Authors: Kathryn Magendie
Tender Graces (44 page)
Mrs. Mendel sniffles in her hankie while Gary holds onto her elbow. He looks at me with something I can’t fathom, and then away. I appreciate him looking away.
We all stand in a circle around the tree. I pour out a little of Momma’s ashes and let her fall. We say nothing. It feels right to be as quiet as butterfly wings. The wind picks these pieces of her and carries her up and around. She dances as the breeze pushes and pulls her. Then each of us kids take our part of Momma to spread to all our places, just as she wanted. Daddy doesn’t take any of her, since he released what he could of her long ago. He’s here for the last of his release, I guess. Or maybe he’s here for me. I let that thought sink to my bones.
Daddy says, “Katie Ivene Holms Carey. She was loved and she did love. ‘Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.’”
Aunt Billie and Uncle Jonah say, “A-men.”
There is nothing more to say about Momma.
Back inside, Daddy and my brothers talk about what route home is best and what fast food place has better hamburgers. Adin is making sandwiches, gabbing away to Micah about art.
I think how maybe I’ve been holding onto the heavy things that make me slow instead of lightening my load so I can run up my mountain free and clear. It’s hard to let go, but maybe it’s time. Is that what Grandma’s been asking?
I head back to my room, shut the door, slip under Grandma Faith’s quilt and lie against the feather soft. I decide that I’ll take my vial of Momma’s ashes with me to my mountain and leave her there. I’ll wear red lipstick and my hair will blow around like a living thing. I’ll say, “Feel that wind, Momma!” And she’ll say, “Wheeeee!” And off we’ll go. When I get there, I’ll smell the earth and feel the tickle of leaves under my bare feet and against my face. The wind won’t let the tears gather at all. And I’ll let Momma dance in the wind as I pour her out.
All a sudden the voices in the other room fade and fade as my childhood room becomes bright with light. I smell apples and fresh-baked bread stronger than I ever have before, and then I see Grandma Faith standing at the foot of my bed, smiling down at me. She’s whole and real, she’s Here.
I feel drowsy as a little girl when I say, “Grandma Faith, you’re here.”
“Yes, Virginia Kate,” she says. “You’ve done well, now comes the release.”
I pull up from the heaviness of the quilt and reach out to her, but even as I do, I feel a slipping away, a parting from me. A wind flies out with a sigh; the curtains twist and dance, and then are still. The room’s glow dims. I lay back on my pillow, looking beyond.
I’m happy and that thought slams against me.
Feeling the release, I let go.
Aye to the proof. I let Momma go. Down sweet sister mountain I ride on Fionadala’s back. We are not in a hurry now. Easy. Easy. I smile. The release decides for me, where I will next go. Where my life will lead me. The release sets me free.
Katie Ivene’s Salt Rising Bread
To make the sponge:
3 between sized potatoes
3 tablespoons of meal
1 teaspoon sugar
Pinch of soda
4 cups water that’s come to the boil
The next day:
2 cups of sweet milk that’s warmed a bit
1 cup of water that’s come to the boil
2 teaspoons salt
1/8 teaspoon of soda
2 tablespoons of shortening (and best not be using any petal puss pig lard in my recipe!)
Flour
Makes three loaves unless it makes four or two, sometimes I change the recipe so you best check it twice. The day ahead, while the kids are still outside playing before supper, peel and slice up the potatoes and add the meal, sugar, soda, and water that’s come to the boil. Put all that in a glass bowl or big jar if you still have one that’s not broke, and cover it up with a good weight-sized dishrag. Let it stand in a warm place all the night and don’t let the kids play around to knock it over or else you got to start over again. The next morning there should be a foam risen up top of it. Get the potatoes out of the mixture, and then add milk, water, soda, salt, and shortening. Add flour just enough to make the dough stiff enough to knead up until it’s right. Keep the kids out of the dough with their dirty hands or else you got to throw the nasty dough away and start all over. While kneading, think on things that’s been bothering you and soon the answer will come. Shape the dough into loaves. Put the loaves in greased up pans, cover with a dishrag, and let them rise again until twice the size. Then bake the loaves in a 400 degree oven until it’s done, maybe 40 minutes or so. Give the kids warm bread with apple butter and send them outside so you can think straight. Serve the bread to your husband so he can see just what you can do when you set your mind to it even if you can do more than bake bread at least the bread gets his attention.
