The Heirloom Recipe

Jasmine whistled as she walked towards her grandmother’s house, hoisting her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. It had been a brutal semester, and she was ready to be spoiled for a few days. Her grandmother Peggy lived in a cul-de-sac of modest one level houses designed for the elderly. She had moved there a few months ago after being widowed, giving up the large house she had shared with Jasmine’s grandfather.

“I love this small house. It takes no time to clean,” she said to Jasmine not long after moving in. “Now I can watch whatever I like on the television, and I don’t cook if I don’t feel like it. I’ve been on three of those bus trips from the senior center already. It’s so much fun. I liked the casino one the best even if I didn't win anything.”

“It must be different suddenly being on your own after all those years together,” said Jasmine. “Although Grandpa Bob was a selfish, difficult, grumpy old coot,” she thought, pleased that she had managed not to blurt out her opinion for once. She had spent a lot of her childhood at her grandparents’ home and the best times were always when her grandfather was away on one of his lengthy business trips. Peggy never spoke badly of him, but Jasmine noticed that there was not a single photograph of him displayed in the new home. She waved as she saw her grandmother’s neighbor out in her garden. Ms. Ethel, also a widow, had moved in next door recently and she and Peggy had become friendly.

“Hi, Ms. Ethel,” Jasmine said, waving. “How are you?”

To her surprise, Ethel, instead of her usual cheerful smile, scowled.

“Oh, hello, Jasmine."

Usually, it was difficult to get away from Ethel who loved to hear all the news about college and what she described as Jasmine’s beau. Jasmine, who was an English major, was happy to weave elaborate enough tales to satisfy Ethel’s curiosity without descending to outright fibs or giving too much personal information away. Today, however, Ethel turned and stumped off towards the house.

“Is something wrong?” Jasmine said, bewildered.

“It’s not your fault,” Ethel said with a sniff. “We can’t choose our relatives. Ask Peggy. She knows what she did.”

“What on earth?” Jasmine muttered as the front door slammed behind Ethel.

Shrugging, she rang her grandmother’s doorbell and found herself looking down at Peggy’s mop of snowy curls as the door opened.

“We’re going to have to get you a pair of high heels, Gran. You’re getting tinier by the day,” Jasmine said, sweeping her grandmother carefully into a bear hug. Her grandmother seemed to get not only shorter but more fragile at every visit.

“If you want me to end up falling on my face,” Peggy said, shaking her head.

A delicious smell wafted down the hallway. Jasmine inhaled in delight.

“Not your famous chocolate walnut cake? The secret family recipe? Oh, boy.”

She dropped her backpack on the floor and headed for the kitchen. Her grandmother followed, smiling with satisfaction. The table was set for afternoon tea, with a dainty tablecloth and porcelain tea service, the cake on a stand as a centerpiece. The scene could have been used for the cover photo of a gourmet magazine. Jasmine reached for the cake and started guiltily as she heard Peggy’s voice behind her.

“Don’t you dare, young lady. I taught you better than that. Freshen up and wash your hands and face before you sit down at the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jasmine said with a grin, suddenly feeling as if she were five years old again.

When she returned, Peggy had sliced the cake and poured the tea. They sat in companionable silence as they ate and sipped, Jasmine trying not to let her hunger overcome her table manners. She sighed in contentment as she finished her second slice.

“This is so good after that cafeteria food at the uni. Thank you, Gran.”

She poured her grandmother some more tea.

“By the way, what’s up with Ethel? She seems to be madder than a wet hen about something. Did you two fall out? You never quarrel with anyone, so I’m curious.”

Peggy sighed.

“I contributed a chocolate walnut cake to the church bake sale a couple of weeks ago and so did she. She said I must have stolen her recipe, which had been handed down to her by her mother-in-law. Her husband said it had been in the family for generations. I told her that must just be a coincidence, because my recipe had also come down from my mother-in-law who told the same story. If you ask me, they probably both cut it out of the same cooking magazine. Bob’s mother always loved to exaggerate.”

Jasmine began to gather the tea things.

“It seems like a shame to ruin a good friendship over something like that. We could try Googling to see where the recipe came from originally.”

