Friendship Bread (47 page)

Julia kisses the top of her sister’s head, inhales her sister’s scent. “I missed you, too, Livvy.”

Livvy sniffs and wipes her eyes. “Oh. It looks like I kind of used your T-shirt as a handkerchief.”

Julia looks down and sees that Livvy has indeed used her shirt as a handkerchief, and she grins.

“So what now?” Livvy asks, and Julia can see that their roles have been restored, Livvy automatically turning to Julia for the answers.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly.

“You’ll come visit, right? Help me with the baby when it’s born?”

“Yes,” Julia breathes. “I’d love that.”

“Or you can come up sooner,” Livvy suggests. “I hope you’ll come up sooner. Come anytime.”

“I will,” Julia promises. “We’ll all come. Gracie, too. She’ll be so excited to have a cousin.”

“She’ll be a great cousin,” Livvy agrees. She points to the last container sitting on the porch. “What’s this?”

Julia grins. “Amish Friendship Bread.”

“Of course.” Livvy grins back as she pops off the lid. “Good thing I can afford the calories.” She holds the container out to Julia, who takes a fat slice, and then Livvy does the same.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Julia asks.

Livvy nods. “Got my sleeping bag. I have to sign the papers tomorrow. I thought I’d be more sad to leave, but I’m excited, you know?”

Julia does know. And she knows she doesn’t want Livvy sleeping on her floor alone.

“Stay with us,” she says suddenly. “We have a spare room.” They both know the spare room is Josh’s old room so Julia quickly adds, “Or you can stay in Gracie’s room. I have utensils at my house. You can have a proper dinner, a proper breakfast, and then meet with the real estate agent and head back to Faberville.” She says this in a rush, and when she’s finished, she realizes that she’s holding her breath.

Livvy seems to be thinking about this, her head bent over the containers. When she looks up, her face is shining. “Sure,” she says. “I’d like that.”

AVALON, ILLINOIS
—For many residents in this small town in northern Illinois, Avalon has been the only home they know. Born and raised here, Avalonians are a content bunch, proud of who they are, proud of where they live, proud of what Avalon has become known for in recent months.

Friendship. Family. Community. And all thanks to a single bag of Amish Friendship Bread starter.

Google “Amish Friendship Bread” on your computer and be prepared to have enough reading for a week. It’s a slice of American contemporary history, an edible chain letter that fills people with equal amounts of hope and dread. But for families in Barrett and Avalon, it’s quickly become the epitome of what brings people—and towns—together.

Like warring neighbors, for instance. Martin Colon and the Padillas, Lester and Marsha, have lived next door to each other for sixteen years. Their children grew up together. Many summer evenings would find the neighbors sharing a beer or glass of wine on the lawn. But two years ago Martin’s twelve-foot climbing wisteria caused subsidence
of the Padillas’ home, damaging the foundation and drainage pipes. The two families became engaged in a two-year legal battle over a repair bill totaling $7,500, which Colon refused to pay.

Fast-forward to this past May and cue Marsha Padilla and a bag of Amish Friendship Bread starter. Remembering her neighbor’s birthday, Marsha felt compelled to bake and leave the bread with a kind note. Now the neighbors are in mediation and have agreed to share the repair bill, restoring not only the Padillas’ foundation, but their friendship.

Chief of Police Craig Neimeyer says that Avalon’s already low crime rates have dropped to almost nothing in the past two months.

At the local YMCA and senior recreation center, the number of volunteers have increased, much to the delight of our young and elderly residents.

School bullying and other classroom disruptions have also dramatically dropped.

“Avalon has always been a nice town,” says longtime resident Octavia Stout. “But now it’s more peaceful. People seem happier. It’s a joy for me to say I’m from Avalon.”

Doug MacDonald agrees. “My kids baked for Barrett. Normally they’re fighting and disagreeing, arguing with me and my wife about homework, but it’s like there’s been a hiatus from all of that. We can sit down at the table and have a good meal together.”

