Cookies
Emily Stevens had gotten to the point after lunch where
she started to think about what to bring to the pot luck supper at church that
evening. It had to be something she
could make in bulk. “Everyone who shows
up at the dinner would want to have something cooked by the new Pastor’s wife”,
she thought, so she decided to get Gracie engaged and bake about six dozen of
her special “Chocolate Chippers” cookies.
Inventory of the “fixins” was taken and before long, they
were spread out on the kitchen table along with cookie sheets, bowls, spoons
and spatulas. Gracie didn’t need to be
called from her self-appointed chores in her bedroom, she and Frank the Dog
came lumbering down the stairs almost as soon as the refrigerator door opened
to get out the eggs.
“It’s a good thing we went to the store this morning,”
Gracie stated once she figured out what was happening.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
Emily said a quick little prayer of thanks for a daughter
who was bright and cheerful all the time.
It wasn’t long after Gracie came down to help that there
was a huge bowl filled with cookie dough.
Gracie was so very careful in putting the dough into precise little
portions, placing those portions on a cookie sheet – twelve portions per sheet,
two sheets per run in the oven.
While the first batch of cookies was cooling on the racks
set up on the kitchen table to cool the cookies and the second batch was in the
oven, the phone rang.
Emily hesitated just long enough for Gracie to answer
it. Since they had just moved in the
night before, she just assumed that it would be a few days before phone service
would be connected.
“Hello?”
Gracie’s voice was sweet music in someone’s ear.
“Oh, yes, she’s right here. May I tell her who’s calling?”
She was so proper – so polite.
“It’s Mrs. Mulligan for you, mother,” Gracie announced,
handing Emily the phone.
“Thank you, dear.”
Gracie curtsied.
“Hello, this is Emily Stevens, Mrs. Mulligan.”
“Call me Millie,” the voice on the other end of the phone
told her.
Millie gushed about Gracie’s manners for a few moments
before announcing the reason for the call:
“You are aware that we are having a pot luck supper tonight as a welcome
gift after your husband’s first service, right?”
“Yes, Millie, as a matter of fact –“
“Now you don’t have to bring a thing. It’s all taken care of. You just get done what you have to get done
and relax. It may be the last time
you’ll be able to do that for the next few weeks.”
Emily knew exactly what Millie Mulligan had told
her. The move to Magnolia was the fourth
since she and Dan were married and it would be the fifth time that the women of
the church would expect her to stand “inspection”.
She was getting to be an old hand at passing those
inspections.
The conversation with Millie Mulligan ended about thirty
seconds before the second batch of two dozen cookies was due to come out of the
oven. The freshly baked cookies were
quickly put on the rack before Gracie went about the task of meticulously
dolling out the final batch of cookie dough onto the sheets.
The final batch went into the oven just as Jacob, Peter
and their new friend, Kevin came in the back door to immediately attack the
freshly baked cookies. Gracie was upset
that the boys had started to dig into her orderly line of cooling cookies, but
Emily knew what was going to happen and was already whipping up another batch
of dough for two dozen more cookies.
It was nearly four when the last of the cooled cookies
had been placed in bags and were ready to go.
The service would be held at five-thirty and dinner would start serving
at six-fifteen. She reminded Jacob and
Peter that they had to clean up before they went. Their protests of having to go were met with
Emily’s assurance that yes, they had to go.
Kevin was welcomed, too, if his mother would allow it. Kevin rushed out to get permission and was
back within ten minutes.
“You’re welcome to come back to our house tomorrow, too,”
Emily told Kevin when he returned.
For the first time since he had come to their house that
morning, the boy smiled. She wondered
if, perhaps, things weren’t quite right where Kevin Peel lived. She made a mental note to ask about his
situation once she got a bit more settled.
-----
The boys were washed and presentable. Gracie put on a dress she had chosen for the
occasion (very carefully laid out ahead of time – not a thread out of place)
and Emily had just stepped out of the shower when a short bark by Frank
announced that Dan had come home.
“Who’s the new kid?” Dan asked when he came into the
bedroom to get himself ready for his debut.
“If it was a dark haired boy who seems to have trouble
smiling, it’s Kevin Peel. He’ll be coming
with us this evening.”
Emily finished dressing while Dan ducked through the
shower. She went downstairs to see Kevin
with Jacob and Peter, intently watching the game they were playing.
Emily looked at the boy.
He was still dusty and dirty from an afternoon of hard play with her two
boys. She quickly seized the initiative.
“If you’re coming with us, you need to clean up. Jacob, Peter, shut off that game and get
Kevin to the upstairs bathroom while I see if I can find something which will
fit him.”
The boys slowly got up and turned off their game.
“Let’s get a move on, now, we don’t have much time.”
The boys made a game of it and had Kevin in and out of
the shower in just a few minutes. Emily
in the meantime found a suitable outfit which ended up being just the right
size for the young man. After getting
Frank situated, the family, along with a new friend, were out the door and
walking to the Community Baptist Church.
-----
The church was already abuzz with activity when the
Stevens family arrived. The parking lot
was full, or nearly so. Not a bad
turnout for a mid-week service in the heat of the summer. More than a few heads turned when they
stepped into the building. Dan waded
into the crowd with Emily, shaking hands and making eye contact. Gracie stayed close to Emily while the boys
took the cookies back to the kitchen on the west side of the building.
Exactly at five-thirty, the piano player started banging
out the notes for a familiar hymn. The
people who were still enthusiastically greeting their new Pastor and at least
part of his family seemed to take the hint and found seats. Dan escorted Emily and Gracie to a pew
reserved for them on the front row. Jacob,
Peter and Kevin Peel filtered in and sat down.
Emily felt as if she heard a few clucks of disapproval
for some reason while the boys were sitting down.
The service was typical for a first service in Emily’s
eyes. Dan gave a short message about
acceptance and forgiveness between the praise music and some general prayers,
and then there was the dash to the hall where it was time to dig in and eat
whatever people brought it for the pot luck.
There were hamburgers and buns provided by the Mulligans.
Everything else was cookies. There were twenty seven families in
attendance at the service and each family had brought at least six dozen
cookies which were neatly arranged on platters at the head of a makeshift
serving line.
There was no macaroni salad; no green bean casserole; no
salad; no hash browns, no nothing except approximately two thousand cookies
sitting on plates and nearly fifty kids swarming those plates, gathering up as
many cookies as they could possibly carry.
At least twenty sets of parents immediately swung into
action, telling their children that the cookies would wait, hoping that somehow
something different with a whole lot less sugar would magically appear. It wasn’t long before a few people stepped up
and went to procure the proper complements to the existing hamburgers, so,
aside from a slight delay, the pot luck went on pretty much as it had been
envisioned in the first place.
“Honestly,” Millie Mulligan confided to Emily after the
meal was over, “we had quit doing pot lucks about ten years ago because of this
very thing. I thought they’d have
learned by now.”
Emily was amused, yet relieved that events happened like
they did. Certainly, there were a number
of children who had belly aches because of eating too many cookies at one time,
but she had also lucked out of having to pass a more rigorous inspection.
“The next time, I’ll make potato salad,” she swore to
herself; as did every other mother who attended the pot luck that evening.
Be Seeing You!
bdharrell
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