She and Seth shared a knowing smile.
“Thanks, darlin’. Eat up.” That was all she said, but I knew she meant to eat for two.
After dinner, most everyone shuffled to the living room. The farmhands left, thanking Maggie for the meal. Sarah, Maggie, and Seth stood at the front of the room, and the rest of the family sat on the couches and chairs around them. I frowned, unsure what was going on, when Seth gestured that I should sit.
The kids wiggled in the front row excitedly when Sarahhit a button on her phone and a familiar tune began to play. I was nearly shocked out of my seat when Seth opened his mouth and belted out “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” in a deep baritone that would make Frank Sinatra jealous. My jaw was literally unhinged. Sarah sang the female chorus behind him in the softest, most angelic voice I’d ever heard. They reminded me of those old-school choir singers in church before they’d gone all modern with rock bands for worship music.
Maggie pulled out a little tambourine, and we all laughed as she tapped her hand against it, clearly not there to sing. Tears pricked my eyes as I was filled with gratitude. I would have been spending this night alone if not for this loving family taking me in.
After three more songs, one of them my favorite—“Amazing Grace”—we all headed back into the kitchen for the pie-tasting contest.
While Sarah and her husband were setting them all up and cutting slices, I sidled up next to Seth. “You’ve been hiding that singing gift all this time?” I asked him.
He smiled. “When I was fourteen, I was the lead singer in a Christian band.”
I grinned. “Tell me the name is as cheesy as I hope it was.”
“The Tabernacles.”
I snorted and laughed. “You did not.”
He chuckled. “We did.”
“Are there pictures?” I wanted to know what fourteen-year-old Seth looked like.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“He’s lying. I’ll show you later,” Sarah said over her shoulder with a wink.
Seth groaned, and I laughed again. In moments like these, I forgot for a small while that I was pregnant with my dead husband’s baby. But then something would wash over me like a little caution flag reminding me of my reality and putting the brakes on my happiness. James wouldn’t want that. He’d want me to be happy, but I couldn’t help how I felt, so I just went with it.
Each person was given four plates with a sliver of pie and a number on each one. I recognized my pecan because it was darker than the other pecan. Mine was number four. We were instructed to eat a bite or two of each one and then vote for our favorite pie by writing the number of the winning dessert on a piece of paper and putting it into a glass jar. We were not allowed to say anything out loud while eating, even if we thought we knew who might have cooked which pie. I assumed Sarah entered, and obviously Maggie, but I wondered who’d made the fourth. It clearly wasn’t Seth, who’d admitted to not being able to cook.
I bit into the pumpkin and a creamy splash of nutmeggy goodness coated my tongue. It was good. Then I tried the apple. Too sweet for my liking, but still nice. I tried my own pecan next so that no one would be suspicious, and I was pleased to know that it did indeed taste just like Grandma Laura’s. Finally, I tried the other pecan, which was super yummy and had an orange citrus undertone to it.
In the end, I decided to vote for the other pecan because voting for my own pie would be weird, and the orange was a cool spin on a classic.
Seth stepped over to the glass jar after all votes had been cast, even the twins’, and began to tally numbers.
After he had them all done, he walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a candle. “Okay, we have our winner. If I call your number, please come up and accept this re-gifted pumpkin-marshmallow-scented candle.”
Everyone burst into laughter, including myself, and Seth held up the winning candle, staring at his grandmother.
“And the winner is…pie number…” He said nothing for a moment, pausing for effect.
“Come on!” the twins said in unison.
“Four!” he cried out, and I gasped in shock.
Maggie looked over at me, beaming. “Was that your pecan pie, dear? The cardamom was genius. I voted for it.”
I just nodded, taken completely by surprise that I’d won.
“It was phenomenal. I’m going to have more,” Seth’s youngest brother, Mark, said.
“Your pumpkin was good, too, Mark. You listened when I taught you all those years ago,” Maggie told Seth’s little brother.
He grinned at her, and I thought it was sweet that the pumpkin was his and he’d learned the recipe from Maggie when growing up. It was good.
