Chapter 3

He didn’t stop me but he made it a point not to help. I kept it pretty simple, making finger sandwiches and homebaked nibbles. I even made homemade turkey salad and pimento cheese from recipes my grandmother had given me. I’d shared some with Amanda and Chloe during coffee and they raved about how good they were. Chloe even asked if I’d make a container of the pimento cheese for her husband. She reported back later about how much he enjoyed it, so I taught her and Amanda how to make it.

Word spread and one morning I had six wives besides my two best friends over for a marathon class. Chloe had bought a twenty pound turkey and roasted it. We all helped strip the meat off the bones, and soon we were chopping onions and prepping the rest of the ingredients. Amanda had bought ten pounds of cheese and three large jars of pimentoes. I contributing by making homemade mayonaise and buying three loaves of artisan breads for taste tests. I’d also taken the time to make four pans of cinnamon rolls to snack on.

The ladies left with full tummies, containers of turkey salad and pimento cheese and any stray cinnamon rolls that had survived, with kisses and hugs. It was one of the best days of my life. Chloe and Amanda stayed and helped with the clean up, talking about how much fun they’d had. Just before they left I got out the two pans of cinnamon rolls I’d held back, gifting to them for such a splendid day.

Amanda sighed. “When Marcus and Tammy taste these I’m doomed. You know you have to teach me how to make these.” Marcus and Tammy were her seven year old son and five year old daughter. They were great kids, polite and respectful well beyond the norm.

Chloe agreed. “I’m going to hide these, and give them out one at a time to hubby and Junior, if they behave. One taste and I’m sure I’ll have the best behaved kid and husband in the universe. We’re going to have to watch you like a hawk, Jenny, if your looks didn’t tempt our husbands, your cooking would.” I blushed and they giggled.

I knew I was attractive. Many boys and men over the years had told me so repeatedly. I had a nice body that I kept in shape with my walks and housework. My best feature was my thick mane of natural platinum blond hair. I kind of liked the attention but was still uncomfortable being praised. I never really had a lot of confidence.

Pretty soon it was a weekly thing, getting together at different houses to share recipes and companionship. Different women and even a few of the men floated in and out of the group, but the whole neighborhood got involved. Husbands started waving if I was out walking. A couple even stopped and thanked me for the cooking lessons, complimenting me on my skills. I was very happy.

Mrs. Roseman was an elderly widow who lived just the other side of Amanda. The women had adopted her as a surrogate aunt and I was no exception once I got to know her. We made sure at least one of us visited every day. Most often we’d pass someone leaving as we entered.

She was also a walking encyclopedia of recipes and when it was her turn to host most everyone showed up armed with the ingredients she requested. My favorite recipe was Appalachian Wedding Cake, made of thin layers of cake that tasted just like the old Mary Jane candies I’d enjoyed as a child. Homemade apple butter was spread between the layers and on top. She gave us a history lesson while we baked, overjoyed to hear voices other than her own echo through her house. This cake became popular during the Depression. Sugar was scarce and expensive, so different ladies would make a layer of cake and others would make and contribute the apple butter. It was said you could tell how popular the bride was by the number of layers in her cake.

I had high hopes.