 minutes.

  The morning service at Tredway Community Church was as diverse as its members. Young and old, black and white came together to worship God in a variety of music styles—from rousing spirituals to traditional hymns. And judging from the sheer volume of the clapping, singing, and shouting, our praise was easily heard in heaven!

  Normally, such a nontraditional service and diverse congregation in small-town Nebraska would have taken me by surprise. But after getting a glimpse of the commitment and bravery of the town’s founders through Anna’s journal, I began to understand that among brothers and sisters in Christ, colors fade and walls tumble. I hated to see the service come to a close.

  As I chat with Janelle now, after the service, I learn that the church has a small but apparently very committed congregation. Only one of their fifty members is absent from morning services—and only because a horse has begun to foal this morning, she tells me.

  “Do you always have such good attendance?” I ask as we munch on homemade cinnamon rolls in the narthex.

  “Usually, ’cept the time a nest of spiders took over the choir loft.”

  “Spiders?” I ask, looking around nervously.

  “Yep. I never saw Darlene jump so high . . . and I don’t expect to see it again.”

  “So, I assume you were able to take care of the problem?”

  “Sure,” replies Janelle with a wink. “At least that’s what we told Darlene.”

  If there was ever a reason to make a graceful exit, this is it. I hate spiders. I tell Janelle we’ll see her and Aunt Bette at the diner, grab Marina’s arm, and head for the car.

  I’m disappointed there is no blue plate special at Sally’s on Sunday. But from the large number of customers crowding the little diner, it doesn’t appear to be hurting business.

  “That’s only for the weekdays—and Saturday, of course,” explains the proprietor, whom we find out also pitches in to wait tables on the weekend. “But I make pot roast on Sundays. It’s guaranteed to melt in your mouth.”

  If the savory smell emanating from the kitchen is any indication, I can’t wait to test her claim. Marina, Jess, and I peruse the menu at a large table while we wait for the rest of our group to arrive with Aunt Bette and Janelle. Once again I’m grateful for Mary Alice’s foresight in calling to make a reservation—a first for Sally.

  “Melt-in-your-mouth pot roast sounds good enough to me,” Marina proclaims. “I’ll take it . . . with all the fixin’s you can fit on the plate, whatever color it is.”

  “I’ve always admired a woman with a healthy appetite.” The familiar voice across the room turns out to be Jeff, peeking around the back booth in which he’s seated.

  “When did you sneak in?” asks Marina in a voice that causes a hush to fall over the restaurant.

  I’m on the edge of my seat, unable to keep visions of Gunfight at the OK Corral from my mind.

  “Last time I looked, it was still a free country, Lieutenant,” replies Jeff, rising from his booth and strolling to the table. “I wouldn’t miss Sally’s Melt-in-Your-Mouth Pot Roast for the world.”

  “Jeff, would you like to join us?” asks Jess. “That is, if you can forgive my friend’s rude behavior.”

  “Hey!” Marina demands. “What did I do that was rude?”

  “Don’t worry, Jessie.” Jeff smiles. “I can hold my own with Marina.”

  “Sounds like a challenge to me,” Marina fires back.

  “Play nice, children.” Sally winks at Jeff as she heads to the kitchen to get our iced tea.

  Sally’s pot roast truly did melt in my mouth. In fact, I would rate this dinner as one of the top culinary experiences of my adult life. (After all, nothing will ever compare to my mom’s banana pudding.) I thought about tipping off the restaurant critic at the paper to Sally’s Diner but thought better of it. Sally didn’t seem to need the business. And it might just annoy all the locals in Tredway if a bunch of “outsiders” poured into town and disrupted their peaceful, well-ordered week.

  With nine in our party, we are now polishing off an entire coconut cream pie for dessert. I justify the nagging guilt for my gluttony by recounting all the hard work I have done this weekend. I employed the same strategy yesterday after eating Janelle’s Banana Split Cake—and all those brownies the night before. It worked then, and I have no reason to doubt its effectiveness now.

  As we enjoy our dessert, I can tell my friends are as anxious as I am to find out what else Aunt Bette knows about the Simmons family. We had all reluctantly promised Lucy that we would let her bring up the subject. As it turned out, it was unnecessary.

  “Well, ladies, I must say, I am very impressed with your restraint,” says Aunt Bette, delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Lucy told me after church that you finished my grandmother’s journal yesterday afternoon. I’m surprised I didn’t see you last night, demanding to hear the end of the story.”

  “See, Luce?” Marina raises her dark eyebrows. “I told you we shoulda gone over to Orrick.”

  “I guess I still feel a little sheepish about my behavior,” says Lucy with a catch in her voice. “All thos
e terrible things I said about our family when we uncovered the secret room. Can you ever forgive me, Aunt Bette?” Lucy stares down at her hands.

  “Oh, my dear, of course I forgive you.” The old woman reaches across the table to take Lucy’s hand. “Just as I hope you’ll forgive me for all the intrigue. I felt it was important for you to uncover our family history yourself.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive my part too,” says Janelle. “I sure felt sneaky leavin’ that letter in the front hall and not sayin’ a word about it. I sure hope you don’t hold that against me.”

  Lucy looks up, surprise on her face. “Of course, I forgive you . . . both of you. But I’m still not sure why you felt it was so important for me to find the letter myself.”

  Aunt Bette smiles gently. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that we often learn less from what people tell us than by discovering truth and history for ourselves.” She stops to pat her white hair, which is smoothed into a chignon at the nape of her neck. “Now, don’t I sound all philosophical, Janelle?”

  Janelle laughs. “Sure do. Mama would be proud.”

  Aunt Bette returns a knowing smile.

  “Seriously, that makes a lot of sense, Aunt Bette,” Lucy says. “In fact, I’ve often told Alli that I learn the most from the process of struggling through an issue.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I learned through the process this weekend,” Marina claims, pointing at Jessie. “Behind that sweet exterior is a cruel taskmaster. It was so dark before we came in last night that I couldn’t even see the plants I was putting in.”

  “Sissy,” Jess teases.

  “How can you say that? Look at my manicure!” Marina woefully examines her once perfect but now chipped nails.

  Jeff snorts. “Now I have heard everything.”

  Marina gives him a playful punch on the shoulder.