Page 39 of Candy Cane Dreams
"Obviously it doesn't matter, since I was here. And same—I was going to text you, then I picked up Lilly, and we were makingsure that we had the picture that she wanted to give Marjorie completely finished, and I forgot."
"Well, it turns out that was okay, since we both met here and we didn't need to let each other know."
"Funny how that worked out," he said, thinking again about what they had been saying—that everything happened for a reason.
Sometimes, it was just hard to figure out why.
Chapter Sixteen
On Monday, Kate told Jack she would be late to the candy shop since she needed to stop by Marjorie's house first. Marjorie had come home on Friday and made it to church on Sunday, even teaching her Sunday school class, although her daughter, Amy, had helped her a good bit.
Regardless, Kate admired the woman for her grit and determination, but also her cheerful attitude.
She wondered if she would be able to respond in such a positive way if her health was not what she wanted it to be. She had a feeling that that was something that she would have to work on.
Maybe Marjorie could give her some pointers—not that she had any intention of getting sick, but she suspected that it wasn't something that happened at the moment of sickness, but was something that had been cultivated years before.
Determining that she would ask Marjorie about it if they had time after discussing the town Christmas festival, she stepped up to the door and knocked.
"Come on in," a voice called from the other side of the door.
It sounded like Marjorie, upbeat and cheerful as always, even through the door.
Kate turned the knob, and indeed, it was unlocked.
She stepped in, looking around at the slightly messy but warm and cozy kitchen.
Somehow, even though there was nothing expensive or fancy about it, the kitchen looked like home, with several pictures obviously drawn by children tacked to the door of the refrigerator. Kate was able to pick out the picture Lilly had drawn. There were dried flowers in a vase above one cupboard, and there was flour on the counter and a bowl with a towel over top of it, as though bread were rising. The kitchen still sparkled and smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and gave a person a warm, homey feeling that only happened in the most real of homes.
"Walking in here just feels like coming home," Kate said, before she could stop herself. She had never really walked into a house that smelled like this, and she didn't know why this one felt like home to her. It shouldn't. TV dinners and silence usually greeted her when she walked in when she lived with her parents. Even now, it was quiet and still when she walked into the farmhouse, as it had been when she walked into her apartment in Baltimore.
She noted two casserole dishes sitting on the counter and a vase of fresh flowers sitting on the table. A sack of potatoes sat on one chair, and what looked like sweet potatoes sat in a box beside them.
"You must have just gone grocery shopping," Kate said, without thinking.
"Oh goodness no, I don't think I'm up to that," Marjorie said, in the first comment that Kate had heard that she wasn't feeling quite herself. "It's just the town showering me with love. In small towns, casseroles and/or food usually mean love."
"I'll keep that in mind," Kate said.
"Also, I’ve gotten several vases of flowers, and Ben gave me potatoes from his garden. Olivia grows the best sweet potatoes in Virginia, and that's what's in the box there."
"And Bryan sends his love, because the way a farmer shows love is by giving a person a big piece of bloody meat. It’s in the fridge."
Kate laughed. "I'm not sure that would make me feel loved," she said, unable to suppress a shudder.
"That's a farmer for you," Marjorie said with a wave of her hand. "They're a little different than the rest of us," she winked.
"Well, it's good to know, in case that ever happens to me. If someone had given me a piece of big bloody meat, I might question whether or not they even liked me."
"No. That's true love," Marjorie waved her hand around. "Do you want to sit at the bar, or would you like to sit at the table?"
"Wherever it's most comfortable for you."
"Well, I have bread rising—I'm going to need to work it—so if you don't mind, we can sit here at the bar, and I can jump up and punch that thing down whenever it's ready."
"That sounds kind of energetic for a person who had just been in the hospital a few days ago."
"There's something about doing bread that's therapeutic for the soul. It doesn't really matter how sick you are; it still makes you feel better."
