“That sounds like Miss G. Always ready with a treat and a bit of mischief.”
“Nana knew the recipe by heart, so I’ve never even seen this card.” She picked up the other card and frowned. “Look, it’s thesame recipe, but in a different handwriting. And it says Herbert’s on it.”
“I wonder who Herbert was?” Randy frowned.
She laughed. “I’ll get my laptop and see if we have as much luck as we did last night.”
She grabbed her laptop, and they searched for Herbert and Belle Island. Quite a few entries came up. Randy pointed to one. “Look, there was a Herbert’s Bakery back in the 1930s. You think this recipe could be from his bakery?”
She typed in Herbert’s Bakery and a half dozen entries came up. One was a photo of an old newspaper article. She enlarged the photo, and they squinted, trying to make out the words.
“It says Herbert donated twelve dozen sugar cookies to the Christmas Festival. They were raising money for the school.”
“So, all these years, my Nana was keeping the tradition when she would bake that same recipe and donate the cookies to the Christmas Festival?”
“Looks like it.” Randy nodded.
“There is just so much I didn’t know about her. But I do remember making these each Christmas. We’d package them up and deliver them to the festival.”
“Why don’t we make them?” Randy’s eyes lit up with the idea. “We could honor your grandmother’s memory by baking a batch of her famous sugar cookies.”
She hesitated. “I… I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the same without her.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I understand. But maybe it’s a way to feel closer to her, to keep her traditions alive. We could even make enough to donate to the festival, just like Miss G did. The festival is this coming weekend.”
She looked down at the recipe card, the familiar loops and swirls of her grandmother’s handwriting blurring as tears filledher eyes. Randy was right. Baking the cookies would be a way to honor Nana, to keep a piece of her alive in the present. And to give back to the community, just like Nana had.
“Okay,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Let’s do it. Let’s bake Nana’s—or I guess they are really Herbert’s—sugar cookies.”
Randy squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you. We can make a day of it, just like you used to with Miss G.”
“Now that sounds like a wonderful idea. I’d love the help.”
Randy stepped into the familiar kitchen, memories of countless baking sessions with Genevieve washing over him. The layout hadn’t changed much over the years, and he could almost picture Miss G bustling about, gathering ingredients and humming holiday tunes.
He smiled as Evie gathered bowls and utensils and enthusiastically got on board with the idea of baking the cookies. For the first time since he met her, there was no hint of sadness haunting her eyes.
“You know, I sat there at the kitchen table watching Miss G bake so many times. We’d chat as she puttered in her kitchen. She taught me to bake, too. Though I never was as good a baker as she was.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled out the flour and sugar. “I swear I know where everything is in this kitchen from my hours spent here.”
He offered to measure out the dry ingredients as she got out the other ingredients from the fridge. Working side by side with Evie, he found himself relaxing into the comfortable rhythm of baking. He paused as he sifted the flour. “You know, the firsttime I tried to make these, I accidentally used salt instead of sugar. Miss G never let me live that one down.”
Evie’s laughter rang out across the kitchen. “I can just imagine Nana’s face when she tasted those cookies.”
“Oh, she had quite the reaction,” He grinned and shook his head at the memory. “But she was patient, helping me start a new batch and teaching me the importance of double-checking ingredients.”
As they continued mixing the dough and Evie added the salt, their hands accidentally brushed. A spark of connection spread through him. He quickly recovered and quipped, “Make sure you use the correct amount for salt and not the amount for sugar.”
“Right. Don’t want to repeat your mistakes,” she teased back.
As he rolled out the dough, Randy began to recount memories of past Christmases on the island. “The holiday cookie fundraiser used to be quite the event. People would gather at the community center, each bringing their own special recipe to share. The tables would be overflowing with every type of cookie imaginable. People were always so generous with their donations of baked goods.”
“I remember it from when I was a young girl. And there was always the gingerbread house decorating competition.” Her eyes lit up at the memories.
“I won that one year,” he bragged.
“You did?” She looked at him with an expression that clearly said she was doubtful.
“Miss G convinced me to enter. I made a gingerbread house that looked like Magic Cafe. I mean, really, who wouldn’t vote for a Magic Cafe gingerbread house?”
