Lemon Pies and Little White Lies (11 page)

Aiden looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Loralyn lately. It’s been ages since she stopped in to complain about the food, criticize the décor, or insult the staff.”

In the past, Ella Mae would have added a disparaging remark, but she felt only pity for her childhood enemy. Loralyn’s father had been sent to prison, and her family’s reputation, which she prized over anything else in the world, was forever sullied.

We both lost someone this winter
, Ella Mae thought sadly
. Loralyn lost her father, and I lost Hugh. They’re not dead, but they’re gone.
She glanced at a postcard
Hugh had sent from London.
Maybe our pain will bring us closer.

•   •   •

Ella Mae would have a chance to make friendly overtures toward Loralyn sooner than she expected. To everyone’s surprise, Loralyn resurfaced the very next day at Joyce Mercer’s memorial service. Dressed in an impeccably tailored dove-gray skirt suit, Loralyn entered the church without fanfare and took a seat near the back of the sanctuary. She bent her head as if in prayer, but her eyes remained open.

“What’s she doin’ here?” Reba whispered.

“I’m going to sit with her,” Ella Mae said. She was just about
to make her way over to Loralyn when Finn Mercer walked down the center aisle and enfolded her in a powerful hug.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Hey, you’re welcome to hug me too,” Reba said when he released Ella Mae. “I can show you what Southern comfort really means.”

Ella Mae elbowed Reba, but Finn already has his arms open. “Mom turned me into hugger when I was a kid. Guess I never grew out of the habit.”

“A fine quality for any man to have,” Reba said, resting her cheek against Finn’s chest. “Is all this muscle from work or workin’ out?” she asked.

Finn gently detached himself from Reba’s grasp. “I’d have to say both because my job is a workout. I design and build custom wood furniture.” He cast a mournful glance toward the front of the church, where a framed photo of his mother smiled out at the mourners. “Mom has a few of my pieces, but in general, my designs are too modern for her taste.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t seem to talk about her in past tense. I keep expecting her to show up and ask us what we’re all doing here.”

Ella Mae saw the sorrow in his eyes. “In a way, she is here. She’ll always be with you, Finn. Some bonds can never be broken.”

Finn nodded in reply. Fighting to regain his composure, he turned to greet Fiona and Carol Drever while Ella Mae made her way over to Loralyn’s pew.

“May I join you?” she asked.

Loralyn didn’t look at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be polishing your crown or baking subpar pastries?”

“I decided this was more important than our tea service. I put a note on the front door inviting our customers to come to the service. This way, they can enjoy free food and support Finn Mercer at the same time.”

“Always swooping in to save the day, aren’t you?” Loralyn said with a sneer.

Ella Mae fell quiet. She watched people she’d known for most of her life file into the church, exchanging hugs and handshakes and then waiting in line to pay their respects to Finn. Minister Davis stood at Finn’s side, making introductions and bestowing his gentle smile on all the attendees.

Eventually, the thrum of organ music filled the sanctuary and the minister took his place at the pulpit. Latecomers squeezed into back pews as the organist launched into the opening strains of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Minister Davis asked the congregation to stand and sing. Throughout the church, hymnals were opened and people got to their feet. Except Loralyn. She sat with a ramrod-straight spine and an implacable look on her face. She didn’t sing, she didn’t utter any prayers, and she didn’t react to Finn’s moving eulogy. She didn’t even respond when he picked up a guitar from the first pew, and said, “This one’s for you, Mom,” before belting out her favorite song.

Ella Mae didn’t recognize it at first, which wasn’t surprising, since she hadn’t heard it in a decade. She also wasn’t used to hearing it performed by one man instead of three. By the time Finn reached the chorus, everyone came to realize that he was singing “How Deep Is Your Love,” by the Bee Gees.

The song transported Ella Mae to the carefree summers of her childhood. She was suddenly a gawky preteen in a Bee Gees T-shirt and denim cutoffs again, riding her bike to the swimming hole or to buy a Coke at the gas station. Her whole life had been in front of her then. She hadn’t known about magic. It was just something she read about in books. And the books never mentioned the downside of magic, the price that practicing it exacted. Storybook magic was all about granting wishes, traveling to fantastical lands, and defeating evil creatures with star-spangled wands.