At Madeline’s Tea Salon, an official room has been designated for the ladies who regularly make and share Amish Friendship Bread. Dubbed “The Amish Friendship Bread Club” by the media, this growing group of women has made it their ongoing mission to bake for families, organizations, and communities in need. They are currently providing loaves to women’s shelters across the county, and are available to guide interested parties in starting club chapters of their own.

“I’m honored to have the club here, as I am to be a part of a community that has done so much for others,” says Madeline Davis, owner. “The bread has touched my own life, bringing me good people that have since become good friends.”

It is still a mystery as to how Amish Friendship Bread was initially introduced to Avalon, with the first known person being Julia Evarts. But according to Mrs. Evarts, she was “a lucky recipient of the bread just like everyone else.” While this mystery may join the archives of life’s unanswered questions, perhaps its origins do not really matter. What does matter is that the bread, and its starter, found its way to Avalon, and from it, something beautiful has been born.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was going to hurt?” Livvy demands into the phone. It’s the day before Christmas. Livvy looks out the hospital window and sees fat flakes of snow lazily making their way to the ground. The sky looks like it’s full of fluffy feathers.

Edie laughs. “Because if I did, it would have made you crazier than you already were. I did you a favor.”

That’s probably true. Livvy had been making lists of everything that could go wrong with the delivery, emailing them to Edie on a daily basis. Still, a little warning would have been nice.

Livvy turns to look at Tom, who’s cradling their new baby, a perfect eight-pound, ten-and-a-half-ounce little boy. Aiden Logan Scott. “Oh, and the stitches were fun, too. Thanks for the heads-up there. Doctor didn’t realize until later that he didn’t give me enough anesthetic.” Livvy winces at the memory.

“What tipped him off?”

“Probably my screaming. But I’m good now. Just don’t ask me if
I’ll ever do this again.” She says this dramatically, knowing that she sounds like those annoying pregnant women she always complains about, but Livvy has to admit that there
is
an odd pleasure in being able to say it at all, a roundabout way of announcing,
I did it
. Which Livvy still can’t believe.

“Oh, you’ll do this again,” Edie says confidently. “Knowing you, you’ve already bought a double stroller.”

Livvy reddens. “It was on sale,” she protests. “Thirty percent off. And I need room for all my things.”

Edie gives a chuckle. “Of course you do. We’ll be up to see you next week, okay? Help you ring in the new year.”

“Julia will be here, too. And my parents. Maybe I should just invite all of Avalon to Faberville to celebrate.” She and Tom were talking about how, when they had the big house, no one ever came to visit. But next week they’ll have more people crammed into their small space than she ever thought possible. It’ll be crazy, that’s for sure.

“I know I’m wasting my breath, but you need to be resting, not entertaining,” Edie tells her.

Edie is wasting her breath, because having friends and family around her is the one thing Livvy wants right now more than anything. Aiden is only a few hours old, but Livvy wants him to know the people to whom he belongs, whose lives are already a part of his and will be forever. “So don’t come then,” Livvy says nonchalantly. She’ll kill Edie if she actually agrees.

But Edie doesn’t. “Ha ha, nice try. Hold on a second.
Richard, we have a diaper here!
”

“How is that beautiful daughter of yours?” Livvy wants to know. Miranda is two months old and looks just like a miniature Edie. Livvy can’t wait to see what she’ll be like when she grows up.

“Giving me a run for my money. She nurses constantly and doesn’t want to sleep at night. Oh, and before I forget, Patrick has been asking after you. He wants to do a birth announcement in the
Gazette
, maybe even a short little feature story.”

Livvy finds it amusing that Patrick seems to be taking such an
interest in her
after
she’s left the
Gazette
. “Who would be the writer?” she asks innocently. “Lori Blair?” Livvy actually likes Lori, but she likes teasing Edie more.

“Ha ha. You know it’ll be me.”

“Are you back full-time now?”

