Sugar and Spice

Sugar and Spice

Homemade Lemonade – Make a simple syrup by melting sugar into water over low heat. Add the syrup to fresh squeezed lemon juice, chill. Sweeten to taste. Serve over ice.

This early in the season, the water is cool and refreshing. The lazy current carries Jo Anne along. She closes her eyes against the painfully blue sky and the fierce daylight that stabs through the branches. This section of the stream is secluded, well-guarded by trees and bramble undergrowth.

Automatically, her thoughts drift to last summer.

He had been new to the region, selling school books and bibles. His brown hair curled, his smile engaged, his eyes sparkled. His words were smooth, and his body seemed to always lean toward her. Whenever she stepped out, he greeted her. Wherever she went he watched and smiled. Whatever she did, he offered a hand. He teased her when she blushed, he smiled when she spoke, his hand grazed hers when they passed each other. He winked when their eyes met.

She knew she should keep her eyes averted but they had a will of their own. She said her prayers, but maybe the wrong ones. Her mama lectured and warned her away from temptation, but she did not heed them closely enough. Shamelessly she blossomed when her friends voiced their jealousy. Maybe her eyes had been too greedy, too brazen, too inviting after all.

Cherries Jubilee - Add pitted, washed cherries with sugar to a large skillet. Add the juice of half a lemon, stir and heat till sugar is dissolved and cherries are plump and juicy. Add rum and flambee till flame is gone. Serve over ice cream

On one of the last warm days of the summer, she had, once again, slipped away for a swim here in this out of the way spot of the stream. She’d shed her dress and slip and stepped into the water, and drifted down to where the trees met overhead.

A ripple stirred the placid water; a drop splashed on her warm skin. She opened her eyes and looked into his smiling face.

“You are just as beautiful as I’d dreamed you’d be.” His wet hand brushed her hair off her face. Her breath caught in her throat which suddenly was dry. She stared at him without saying anything, allowing her body to sway toward him. Words were no longer necessary when his lips found hers. A whimper, a groan, the heat of their bodies as the cool water between them was displaced.

“Jo Anne.” Her name sounded like a prayer as he breathed it against her cheek. “Jo Anne, my beauty.” His arms wrapped around her back, cupped her seat, and lifted her up. Without permission her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers stroking through his curls, her legs parted and found a new home behind his back.

“Yes, baby, yes.” He groaned. His hands roamed over her body, testing, probing, feeling, prodding. His mouth took hers, she tasted him and blossomed under his touch. His glorious, erogenous, forbidden, devilish, delicious touch.

Almond Brittle – Make a simple syrup by melting sugar into water over low heat. Add flour, almonds, and cinnamon. Spread mixture over a baking sheet. Bake at high heat for five minutes. Allow the confection to cool thoroughly before breaking it into random sized pieces.

Later, much later, when they were wrapped in each other’s arms, still panting with spent desire, he broke her heart. “I got to go, love. I have to be in Topeka by tomorrow afternoon. But I’ll be back. I promise. You’re my girl, aren’t you? Say you are.”

Trying to swallow the lump in the throat, she nodded, and hoped her smile looked genuine enough.

Cream Puffs – Cream the butter, add sugar, salt, and water. Mix over low heat. Add flour and eggs. Pipe dollops of the mixture on a baking sheet and bake till at least doubled in size. Once cooled, fill the choux pastry with whipped cream.

One month passed and two. Winter came, but he still didn’t return. Her shame became more evident, though a larger dress, winter coats, shawls and mother’s old apron covered her well enough. Except to those who looked closer. Mother looked closely.

Mother tut-tutted and spoke with father, who spoke with the pastor. A suitable man was found. Mother nodded, yes, he was older but had lost both his wife and son in childbirth. He needed children to work the land, she said. If the child was a boy, he promised to marry her and adopt the boy. Jo Anna protested, begged, promised anything, but a date was set. As soon as the roads were passable again, probably just before planting.

Pound Cake – When the batter for the pound cake that the church ladies pass around is overmixed, if too much flour is used, or not enough eggs, the pound cake will become heavy, stodgy, and difficult to digest.

Through the winter, while she held her head up, her eyes down, attended to her chores and sewing, she teetered between awe and nausea, fear and cravings, energy and despair, determination and lethargy, ecstasy and regret, hope, and excitement.

She calculated she might have one month before her baby would introduce itself. One month while travel preparations were made. One month to hope before all dreams were lost.

Claiming fatigue, Jo Anne excused herself from church service this morning and rushed to her special spot on the river. It had been so long since she swam in the stream. Today might be the last time. Reaching up to grab a low hanging branch she let the water sluice around her swollen body. She could feel the child flip and turn and smiled through her tears. Though it was painful, she had to face reality. He would not come back. His fancy words had been just that. She had to face reality and give the child a life.

Hazelnut Meringue Tort – Beat egg whites and sugar till peaks form. Pipe circles of the mixture on a baking sheet and back on low heat. Stack the baked circles, separating them with hazelnut cream. Top the dessert with whole hazelnuts.

Impatient with herself, she wiped her cheeks. Why was she crying? Was she saying goodbye to her favorite place? Was she saying goodbye to this part of her life? Or saying goodbye to dreams?

Her fingers let go of the branch. Slowly she turned around and swam upstream to where she had left her clothes. Her strokes were sure, strong, and determined as she swam toward the small beach and waded toward the sand. She finger combed through her long hair and tried to squeeze the excess water from it. When she reached for the towel she had draped over a branch, she found only the bare wood.

“You are still more beautiful than I ever dreamed, Jo Anne.” He said.