Friendship Bread (42 page)

He stops to refill his gas tank at the Avalon Mini Mart. When he goes inside to pay, he sees a bucket filled with wildflowers. He doesn’t even ask the price, just picks the bunch that reminds him most of his wife—wild, lush, and beautiful.

When Mark arrives at Madeline’s a few minutes later, he’s astounded by the number of cars overflowing from the parking lot and lined up and down the street. It takes him awhile to find a parking space. Avalon is a sleepy town that shuts down at 6:00
P.M
. Here it is, almost 8:00
P.M
., and you’d think it was a frat party with all the people coming in and out.

He holds the door open for a pair of women, then steps inside. He hasn’t been inside Madeline’s before, but he knows the building well. It’s not on the historic registry but it’s modeled after the classical revival style of the 1900s that dots the town of Avalon. He likes that the house has its own personality but carries a certain warmth and charm. He’s only spoken to Madeline once on the phone, the night that Julia fell asleep and stayed until midnight, a night they never really talked about. In the past he would have pushed for an explanation, but he’s okay to wait now, to let Julia share what’s on her mind whenever she’s ready. He thought then that he was at the end of his rope, but it turned out he still had a few more feet left.

He’s curious to meet Madeline, whom he’s heard so much about. He’s seen her picture in the paper. She was kind but firm on the phone, telling him that she didn’t want him to worry but that it might be a good idea to let Julia sleep. She had the kind of voice that made it difficult to argue, and he pictures her as a kind of tough woman wielding a rolling pin who doesn’t take kindly to being challenged. But when he steps into the tea salon, he sees Julia supporting an older woman who looks exhausted. Julia is relieved to see him, and he gets there just as she’s about to buckle.

“She’s out,” Julia whispers as Mark gently scoops Madeline in his arms. “I just want to put her in bed.”

“Where?”

“Upstairs. Follow me. We’ll go up the back stairs to avoid the crowd.”

Mark follows his wife, holding Madeline carefully. She’s so much lighter than he expected. “Where’s Gracie?”

“Asleep. I say we just leave her be. I was going to keep her out of school tomorrow so she could go with us to Barrett anyway. I figure there will be more educational value helping out the Red Cross than making play dough and counting beads.” Julia’s voice is tired, but serious.

“I agree, although someone’s got to count those beads.” Mark’s voice is equally serious.

Julia stifles a laugh, not wanting to wake Madeline. Mark just grins as he carries Madeline up the stairs.

“Hannah’s going to be playing her cello tomorrow and I don’t want Gracie to miss that, either,” Julia continues in a whisper. “Gracie can’t wait to start lessons. Hannah says she can start next week.”

“Gracie’s taking cello lessons?” It’s the first he’s heard of it.

Julia opens a bedroom door and motions Mark to come inside. She pulls back the covers and he gently lays Madeline on the bed. Julia slips off Madeline’s shoes then tucks her in. Madeline mumbles in her sleep, “Apple crisp … vanilla hard sauce … need two elbow pipe fittings …” then rolls over and lets out an indelicate snore.

Julia motions Mark to step outside. “I thought I told you. I’m going to take lessons, too.”

This is news to him but he loves it. “I definitely would have remembered that,” he tells her. “Should I get my trumpet?”

Julia closes the door to Madeline’s room. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not. I just think you should consider a trio. Two cellos and a trumpet. We could make money on the weekends. I’m pretty sure we’d be the only one of our kind.”

She gives him a playful swat.

At the door for the Thicket room, Julia puts her fingers to her lips and cracks the door so Mark can get a peek. Inside Gracie is sprawled out on the bed in a deep sleep, the covers kicked to the side. “I have her pajamas in the car,” Mark says. “Should I change her?”

“No, let her sleep.” Julia tiptoes inside and drapes a heavy afghan over her daughter. “We can check on her later.”