If only it were that simple
, Ella Mae thought.

Finn had nearly reached the end of the song, but he lost control of his voice in the middle of singing, “Keep me warm in your love and then softly leave.”

He stopped abruptly. Tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped onto the guitar. He lowered his eyes and shook his head as if apologizing to his mother’s friends and neighbors.

Fiona Drever rose to her feet. Very quietly, in a voice that was more whisper than song, she sang the next line. Her daughter joined in and by the time mother and daughter had completed the stanza, most of the congregation was standing, including Ella Mae.

They sang the last line, “We belong to you and me,” over and over again until the words and the quiet melody wrapped around everyone like a soft, warm blanket. At that moment, Ella Mae had never been so proud to call Havenwood home.

Later, the guests filed into the fellowship hall to enjoy the food Ella Mae had prepared. She knew she should oversee the slicing and serving of the pies, but she lingered behind. Reba, Jenny, and Fiona could handle the food. Ella Mae felt that it was her duty to break through Loralyn’s stony façade and at least try to offer her some comfort.

“Loralyn,” she began in a quiet voice, “I know you don’t want to talk to me right now. Or ever, maybe.”

“What gave you that idea?” Loralyn asked acerbically.

Ella Mae took a deep breath and quelled her annoyance. “I’m really sorry about your dad, and I know that nothing I say can ease your pain, but believe it or not, people miss you.”

Finally, Loralyn turned to face Ella Mae. Her mouth curved into a malicious grin. “Do they? Well, when I decide to fully reenter society, it’ll be with a bang.”

Ella Mae didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

Loralyn’s grin morphed into a twisted smile. There was a cold, maniacal light in her eyes and her long nails dug into the soft cover of the hymnal. “If I were religious, which I’m not, I’d pray for this whole town to be torn apart.”

Accustomed to Loralyn’s hatred and scorn, Ella Mae was unfazed by her icy fury. “Then what are you doing here? Did you even know Joyce Mercer?”

“I attend all the funerals now.” She flashed that damaged smile again. “It’s my favorite form of entertainment. No one pays me any attention, but I get to sit here and witness people’s agony. It’s the only thing that makes me feel human these days.”

Shocked by how deeply wounded Loralyn was, Ella Mae reached out to touch her hand, but Loralyn snatched it away. Without saying another word, she tossed the marred hymnal on the pew, stood up, and left the sanctuary.

Ella Mae watched her go, feeling a mixture of anxiety and pity, and then looked up to see that her mother was waiting by the entrance to the Fellowship Hall.

“What was that about?” she asked when Ella Mae joined her.

“Loralyn’s taken to crashing funerals these days.”

Adelaide LeFaye darted a quick glance over her shoulder to where Opal Gaynor was conversing with Sissy and Dee. “Her mother told me that she’s been having a difficult time. You seem especially troubled though. Why?”

“Loralyn’s a siren,” Ella Mae whispered. “And my oldest enemy. I don’t trust her, especially since she’s acting so unstable.”

“Opal will keep her in line. She’s on our side now.”

Reba waved at her from across the room and Ella Mae signaled that she’d be right over.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Ella Mae said. “At the moment, I have the unhappy honor of having to serve funeral pies.”

Chapter 6

Weeks passed. March turned to April, and all of Havenwood seemed to burst into bloom. The dogwood trees were a riot of white blossoms, and the town’s garden beds overflowed with blue speedwell, lavender larkspur, and prim lily of the valley. A sea of purple iris and periwinkle cornflowers crowded the patio garden of The Charmed Pie Shoppe, and a playful breeze tickled the wind chimes. Ella Mae’s customers vied for seats at the café tables, and the waiting list Jenny oversaw grew longer and longer each day.

