She chopped, peeled, stirred, mixed. And following a tradition set years before, bitched that neither of her brothers served in the duty.
“It’s not altogether fair.” In her placid way, Maureen basted the turkey. “But you know as well as I do there’s not a man in this house who’s anything but a nuisance in the kitchen. Clementine and I both did our best to teach them, the same as we taught you, but Rory could burn water, and Chase turns into a bull in a china shop.”
“It’s on purpose,” Bodine grumbled as she and Cora peeled a mountain of potatoes.
“Well, sweetie, I know that, too, but the results are the same. Grammy, can you take a look at this ham?”
Miss Fancy, wearing an apron that stated WOMEN AND WINE IMPROVE WITH AGE, peered into the lower oven, nodded. “I’d say it’s about time for me to make the glaze. Don’t fuss too much, Bodine. You got the men out there doing the beef on the grill. And they’ll be hauling the second turkey and all the fixings over for the bunkhouse boys. I’d as soon not have them in here, crowding me.
“I like the smells and sounds of a Thanksgiving kitchen,” Cora added as she plucked up another potato. “Remember, Reenie, how I used to make extra pie dough and let you and Alice…” She trailed off, let out a sigh. “Ah, well.”
“I remember, Ma.”
Maureen spoke briskly, turning to stir something on the stove that didn’t need stirring.
“I’m not going to get maudlin,” Cora said. “I like to think Alice is smelling and hearing Thanksgiving today, too. That she found whatever she was looking for that we couldn’t give her.”
Miss Fancy opened her mouth, then firmly shut it. Bodine carefully said nothing. On the rare times her mother’s sister’s name came up, the grannies seemed to square off in separate corners. One heavy with sorrow, the other sharp with resentment—and her mother ranged on the resentment side.
“I think the whole kitchen staff deserves a glass of wine.” Maureen walked to a cupboard, pulled out glasses. “You can bet your butt those men have cracked more than one beer by now. Bodine, wash off those potatoes and let’s get them boiling. Ma, these sweet potatoes look about ready for your magic.”
“Just a couple more white ones to skin.”
Maureen set down the glasses, gave her grandmother’s hand a quick squeeze. In response, Miss Fancy jerked her shoulders.
“You think I can’t hear what you’re both thinking?” Cora demanded. “Don’t the pair of you start pandering to me.”
Bodine popped up at the sound of the doorbell. “That’s the door.” Relieved, she dashed to answer.
She opened the door to Jessica, said, “Perfect.”
“Well, thank you. And thank you for inviting me.”
“Come on in. When did it start snowing? I wasn’t paying attention due to kitchen duty and a family ghost.” Gesturing Jessica in, she stepped back. “You can join in the first and help exorcise the second just by being here. You didn’t have to bring anything,” she added, nodding at the cake holder Jessica carried.
“Have to implies obligation. Happy to is appreciation.”
“Thanks either way. Let me get your coat.”
Shifting the cake holder from hand to hand, Jessica drew off her coat and scarf as she studied the entranceway.
“This is fabulous. I love the beamed ceilings, the wide-planked floor, and oh, that fireplace.”
“I’d forgotten you haven’t been here before. We’ll have to give you a tour.”
“I’d love it.”
In her simple blue dress, Jessica wandered a few steps into the living area. “And the views!”
“We’re all about them. They’re pretty terrific from the kitchen, too. Come on back. Let’s get you a drink.”
The house rambled, charming her. Everything about it spoke of comfort, in a casual, family style. A lot of wood and leather, Jessica noted, a lot of Western art and artifacts interspersed with pieces of Irish crystal and Belleek. Windows framed with wide square trim and left uncurtained to bring in the fields, the sky, the mountains.
She stopped outside a room with a large antique desk, pointed to the wall. “Is that a … papoose?”
“A papoose would be what went into it,” Bodine explained. “It’s a cradleboard. My father’s grandfather’s cradleboard.”
“It’s wonderful, and enviable, to be able to trace your heritage back so far, on both sides, and have pieces like that, the tangible connection.”
“We’re a jigsaw puzzle of ethnicities.” Bodine led the way back. “Look who I’ve got.”
“Jessie. So good to see you.” Maureen left her vigil at the stove to welcome Jessica with a hug. “You always look so pretty.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to put a nice dress on every once in a while, Bodine,” Miss Fancy said as she stirred the glaze for the ham.
“Thanks,” Bodine muttered to Jessica. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.” Jessica put the cake holder on the counter. “How can I help?”
“Wine first,” Maureen decreed. “What have you brought us?”
“It’s ptichye moloko.”
“Not sure I can pronounce that, so I’m going to take a peek.”
Cora walked over, lifted the lid. “Oh, that’s just gorgeous!”
“It’s a Russian dessert—bird’s milk cake, though you don’t use milk from birds. My grandmother always made it for special occasions.”
Bodine held out a glass of wine, studied the smooth chantilly frosting drizzled artistically with chocolate. “You made it?”
“I like to bake. It’s not much fun baking for myself, so this was a treat.”
“I’m getting out the fancy cake stand, putting this on the dessert buffet with the pies and Ma’s trifle.” Maureen rushed toward the dining room for the cake stand. “You sit down and drink that wine, Jessie.”
“I will,” she told Maureen, “if you put a kitchen tool in my hand.”
“Put the girl to work,” Miss Fancy ordered. “The men’ll be trooping in here before much longer and getting in the way of things.”
For Jessica, taking part in a large family gathering fascinated. The interaction and dynamics of the four generations of women, with some roles loosely assigned—Bo, grab me that, Ma, will you taste this—and other roles fiercely guarded.
Miss Fancy baked the ham while Maureen took charge of the turkey. The gravy stood squarely in Cora’s domain.
Whatever family ghost Bodine had referred to appeared to have departed, as the women worked in easy harmony, and with a great deal of affection. Though she couldn’t imagine herself ever making a vat of gravy, she got tips on doing so from Cora. And thought of the hours she’d spent in the kitchen with her own grandmother.
“You look a little melancholy.” Cora spoke quietly. “Missing your family?”
“I was thinking about my grandmother, how she taught me to cook, to appreciate the creativity of it.”
“Is she back East? Maybe she can come out for a nice long visit.”