Aaron continued to ignore her, but apparently she had given him an idea. "Magdalena, can I bring you a plate?"
"Not so fast, you snot-nosed sidewinder," snarled Doc. "The lady is with me."
"Maybe she is, and maybe she isn't. How about it, Magdalena, who is your date for the evening?" The twinkling blue eyes challenged me to choose him.
I could feel myself blushing. This was supposed to l be a cast and crew party for Reels and Runs Productions, not a stag fight. How Doc and Aaron managed to wrangle invitations was beyond me. But probably not beyond Freni. That woman is controlling enough to be a Democrat, but at the same time as devious as any Republican you could hope to meet. It was now September, but still very hot. Perhaps it was all the heat collecting under her bonnet, but that brain of hers had cooked up what looked to me like a matchmaking scheme. The trouble was, I just wasn't in the mood to be matched.
I hate to say it, but it was a relief when Steven sidled over and cheekily slipped an arm around my shoulders. "You're quite a hero, Yoder."
"Bug off, Bugsy," I said. It was nice, though, to know that my efforts in apprehending Don Manley's killer were appreciated.
"Art called from L.A. this morning. He's started the editing, and he says it looks great already. He thinks it stands a chance of being nominated for an Academy Award."
"For best supporting actress?" I asked sincerely.
Steven smiled, but deflected. "And Art says he's finally came up with a title."
"Yes?"
"The Sins of Freni Hostetler. What do you think of that?"
"I think it's a good thing Art's in California, and that it's against Freni's principles to fly."
Steven stifled a yawn. "Oh, and Art said to tell you he'd like you to read for a part in his next film."
"Is Mel Gibson going to be in that one?" I'd seen a commercial for one following a Green Acres episode the night before. I am ashamed to say this, but Mel Gibson is capable of making me think impure thoughts.
"Sorry, no. But Tom Cruise is," soothed Steven.
"Forget it, then."
"Why can't I read for a part," whined Susannah. Steven squeezed me good-bye before slipping his arm around Susannah's shoulders and squiring her off to talk business.
Left alone with the two battling titans, I glanced wildly about for an excuse to flee, and found one in the half-empty cut glass punch bowl across the room. "See you later, fellows, I've got work to do," I said as I skedaddled. No telling if they heard me or not.
In front of the punch table I ran into the Reverend Orlando Sims. I mean literally.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Yoder," he said.
"No problemo," I said magnanimously. "An ice pack, three aspirin, and a good night's sleep, and this goose egg on my forehead will only look like a hen's egg."
"Sorry about that too. But that's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, Reverend Sims, and what are you doing here? This is supposed to be a party for the cast and crew of The Sins of Freni Hostetler. You were neither cast nor crew, Reverend Sims."
"Yes, I know. But I'm not here for the party. I came to tell you how sorry I am about the things Martha did, and tried to do."
Only fools and masochists hang on to grudges, Mama used to say. Since I was only one, but not both, I decided to give forgiveness a shot. "No sweat," I said, mimicking Susannah's slang. "You want to chill out here for a while?"
Reverend Sims looked vastly relieved. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got to get home and finish up my sermon for tomorrow morning. It's all about forgiving. I'd like to use you as a shining example, if you don't mind?"
"Use away." Mama, did you hear that? That should cancel out a couple of your spins, shouldn't it?
"Maybe you'd like to stop by our church tomorrow and hear the sermon yourself. Who knows, you might even like it so much that you'll consider switching denominations."
The nerve of some people! Even if he was joking, it was in unforgivably bad taste. Especially with Susannah present as a reminder. The man deserved to be defrocked and deflocked. "That will be $26.95," I said with admirable restraint."
Reverend Sims blinked his noncomprehension. "What for?"
"For a new pitchfork, that's what."