Grandma Faith’s Apple Butter
Pull together:
5 pounds of tart apples
3 cups of apple cider that’s been made another day
4 cups of sugar
3 teaspoons of cinnamon unless you like more
1 teaspoon of cloves unless you like more
A pinch or so of salt to bring out the sweet
Peel the apples, remove the cores, and cut the apples in quarters—if the grandkids are visiting, this will keep their hands busy, but watch the young ones with a knife. In a heavy pot bring the apples and cider up to the boiling. Don’t let this burn by leaving the kitchen to do other things, make your time for it! Cut the heat down and simmer for about twenty-five to thirty minutes. Then take the mixture and put through a sieve or a colander. Mix in the sugar, salt, cinnamon, and cloves. Taste it to make sure it’s perfect. Give the grandkids a taste to see if it is good to their tongue. If everyone is happy, pour the mixture into a dish and bake for two hours at 300 degrees. While this bakes, clean up your mess in the kitchen so that’s all done and let the kids take the peelings and cores out to the pig. You can check your mixture before two hours to see if it’s gone thick enough for your tastes. Then, when it’s done how it should be, pour into canning jars. Make extra for selling—hide those in the secret place. Put the rest up for the family for later. Good on cornbread or biscuits.
Rebekha’s Pralines
Ingredients:
1 cup of white sugar
1 cup of packed light brown sugar
¾ cup of cream
¼ teaspoon of salt
2 tablespoons of butter (real butter, not margarine!)
1 to 1 ½ cups of pecans (leave them in halves, not pieces)
1 teaspoon of vanilla
This is a good recipe to teach children about passing down traditional recipes, measuring, and soft ball versus hard ball stages. Take a heavy 2-quart-sized saucepan and butter the sides—a child can do this part easily. Add the sugars, the cream, and the salt to the saucepan and cook over a medium heat, stirring constantly, until the sugars are dissolved. Keep stirring with a good heavy wood spoon and continue to cook until the mixture begins to come to a boil. It is not a good idea to let younger kids help with this part, as the mixture gets very hot and can cause bad burns. Turn down the heat and cook until the soft ball stage, about 234 degrees on a candy thermometer. When at soft ball stage take off the stove and add the butter and vanilla. Again, be careful that the children do not burn themselves; this should be the adult only part of the recipe. With your wooden spoon, start stirring to cool and add in the pecans. Keep stirring until the candy has become thick and isn’t shiny anymore. Be fast now! Take a teaspoon or tablespoon and spoon out the mixture onto waxed paper—some newspaper under that wax paper is a good idea. Let the candies cool completely before you let the children at them, or else they’ll eat them before they are ready. Wrap them up in wax paper with a ribbon and share with neighbors!
How do I possibly thank everyone who has encouraged me in the process of writing this debut book? I think a first book creates layers upon layers of support, which is why you may see a first-time author’s acknowledgement page 50-galleven pages long, and the second book one page long, and by the third book, a simple “To You, thanks.” When I described my angst, someone said, “Geez, it’s not the Academy Awards!” No, but still…I believe in giving thanks, because I am sincerely grateful.
There are people who always have an encouraging word—such as the twinkly-eyed post office worker. Charles at Calandro’s supermarket in Baton Rouge. The Hart Theater, especially The Regulars: Charles, Mark, Frances, and Christy Bishop who came by one really cold mountain morning and took beautiful author photos. My Rose & Thorn colleagues. The “LSU & FPC people.”
Then there is the cyber layer—how could I leave out the wonderful community of blog friends who have supported me and cheered me on. My WDC friends who’ve been cheering me even before the thought “novel” was thunked. The forums of Bestsellers & Literature and NABBW. Mountain Writers Alive for which I keep promising JC and Sonja I will soon attend. And the supportive Backspacer’s group.
