Katie considered what her sixteen-year-old sister would say when she returned to the small cabin in the middle of the Catskills.There wouldn’t be a pool, or outdoor movies, no fancy restaurants, no unlimited shopping.And she would actually have to do dishes and clean the house.
Katie and her mother had protected Norah from the graveness of their situation after their father died.When they moved to Magdalena with no money, no job, not even a place to live, Norah was ten years old, incapable of understanding the complexities and sadness of an adult world that wasn’t always fair or reasonable.Katie had only been three years older, but she’d always had the ability to assess situations: her mother’s worry, the long pauses when Katie asked why their father was never home.And after he passed, she knew they were in financial trouble, knew the move her mother dubbed an “adventure” was an escape of desperation.
Why else would she load two children into a station wagon with bad tires and too many miles, pack all of their belongings into a small trailer, and hitch it to the questionable station wagon?No destination in mind, no job, no plan.Meals consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches eaten at a rest stop, along with apple slices or a shared banana.No restaurants.No special treats.
After the third rest stop and another peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Katie wondered what would happen when the bread was gone.Would they dip apple slices into the peanut butter jar?And when the apples were gone?Then what?The banana was long gone.Would they resort to scooping out peanut butter with spoons?And when the spoons were gone?And the peanut butter jar was empty?Her mind could not still…would not stop the frenzy of questions.Then what?
The questions and the worry swirled through her as they limped into Magdalena, New York, with a half-flat tire and sputtering engine.If not for the people in this town, what would have happened to them?
Thank goodness for Mimi Pendergrass, the woman who welcomed them into her bed-and-breakfast and introduced them to the community.In less than six days, she found them a place to stay, a job for her mother, and sent the station wagon for repairs.One word and a nod from Mimi gave a person the “in”, and when she asked for help, no one refused her.Heavens, no onewantedto refuse her.Mimi Pendergrass was a businesswoman, the town mayor, a fantastic cook and baker, an avid gardener and photographer,andshe was a friend to everyone.Maybe what helped Katie’s mom the most was Mimi’s ability to listen—not only to what her mother said, but to what she did not say—like how scared and uncertain she was, how much she wanted her children to be okay, how she did not want to make a bad choice.Mimi seemed to know what her mother needed, and she was the reason they made a home in Magdalena.
But the home wouldn’t be the one where Katie was currently making soup if not for Jack Finnegan.Uncle Jack—the man insisted he wouldnotanswer to “mister”—offered them a place on the outskirts of town that belonged to some rich relative who hadn’t visited in years.He won’t know the difference if humans are living in the cabin or a family of mice.Don’t you worry.Everything will be fine.You just make it your home for as long as you need it.When the snow fell that blocked their driveway, Uncle Jack plowed a path at 5 a.m.When the furnace acted up and the water heater blew, Uncle Jack took care of it.He never asked for money, and when her mother offered, he simply pushed back his ball cap and said in a gruff voice,If a body can help someone, it’s their duty.That’s how Dolly and I see it.
How did one town show such kindness and expect nothing in return?It was a miracle, one her mother often called destiny.Small miracles popped up all over Magdalena and landed on their doorstep.Bags of clothes, some still with tags on them, groceries from Sal’s Market, gift cards to the local diner, even paid receipts for their utility bills.No one ever claimed knowledge of it, and when Katie’s mother inquired, Uncle Jack shrugged and mutteredNobody’s talking.
Necessity humbles a person, and the Laytons were humble and grateful for the town’s generosity.But Angela Layton taught her children that accepting help didn’t mean you shouldn’t strive to become independent.Everyone needs help now and again, and that’s fine,she’d say.As long as it doesn’t become a way of life.When a person begins to expect the extras and makes no attempt to better their situation?That’s when the problems start.
That was not going to happen to them.