“Not exactly,” Edie says. “But enough. I want to stay home with Miranda as much as possible.”

Livvy can’t believe her ears. “You’re actually going to be a stay-at-home mom?” she asks in disbelief. She was certain Edie would be back at work, back in the thick of things.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Edie scoffs. “Of course I’m not going to be a stay-at-home mom.”

Livvy is grinning, enjoying this moment. “Edie, someone who stays home to be with their kids is a stay-at-home mom. Because you’re a mom, and you’re staying at home …”

“Yes, thank you, Livvy. I get it.” Edie sounds grumpy. “Where’s Richard? I think it’s a number two.” There’s a pause. “Yep, it is.”

“You could always change the diaper yourself,” Livvy suggests.

“I could, Livvy, but Richard said he wanted to do all this so I don’t want to deprive him of the experience.” There’s a wail and Livvy suspects that Miranda doesn’t care who changes her diaper so long as somebody changes it now. “I have to go. Kiss Aiden for me, okay?”

Livvy looks at Tom, who is humming to their new baby as he sleeps in Tom’s arms. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Leave it to Livvy to push her buttons even though she’s several towns over. And the woman just gave birth!

So maybe the technical term is stay-at-home mom, but it’s not like Edie is sitting around and watching back-to-back episodes of
Barney
or
Sesame Street
. During Miranda’s naps she jumps on the computer to catch up on emails or do a little research. Granted Miranda’s erratic sleep schedule and five-second catnaps mean that Edie can’t get much done, but she’s confident they’ll get there.

Eventually.

The sleep-deprived stupor will pass and at some point they’ll actually venture out of the house. Edie plans to try a few interviews with Miranda in the baby sling. It’s a
kitenge
, a generous swath of printed fabric used by women in Kenya. It took a few tries for Edie to get it right, but now she is an expert and can get Miranda tied snug on her back or curled up against her breast in less than twenty seconds, leaving her hands free to do whatever needs to be done around the house.

Right now she’s working on a story about higher incidents of leukemia and brain cancer for children living near electric power lines. She’s writing about it because she wants to, because she thinks citizens and lawmakers and power companies should see what’s happening to these children, these families. Maybe it’s motherhood or maybe it’s just a little more professional maturity on her part, but Edie is no longer interested in short, sensational stories that make it on the front page for only a day. Somehow she’d forgotten about something she realized when she was in the Peace Corps, about how the stories that made the most difference and had the greatest impact were the ones with the least amount of flash. There’s something appealing about a quiet story that has depth, that has the ability to reach out and connect people for a long time to come. It’s less about the story, Edie’s learned, and more about the people. But, more important, it has to come from the heart and not the mind. Edie is still working on that one.

Richard walks into the room and sniffs the air, then scoops up Miranda and gives Edie a quick kiss before heading to the diaper-changing station. God, she loves her husband. She would have married him sooner if she knew how wonderful it was going to be. It always seemed like a small detail, mere paperwork since they were already living together and deeply committed. But the simple band on her finger reminds her of everything she has, and, more important, that she has someone to share it all with.

They stood in front of a justice of the peace and tied the knot the week before Miranda was born. It was cutting it close, but Richard was adamant that they get married before Miranda was born. So they did.

Never in a million years would Edie have figured that someone like Livvy would be her maid of honor, but Livvy stood next to her, weeping as if she were Edie’s mother. Edie would have been more touched if she wasn’t already having early contractions that had gone on for two days and would continue for another seven.

Edie’s friendship with Livvy started in an unremarkable way, and then blossomed into something Edie has come to treasure. Edie knows Livvy should rest but she knows that Livvy is too geared up to relax, having just done one of the most incredible things in a woman’s life. It hasn’t even been five minutes before Edie picks up the phone and calls Livvy back. Livvy gives a whoop of delight and continues talking as if their conversation hasn’t been interrupted at all, launching into graphic detail about how the epidural didn’t work. Edie listens and smiles, knowing that the story might take as long as the actual event itself.