Christmas Cake (20 page)

Rachel nodded. She thought about her own experience with her sister, how her sister had left Childress when their grandmother died, how Rachel had been angry with her since then and had not spoken to her in years.

“Is that why you're here, in Goodlett, I mean?” Rachel asked. “To see some of them and work it out?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, they're all back in North Carolina.
And I think we made our peace with each other years ago about all of that. I guess that by the time I was an adult, I finally figured out that they weren't much older than I was when Mamma died and we were just trying to handle things the best way we could. We were all really young. Our dad was so heartbroken, he didn't have much for us and we just did what we knew how to do. So, no, I'm not really mad at any of them. We just sort of went down different paths but I'm not angry at them anymore.”

“Are you angry at anybody?” Rachel asked.

Margaret thought about the question. She thought about the trip to Goodlett, what she was hoping to accomplish, what she was hoping to find. She knew that her friends had tried to ask the same question of her, wanted to try and figure out what this trip meant to her, but she had not been able to answer it. She had not really known why she needed to come to Goodlett, to be in her mother's hometown, until right at that moment.

And as the snow blanketed the little village that she had not visited since she was ten years old, that she had not seen except once, the Christmas before her mother died, Margaret understood that she had come there to relieve the burden of guilt she had placed upon her mother's ghost. She had come to Goodlett to forgive her mother for dying.

She considered Rachel's question and then simply shook her head.

“I was just a few days ago, just before we made this trip,” she finally answered. “But now, in this light of moon and snow, I don't think I'm mad at anybody anymore.”

 

 

Spicy Coffee Cake

½ cup margarine

1 cup sugar

½ cup oil

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup sour cream

1 teaspoon vanilla

¹
/
₃
cup brown sugar

½ cup sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

nuts, if desired

 

Cream together margarine, 1 cup sugar, and oil. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt, and add to creamed mixture alternately with sour cream. Add vanilla. In separate bowl, combine brown sugar, ½ cup sugar, cinnamon, and nuts to make topping. Place half of cake batter in 9 x 13–inch greased and floured pan; add half of topping. Repeat. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.

B
y the time the sun rose on Christmas Eve in Goodlett, Texas, the snow was no longer falling and the ground was covered in a deep, white blanket. The women got up early, dressed, and enjoyed a spicy coffee cake, made for them by Maurice's wife, who was working that morning in the office. In return, they gave her one of their new cake cookbooks. They had only a couple left after dispersing them in restaurants and hotels and rest areas all along the interstate.

Jessie and Louise and Beatrice sat in the small outer room where a fire was burning and enjoyed their breakfast while Rachel went into the small back office and used the phone to call her sister. They all noticed that she seemed to be gone for a long time.

Maurice drove Margaret and Charlotte over to the church in his pickup truck and waited for them as the two women walked to the cemetery and found Margaret's mother's grave.

Charlotte stood next to her friend as she placed a small peace lily
against the headstone. The plant had been a gift from Jessie, something she had managed to hide from Margaret after purchasing it at a small florist in Oklahoma.

Jessie had given it to Margaret Christmas Eve morning when she and Charlotte were getting ready to go to the cemetery.

“I thought you might like something to leave with her,” Jessie said, and gave her the small potted plant, the leaves sturdy and glossy green.

They all knew the plant would probably never survive in the cold wintry blast they were experiencing, but Margaret didn't really worry about the plant.

“It's perfect,” she told Jessie, understanding the meaning behind the plant's name as much as the purpose for the gift. “I have made my peace,” she added.

Charlotte stood watching as Margaret placed the plant on the grave and then quietly waited until her friend finished and then came to stand beside her.

“I want you to know that you're the reason I came to do this,” Margaret said to Charlotte.

The young woman turned to her, surprised at the comment. “Me, why?” she asked.

“It was the photograph you sent me when you first moved to New Mexico,” she explained. “It was the one where I told you that you looked like you had fallen in love.”

Charlotte smiled. She remembered the photograph and the conversation.

“You told me that since you moved out west that you felt the most like yourself you ever had.” Margaret took her by the hand. “Do you remember that?” she asked.

Charlotte nodded but gave no reply.

“I knew that I hadn't felt like that in a long time. That here I was, almost seventy years old, and I couldn't remember what it was to feel that much at peace, that much like myself, a self that isn't sullied by emotional baggage or distracted by silly things, old broken things. I realized then that I hadn't felt that way since I was ten years old, a little girl here in this place, sitting next to my mother, who was saying good-bye to me, only I didn't know it.”