Ella Mae’s mother tended the plants every morning. She fed and watered them, weeded and pruned, and hummed haunting melodies while touching the petals with her fingertips. As a result of her ministrations, the pie shop’s patio garden was an enchanting place. The scent of fresh herbs mingled with the perfume of hundreds of flowers. Butterflies drifted from bloom to bloom, crossing paths with hummingbirds and honeybees.

Whenever Ella Mae took a break to chat with her customers, she found that all they wanted to talk about was the upcoming Founder’s Day celebration. Lake Havenwood Resort was fully booked for the entire first week of May, and every hotel, motel, and campground within a fifty-mile radius reported an identical lack of vacancies. Locals had begun advertising rooms for rent, and these were snapped up almost as soon as the ads were printed. Adelaide LeFaye offered rooms at Partridge Hill to some of the Elders from other states, and her sisters quickly followed suit.

“You wanted our kind to come from all over the country? Well, I think you got your wish,” Reba said one afternoon as she reviewed the History in the Baking guest list.

“I just hope I’ll be able to put such an impressive assembly to good use,” Ella Mae murmured to herself.

Ella Mae’s days passed in a blur. She worked at the pie shop, attended countless meetings concerning the separate History in the Baking events, and tried to ignore the fact that Hugh had only sent her one letter in almost a month. He’d written that he was still in Ireland and had fallen under the country’s spell. He described the geography of the small rural village where he was staying in detail, but said nothing of his future plans. Ella Mae pictured him strolling over green hills dotted with sheep and down narrow lanes lined with stone walls until he reached the pub. She could see him buying pints for the gruff, salt-of-the-earth men within. Once the ale had loosened their tongues, he’d ask them to share their local lore. He’d listen to their tales while trying not to look too eager. Too desperate.

Hugh had embarked on a quest to find a magical object that could restore his gifts. Ella Mae didn’t think he’d succeed, but she also knew that he wouldn’t come home until he’d exhausted every possibility.

“By then, you might forget where home is,” she said, sliding his letter into her apron pocket.

“Which man are you daydreamin’ about?” Reba had entered the kitchen with the stealth of a cat, causing Ella Mae to jump. “The hunky fireman or the hot carpenter?”

Ella Mae fixed her attention on the wedding checklist Fiona Drever had given her before she’d left for the day. The bride wanted an assortment of two-bite tarts, including lemon meringue, chocolate silk, raspberry and white chocolate mousse, key lime, and bourbon pecan. “Neither,” she lied. “Besides, why would I be daydreaming about Finn?”

“Let me think.” Reba tapped her lips with her index finger. “Oh, I’ve got it. Because he’s a stud. Seriously, I’d let him smooth my rough edges any time, but the boy’s clearly smitten with you. His face lights up like a Fourth of July sparkler whenever he sees you. Word has it that he’s decided to hang his hat in Havenwood. He put an offer on that empty warehouse near the lumberyard. It’d be a great woodshop, don’t you think?”

“The last thing I need right now is a distraction,” Ella Mae said. “Especially the male kind. Finn’s funny and sweet and, yes, he’s very attractive, but I can’t even think about men right now. I have to pour all my energy into my business and ensuring that History in the Baking is a success.”

“I know that you’re dealin’ with lots of stuff, hon, but I also hate that you’re all alone. More than ever, you need a partner. Someone to stand beside you and help you face the challenges life keeps throwin’ at you.” Reba frowned. “You’ve probably been too busy to watch the news lately, but the storm that flooded half of Ireland has moved on to Iceland. Rogue waves are poundin’ her shores, and they’ve lost a dozen fishermen. Roads are impassable, and hundreds of homes have been damaged.”

“Is there a grove in the storm’s path?” Ella Mae asked.

“The only one in Iceland. It’s at the base of a volcano, and the storm’s triggered a glacier flood. The grove doesn’t stand a chance.”

Ella Mae was stunned. “How can this be happening?”

“If there’s an explanation, you’ll find it.” Reba took out a licorice twist and bit into it as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Speaking of which, Suzy’s out front. She wants you to go to the Gaynors’ house. Says they have an ancient scroll that talks about water spirits. Maybe it holds the answers about these killer storms.”