I cleaned up after the party by myself. One of Mama's r rules, which I will always buy into, is that one should never go to bed or take a trip when one's house is messy. Although Mama's primary concern was that unexpected company (i.e. burglars) should be spared having to view our untidiness, I think there really is an underpinning of wisdom to this dictum. Dirty dishes left overnight, or longer, are all that much harder to clean. And isn't it so much nicer to come home from a journey and not face a mountain of work? Besides which, it is much easier to tell if you've been robbed when your house was in order to begin with.
It was almost two a.m. when I staggered outside to catch a few breaths of night air before going to bed. In my right hand I carried half a peanut butter apple cake, and in my left hand a quart of milk. I am a firm believer in never going to bed hungry. To do so only insures that one will be ravenous the next morning and start the day off by overeating. Even wild animals know that, which is why they always nap after eating. And how many fat wild animals do you know?
Just as I was bringing the first loaded forkful to my mouth, I heard a sound on the porch behind me. Honestly, I wasn't frightened. I immediately thought of raccoons. Hernia and environs is a very safe place to live as long as you keep your mouth shut and mind your own business. So what did I have to worry about?
"Scared you, didn't I?"
I whirled to face the speaker, taking care not to spill my milk or drop the cake from my fork. Even in the shadows I could see Aaron's blue eyes twinkling. "What are you, a spy?"
He laughed. "Nope. Spies sneak around. I'm not sneaking anywhere. As a matter of fact, I haven't even left yet."
"The last guest left over an hour ago," I reminded him." And, as I recall, you left before that."
"Nope. I got as far as this porch and decided it was as far as I was going to go until I had a chance to speak to you."
"Then why didn't you knock or ring the bell? I've been up the whole time-putting things away and washing dishes."
"And singing."
My face stung, just as surely as if I'd been slapped. Singing is an intensely personal activity for me. Even God has agreed not to listen. "Aaron Miller, you are the rudest man I've ever met," I said, perhaps raising my voice just a little. I would have thrown the milk at him, but it was all I had, and it went so well with the cake.
Aaron had the audacity to laugh again.
"Just go home!" I ordered.
"Don't you even want to know what it is I wanted to talk to you about?"
"Absolutely not. I'm not in the least bit curious." Okay, so it was a white lie. But it was two in the morning, and my usual bedtime is ten.
Aaron approached until he was scarcely an arm's length away. "Well, I'll tell you anyway, Magdalena. I wanted to ask you out on a date."
When your mouth hangs open at night, it is mosquitoes you catch, not flies. "A date?"
"Yeah, a real date. Like in high school. Well, like dates were back when we were in high school, anyway."
I set the cake and milk carefully down on the porch railing. When your hands are empty, the shaking is less noticeable. "Well, it is an interesting idea, Aaron. But why didn't you ask me out when we were in high school?"
For just a second or two the blue eyes stopped twinkling. "Because I was a fool, I guess."
"You got that right."
The blue eyes started to dance again. "So, now that we at least agree on something, what do you say about accepting my invitation?"
I pretended to think about it. After what I hoped seemed like an interminable length of time, I gave him my answer. Then I generously shared my milk and cake. Again we both agreed on something. The peanut butter apple cake was the best we'd ever eaten.
Oh, for the record, the answer was yes.
-35-
MY OWN VERSION OF PEANUT B UTTER APPLE CAKE
Makes 8 servings
¬ cup softened butter
1 cup brown sugar
_ cup chunky peanut butter
1 egg
1 cup chunk style applesauce
1 " cups sifted flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
" teaspoon nutmeg
¬ teaspoon ground cloves
Cream together the butter, sugar, and peanut butter. Beat in the egg. Stir in the applesauce. Sift the remaining dry ingredients together and slowly stir them into the batter. Mix well. Liberally grease and flour an eight-inch-square pan. Pour the batter into the pan and bake at 350 degrees until done (about 40 to 45 minutes). The cake is done when a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool before attempting to remove from the pan.
Even better when eaten with someone you love.
˜ The End