As the layers progress, those lovelies who read TG and then so beautifully wrote blurbs for Tender Graces—their names are visible for all to see and you have my thanks. And my “Readers” who volunteered their time—John & Tere Robinson, Kim Vickers (who also works doubly hard to create my website), David Blackwell, Kyndra Goodman, Margaret Osondu, Patresa Hartman and Ruvena Snellings. There are my friends far and near who supported in some way special: Adnan Mahmutovic, Mike, Stephen Rowe, Cherie, Marta Stephens, Dr. Boudreaux, Sarah & Margaret, Sonja, Michael Manning, Pam, Connie, Lorelle Bacon, Mrs. Barbara Gray and Robin Becker.
The layers grow ever deeper still; my beautiful NAWW friends: Poet and Ancient Soul Marilyn Shapely, Jazzy Blues Poet Cynthia Toups (who went an extra mile or two or three with her eagle eyes), In-Your-Face-World Poet Alaine Benard with her bird’s wings soaring, Author and Wonder Woman Deb Leblanc (who gives of herself freely to help writers), Literary Writer and Couch-enthusiast Mary Ann Ledbetter (see the Reader’s Guide at the end), Scent-sory Perceptive Marie L. Broussard (she reminded me how Librarians are cool!). And I’ve saved a special mention for last: VK’s “Godmother” Angie Ledbetter—she poked me until I wrote this book. There is a lot of Angie in Rebekha, or is it the other way around? Angie holds the NAWW sisters together, even when we spin outward and beyond. My NAWW friends are strong and beautiful and talented and I love them. They helped me in all their ways to see Virginia Kate’s way Home.
The layers develop further, ever deeper. For there is my Family. Surrounding me, cheering me on. My Good Man Roger, who is an “author widower” and never complains. Roger lets me have the space I need to write; he brings me food (the ultimate act of love) and wine and quick hugs. He is a rock. My gifted son Daniel taught me how to be a mother who raised a good son. He is wise and has grown in to a kind man and I am proud of him. Carol Magendie, who drove all the way to New Orleans to bring me needed gifts. Mom and Frank—thank you Mother for taking us in, sheltering us, and keeping us together. Dad and Noreen—my daddy has been sober for near-fifty years—he wants me to give that gift to Frederick, and maybe I did—thank you Daddy for always wanting us. Robin and Rachel—your daddy was special, never forget that, ever. Nephew Christopher Snellings. My brothers: Tommy, (David), Mike, Johnny—I know you are proud of your seestor, and thanks for being the bestest ever brothers even when you tortured the heck out of me and teased me even though I was a saint and never did a thing to y’all and I probably was the most even-tempered un-moody sister EVER. My (adopted) family members in Arkansas—I miss that farm and the simple ways. And to my “lost and found” biological mom (who I’m glad I’ve come to know the beautiful woman she is), “half” sister and, “half” brother (who are wholes), uncles and other family in West Virginia—I hope you read this and are proud. And to Adrienne (Zetty) and Jon Bryce Magendie—thank you for accepting me.
Of course to Bellebooks/Belle Bridge books – thank you for taking a chance on Virginia Kate, and me. Thank you for what you see and what you saw.
To everyone who picks up this book and reads it—you have my gratitude. I wrote it while thinking of who would hold my words in their hands and come to love Virginia Kate. This book is a love letter to you all.
1.
Tender Graces
is haunted by many ghosts. How does the spiritual world aid both the young and the adult Virginia Kate?
2. The supernatural is a very real presence in
Tender Graces
. What psychic power does Miss Darla have? How does she help Virginia Kate, physically, emotionally, and spiritually? Explain the significance of the green-eye-jeweled horse pendant she gives to Virginia Kate.
3. How does Virginia Kate bear hardship? What extra-sensory power does she have? What is her quest? Has Virginia Kate broken the spell of her mother and grandmother’s lives?