Mark follows her down the front stairs. “I also brought a change of clothes for you. Your sweats and that blue shirt you like. I thought it’d be more comfortable in case you decide to pull a late night.”

“A late night? I’ll be here
all
night. But thanks, I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand at the bottom of the landing, suddenly embarrassed and a bit uneasy.

“So …” says Julia.

“So …” Mark repeats. He clears his throat, then gazes past her into the sitting room. “It looks pretty busy in there.”

“It’s nuts,” Julia agrees. “We have three hundred loaves and counting. I think we’re going to hit five hundred by daybreak.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of Amish Friendship Bread.”

Julia grins. “Never underestimate the power of one bag of starter.”

A young girl with black hair dressed in punk gear emerges from the room, a pencil tucked behind her ear. She’s covering the mouthpiece of the phone and calls up to Julia. “I just got a call from Dora Ponce. Her husband is president of the local Rotary and she got him to ring every Rotarian in the county to see if any of their wives had any starter and would be willing to bake. She has one hundred and twenty loaves for us.”

Mark raises his eyebrows, impressed but a little concerned. He has a feeling things are going to go much faster than Julia realizes.

“Uh, okay, Connie,” Julia says to her. She glances at Mark. “Tell her thank you, and to bring them over whenever she’s ready.”

Connie nods and gets back on the phone.

“I think you’re going to hit five hundred by nine
P.M
.,” Mark tells Julia.

Given the way she’s chewing on her lip, she’s obviously thinking the same thing. She looks at him and asks, “What do you think I should do?”

It takes Mark a moment to realize that she’s asking for his help. Julia hasn’t asked for his opinion about anything since Josh died. She’s always made up her own mind, and he’d be lucky if she even informed him, much less consulted with him. He thought it had come to the point where his opinion didn’t matter anymore, at least not to Julia.

He quickly thinks. He has no idea how many people have starter or who will still be baking as the night gets later, but he has a feeling Julia will need to be prepared.

“You need more bodies,” he says. “You’re going to need people to help you inventory all the loaves as they come in, and then figure out how to transport everything from Madeline’s to the cars or trucks or whatever you’re using. You’re going to need boxes. You need to have available drivers and people to help unload in Barrett. Then enough people to help slice and serve. I assume the Red Cross has people, but they’re going to be very busy doing other things. You don’t want to create more work for them if you can avoid it.”

Julia is nodding as she listens, deep in thought.

Mark continues. “If this ends up being something that goes on all night then you’re going to have to work in shifts. People will need sleep. Better to err on the side of caution and have too many people than not enough.”

“You’re right. I’d better make some calls.” Julia is all business now, and heads for her computer. She pauses before turning back to look at her husband, the look on her face suddenly shy. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to stay, would you? I mean, I know you have work tomorrow …”

“I’d love to stay,” he says quickly. This is new territory for them, and he doesn’t want to blow it. “Did you say you had some heavy lifting for me?”

“There are several boxes in the sitting room. Connie will show
you. She’s the girl with the spiked hair …” Julia gestures to her head and grins.

“Right. I’m on it.” He turns to the sitting room.

“And Mark?”

His heart is beating so hard he’s sure she can hear it. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

It took less than three hours from the moment the women decided to bake for Barrett for word to spread around Avalon.

Russell Rogers’ wife called him on the golf course just as he was finishing up his round. It had been a lousy back nine, and he just wanted to hit the club bar and unwind, mulling over his pathetic score card.

“You have to go to the store,” she told him.
“Now.”
She gave him a list of ingredients and an absurd quantity.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat,” he had muttered as he shoved his putter into his bag. “Woman, this is not a good time.”

“This is the perfect time, Russell. Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve snuck out to play some golf. And with all the tragedy that’s happened because of the flooding!”

Well, that would explain why the course was so damn wet. Still, it should have drained better.

“I need you home in an hour. The ladies from my knitting circle are coming over and we’re baking for Barrett. Don’t be late.” She hung up the phone.