Peggy got up from the table.

“Don’t worry. She’ll get over it, or not. It’s not about the recipe. I didn’t like being accused of stealing.”

A few days later, Jasmine and Peggy were settling down to their evening game of Scrabble. Frail as she was, Peggy's mind was perfectly sharp, and she usually won easily. Jasmine had just distributed the tiles when the doorbell rang. Peggy looked up.

“See who that is, please, dear.”

Jasmine peered through the peephole.

“It’s Ethel. Shall I let her in?”

“Of course,” Peggy said. “She might have come to apologize.”

Jasmine opened the door. Ethel was leaning on the arm of a young woman of about Jasmine’s age.

“Hi, I’m Helen, Ethel’s granddaughter. I know it's late but we need to talk to Peggy, please. It’s important.”

“Come in and have a seat,” said Jasmine as she showed them into the kitchen. “Gran, I hope you didn’t switch your letters while I was gone.”

Ethel sat down. Her face was pale and she was shaking . Peggy stared at her in surprise.

“If it’s about the cake recipe, Ethel, don’t worry.”

Ethel held out a photograph in a trembling hand.

“This is my late husband. He died six months ago.”

There was a clatter as Peggy recoiled, knocking over the Scrabble board. Jasmine, peering over her shoulder, gasped as she saw Grandpa Bob’s glum face glowering back at her.

“I don’t understand. It can't be, but that's my husband. He died six months ago,” Peggy whispered. “You mean, he was married to you…he was... a bigamist?”

To everyone's astonishment, she burst out laughing.

"And here I was thinking that the old buzzard was keeping a mistress somewhere."

Helen stared open mouthed and finally cleared her throat.

“Was he gone from home for long periods of time?”

Peggy nodded.

“He was a traveling salesman."

“That's what he told me too. Did he even have to work sometimes on Christmas and Thanksgiving?” said Ethel.

“Yes, he supposedly did,” said Jasmine. “Gran used to complain about it.”

Peggy wiped her eyes and sat up straight.

“Was he charming at first? That’s why he was such a good salesman.”

Ethel nodded.

“But he turned out to be a demanding, selfish liar?”

Ethel nodded again, rubbing her forehead.

“Jasmine, I have a bottle of brandy in the sitting room for medicinal purposes. If this isn’t an occasion to open it, I don’t know what is. Go pour some for all of us please,” said Peggy.

“I’ll help,” said Helen, hastily following Jasmine out of the room. In the sitting room, they stood and looked at each other.

“This is weird,” said Jasmine. “Nice to meet you, cousin.”

Helen shook her head.

“It’s crazy. Here, I’ll carry the glasses. You bring the bottle.”

They entered the kitchen cautiously. To their relief, Ethel and Peggy were chatting amiably. Jasmine poured the brandy and passed the glasses.

Ethel took a sip and shuddered.

“You don't seem surprised. Please believe me, Peggy, when I say it was a coincidence that I moved here. We just found out he was already married, but I had no clue you were his wife. You never mentioned your husband and you have no pictures of him in the house.”

Peggy grimaced.

“I should have got out of the marriage years ago. But those were different times, and divorce wasn’t acceptable in our family.”

Ethel looked down at her brandy.

“I never met his mother, but he swore by that story of the cake recipe. Then when you mentioned that your mother-in-law told you the same thing, down to all the details, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I finally got up the courage to show his picture to you when Helen got here.”

“So, what now?” said Jasmine.

Ethel shrugged.

“There’s nothing to fight over. Maintaining two families is expensive. He was broke when he died.”

"As I well know," Peggy said dryly. "It's why I had to downsize to this place. But maybe we should go through our collections and see how many family heirloom recipes we have.”

She sipped her brandy and turned to Ethel, eyes twinkling.

"By the way, the senior center is running another bus trip to the casino next week. Interested? It would be a good way to get your mind off all this."

Ethel looked dubious.

"Gambling? Oh, I'm not sure."

"Go for it, Gran," said Helen, grinning. "You deserve some fun."

"Amen and cheers to that," said Jasmine, raising her glass.