Charlotte dropped her face, her chin nestled inside her scarf.

“I carried bitterness around for sixty years like it was something I had to strap on my back and take with me. I was so mad at her for sending us back to North Carolina, for staying here, for dying.” Margaret looked at the grave, her mother's headstone.

“You never seemed bitter to me,” Charlotte noted. “I never knew you carried this stuff around with you. You're one of the most put-together women I know.”

“Well, I guess if one has from the time they are ten years old to figure out how to package the anger or sadness in a way that it can be integrated into life, it's easy to keep it well-hidden, even unnoticed by very good friends.”

“That's the gift of dying, I think.” Margaret looked up at the bright blue sky, the sun melting the frozen earth.

“What's that?” Charlotte asked.

“That you get to take an honest inventory of everything. There's no pretending that things are more or less than what they are. You go through everything that matters, the memories, the dreams, the regrets, the friendships, and you get the chance to revisit everything you want to, everything you've put off your whole life looking at.
And that's when you finally figure out what you've held on to the tightest. What you need finally to let go.”

Charlotte glanced at all the graves around her and wondered how many of the dead had used their last days, their last moments, to do what Margaret had done.

“I was angry at my mother for a very long time. I forgave my brothers and sisters for falling away, but it never occurred to me that I was mad at her for the same thing. It just never dawned on me that she was only doing what a mother does. She was just trying to do the best for her children, trying to protect us the way any mother would do, trying to keep us from death.”

Margaret shook her head and blew out a long breath.

“Sixty years is a long time to wrap a heart up in sorrow. It's a long time to be mad.” She squeezed Charlotte's hand. “But at least I know now, at least I found my way back to Goodlett, back to her.”

Charlotte nodded and turned to face her friend. Margaret was relaxed in a way the young pastor had never seen her. There was a peace about her she had never even suspected was missing.

“And you look just like yourself,” Charlotte said.

The two women hugged and headed back to Maurice's truck.

By lunchtime the snow had melted and Margaret announced that she wanted to go back to Hope Springs. She wanted, in fact, if such a thing was possible, to be home by dinnertime the next night.

Jessie and Beatrice immediately understood that she was hurrying the return trip because she thought her friends should be with their families for Christmas, and even though they tried to talk her out of it, her mind was made up. Her Christmas wish, she told them, had
been fulfilled, and now, she said, she wanted to go home so that they could have theirs too.

After Beatrice heard from Dick that the van was needed by the funeral home before the end of the week, and once they heard the latest weather report that another storm was fast approaching from the west, they decided that if they left at lunchtime and drove in shifts straight through the night, they would, in fact, be home by Christmas evening.

Charlotte chose to go back with them, thinking that she could help with the driving and that it would give her the opportunity to visit her mother and a few friends in Hope Springs. Maurice told her that she could leave her car in Goodlett, there at the park, and if necessary, she could fly into Amarillo and he would arrange to get it to the airport. Charlotte could also see that Margaret was nearing the end, and she wanted to be with her during her last days. She knew that Maria was handling things at the shelter and everything would be fine while she was away.

Rachel was able to contact her sister and was helping the women pack up the van when an old brown station wagon came driving down the highway. They all watched as it pulled into the parking lot and then as a young woman, a spitting image of Rachel, opened the door and got out.

“That her?” Charlotte asked, as she was standing right next to the young woman.

Rachel nodded and watched as her sister stood at the car. Neither of them seemed to know what to do.

Rachel glanced around, trying to find Margaret. When Rachel caught her eye, the older woman winked at her. The two smiled at
each other, and Rachel nodded. It was a private conversation the two of them had already had. There was nothing left for them to say to each other.

“I'll come back and get you if you want,” Charlotte noted.

Rachel shook her head and smiled. “I got a job here at the park,” she explained.

The women glanced around at one another, wondering when that transaction had occurred.

“I'm going to run the place while they go on vacation.” Then she grinned. “I talked on the phone to Ricky this morning, with his mother. He'll be home in the summer,” she added.

Charlotte lifted her eyebrows as if she was pleased and surprised at the announcement.

“And besides,” the young woman said as she looked back over in her sister's direction, “this is home.” And with that, she took her bag that Charlotte was holding and walked toward the car that was waiting for her.