In the store, Russell finds a small mob in the baking aisle. He is reaching for what looks like the last bag of flour just as a young girl steps in front of him smiling sweetly.

“That’s my bag,” she informs him. Her name is Winifred Leary, and she’s six.

“Well, how come it’s not in your cart?”

“It’s too heavy. I’m waiting for my sister to come help.” She puts a proprietary little hand on the top of the bag.

Russell glances around. “Well, where is she?”

“Getting the milk.”

The last thing Russell needs is to catch heck from his wife. “I’m sure they’ll be bringing more out. How about I take this one and you ask that nice man over there for another one?” He points to the pimply teenager wearing the store’s logoed shirt and obligatory visor, fielding questions.

“Are you baking for Barrett?” Winifred asks.

He’s not, but his wife is, which is pretty much the same thing. “Yes,” he says, squirming a little.

“Oh. Well, me, too.”

They stand there at an impasse. Russell knows this little girl can probably outstare him and, if need be, outlast him. What’s taking her sister so long?

“Folks, I’m sorry, but there’s no more flour in the store.” The young clerk looks nervous making this announcement. “But we just called over to the Pick and Save and they have plenty.”

Russell doesn’t have time to go to the Pick and Save. “Let’s make a deal,” he finally says. “I’ll buy you a candy bar and you give me this bag of flour. We both win.”

Winifred acts as if she hasn’t heard him. “I think we should share it. We’re both making Amish Friendship Bread. So we can split the bag.”

Now Russell is confused. How are they going to do that?

“We can get a plastic bag at checkout. Deal?” She holds out her little hand.

Russell doesn’t know how his wife is going to feel about a bag full of loose flour, but what choice does he have?

“Deal.” They shake on it, then Russell puts the bag into his cart and they go off in search of Winifred’s sister.

Ervin Holder usually works in the produce department at the Pick and Save, stacking fruit, picking out old ones, cutting up samples. But when no one answered the call for assistance on aisle six, his boss told him to go out and help, so that’s what he did.

Ervin is shocked by the number of people blocking the aisle, grabbing items off the shelves. At first he thought that maybe something had happened and people were stockpiling, only they seemed to be stockpiling items in the baking aisle, not water or toilet paper like the week before when Avalon threatened to flood.

“The PTA is gathering to bake Amish Friendship Bread for Barrett,” Cordelia Gutierrez informs him now. She’s president of the parent-teacher association at Avalon High School, where she has two teenage boys. “I need ten five-pound bags of sugar. Do you have more in back?”

“Er, I can check …”

Bridget Gholston, a beauty technician who works at Naughty Nails, calls to Ervin from the pudding section. “Are you out of French vanilla? I really prefer French vanilla over regular vanilla.” Her electric blue manicured nails click against the empty space on the shelf.

Lila Schneider looks into her own cart filled with boxes of Jell-O pudding. “How does the French vanilla differ from regular vanilla?” she asks.

“It has a stronger vanilla flavor,” Bridget explains. “It’s also darker in color, but you can’t really tell once the loaves are baked.”

Lila considers this. “And do you still use the vanilla extract?”

Bridget nods. “I even add an extra teaspoon. Men love vanilla, you know.” She offers a knowing smile and a wink, making Lila giggle.

Mona Coulson sniffs. She heads the women’s Christian ministry for Avalon First Baptist, and she knows exactly who Bridget is. “Well, we’re baking Amish Friendship Bread for Barrett.” The way Mona says “we” means to incorporate everyone but Bridget.

Bridget gives her a sweet smile. “Well, isn’t that nice? So am I.”

The two women glare at each other over Lila Schneider’s shopping cart.

Lila’s eyes cut uneasily between the two women, realizing that she’s caught in the middle. She attempts to edge her cart out of the way but she’s blocked on either side by Mona or Bridget. “Um, excuse me …”