They all watched as the two young women stood across from each other for a brief second and then finally embraced. Rachel waved as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Well, I just hope she slows down before she runs into our deputy friend,” Beatrice said as she continued loading the back. “Is that everything?” she asked.

And they all got into the van.

The women left Texas and drove for more than twenty hours across Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, and finally into North Carolina. Louise took the first shift, then Jessie. Charlotte drove through most of the night, with each of them taking turns keeping the driver awake. They sang Christmas carols, played word games, stopped to
eat a number of times, laughed about stolen vans, and considered out loud whether they would ever be welcome again at Graceland.

Margaret slept for most of the trip, and they all noticed that there was a new rattle in her breathing, that there was something, even though they couldn't name it, that had changed about their friend's condition. They did not mention this as the reason but they all drove even harder, trying to get Margaret home and comfortable as quickly as they could.

Beatrice was at the wheel again Christmas morning when they finally rolled into Hope Springs. They were tired by the time they got home and no one was really talking too much. They were taking Jessie home first when Louise caught sight of something going on at the church.

“Was there a service there this morning?” she asked.

Beatrice slowed down as they turned on the street that went right past the church and Jessie's house.

Jessie shook her head. “No, that was just last night.”

All of them saw that the parking lot was full of cars and that several television news trucks and crews were standing in the driveway. Beatrice inched forward as she spotted the police cars and saw the lights flashing. She thought about pulling away as quickly as possible, thinking that the report of the stolen van was the reason behind all the commotion at the church.

“There's a limousine parked out front,” Charlotte noted. “Maybe there's a funeral.”

The women all turned to Beatrice, wondering if Dick had mentioned a death in the community to her. Just as she was about to explain that she didn't know anything about a service scheduled for Christmas Day, she saw James waving at them from the edge of the
church property. She slowed down just as she got beside him and pulled off the road. Jessie rolled down her window as he ran toward them.

“What's going on?” she asked her husband. “And man, I'm glad to see you!”

“I'm glad to see you too!”

They clasped hands. “Merry Christmas, everybody,” he said. And then he saw Charlotte. “Well, look what you found in Texas!” He glanced around and saw Margaret sleeping in the back.

“Hey James,” Charlotte said.

“What's going on?” Beatrice asked. “What's happening at the church?”

“Well, Beatrice, you have really done it this time,” James said loudly.

Beatrice sighed and put both hands on the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. “I know that I forgot to tell Dick about the van,” she said, as she reached over and shifted the vehicle in park. “I know what I did. And I am really sorry about it,” she added. “But I thought this was all cleared up.” She dropped her head, and the Santa cap fell off in her lap.

The women could see the news crews running toward them. Beatrice ducked down in her seat.

“No, Bea!” James exclaimed. “It's that Cake Lady from New York. She's come here to announce the winner of the cake contest.”

And it was then that the crowds descended upon the women parked in the funeral van just beside the church driveway. Beatrice finally got out after she began to be questioned by a reporter. She didn't really want the van shown on camera. She pushed at the sides of her hair and smoothed down the front of her pants.

Louise and Jessie and Charlotte watched all the excitement from the van while Margaret continued to sleep. The Cake Lady waved at them from her limousine as she pulled away.

“We have with us now Beatrice Witherspoon, the project coordinator for the recipe contest idea.” The young reporter turned to Beatrice and asked, “Since this was your idea, what do you think about the winning recipe?” She stuck her microphone in Beatrice's face.

Beatrice looked around nervously, not knowing how to respond. That was when she saw the police escorting a man back to the police car. The man smiled and waved at Beatrice, revealing a big blue ribbon in his hands and a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. Beatrice then understood that the prison inmate, the creator of the lemon lavender pound cake, had been selected as the winner by the famous chef. She grinned and waved at him and felt a huge sigh of relief that the police cars were there because of him and not because of her recent theft of a funeral van.

She also glanced around and noticed Betty Mills standing with a small crowd on the front lawn of the church. Beatrice held her head very high and began to answer the questions given to her by the reporter.

Later the entire interview with Beatrice was on the evening news as well as in the paper the next day. There was also a big story about the famous pastry chef from New York who had flown in just to make her announcement that the lemon lavender pound cake was her choice for the Hope Springs Christmas Cake.

After making sure they got good television and media coverage, the Cake Lady was back on a plane heading north. Apparently she was in need of some good public relations because of a mishap with some movie star's birthday cake. She had put a big number 45 on the
cake in honor of the age of the star, only to find out the famous actor had been telling everyone she was only thirty-nine.