It was the necessity that prompted their mother to enlist consignment opportunities for her knitted and crocheted items: mittens, scarves, sweaters, shawls, afghans.She taught Katie how to knit, crochet, bake, and cook.They made cakes and cupcakes for weddings, bridal and baby showers, birthday parties, graduations, and anniversaries.Homemade breads and jams tucked into baskets served as special gifts for locals and nearby towns.While Katie and her mother had tried to get Norah to learn these skills, the youngest Layton had been more interested in modeling the knitted items or taste testing the gifts than doing the actual work.
Not much had changed.
Now it was just Katie in the kitchen, but when she cooked, she felt close to her mother, almost as if she were still beside her.Oh, but her mother would be so proud of the success Katie had found with their soups at Sal’s Market and the grocery stores in the neighboring communities.There were weekly requests for chicken noodle, vegetable beef, mushroom barley, and minestrone, and she had plans to introduce sausage and kale and roasted red pepper soon.If only their mother had lived long enough to see her dream come true.
Katie set down her knife, carried the bowl of onions and celery to the stove, and dumped them into the pot of boiling chicken.Breasts and thighs or a leg or two make a nice compliment,her mother had told her.But don’t forget the parsley, and don’t add the carrots too soon or they’ll turn to mush.
Next up was minestrone soup.Her mother would have loved that Katie had expanded the garden they’d started when they first moved here.Several batches of minestrone contained vegetables from their garden: tomatoes, onions, carrots, celery, and zucchini.Other batches were from local gardeners, purchased at a reduced price or in exchange for a few jars of soup.Magdalena was a generous community, and her mother had been right to trust her instincts and settle in this town.Katie thought of the courageous woman who’d never complained, never told them life had not worked out according to her plan, and never grumbled about “unfair” or “should have been.”
No, Angela Paulette Layton lived her life with honor and purpose, and she died that same way.Maybe if she’d gone to the doctor sooner, admitted she hadn’t been feeling well, and concentrated on her own health, instead of everyone else’s… maybe then she would have stood a chance against cancer.
They lost her a year ago this spring, but at least they’d had five years in Magdalena.Five memorable years where she taught Katie how to take care of herself and Norah,andhow to survive.Life was good, peaceful, filled with hope.
And then their mother got sick.
The town stepped in once again with trips to doctor appointments and chemo treatments, and later, with help through the unimaginable pain of losing her.And Uncle Jack?He made sure Katie and Norah could stay in the cabin once their mother passed, and he refused to take money for rent.It wasn’t a fair deal for Uncle Jack, but the man insisted.
You listen to me, Katie.Fair ain’t got nothing to do with it.It wasn’t fair that your father died or your mother got cancer.It wasn’t fair that you came limping into town in a beat-up station wagon with all of your worldly belongings in a small trailer.Fair don’t mean much when death is involved, and if a person can help ease that burden, then he has a responsibility to do it.
Uncle Jack had a lot of strange sayings, but if she thought about them, they made sense.Of course, Katiedidhave to think about them for a while because he tended to make bold statements that couldn’t be dissected in a few seconds.Most times, if you let them settle in your brain, you could see his point.When her mother got sick, she became insistent that Katie learn about finances so she could keep the business going.Katie’s Soups is special, she’d said.I wouldn’t be surprised if they made it to the West Coast one day.
Norah didn’t care that her name wasn’t included in the company name.She wasn’t interested in making soupsorlong-term plans, and that’s why Katie had to watch over her, even if it meant attending the local college, living at home, and rarely dating.She’d been eighteen when their mother died, and Norah had been fifteen.Katie applied for guardianship of her sister, and while Norah often insisted Katie wasnother parent, they both knew she’d been a parent for a long time, and no matter what she had to do, Katie would always protect her sister.
2
“I’m not going to some backwards hillbilly town that doesn’t have a hotel or a decent restaurant.”
“That backwards hillbilly town is where I grew up…where you still have relatives.Andwhere you’ll end up for good if you continue down your current path.”
Ian Finnegan stared at his father.Nobody challenged Stafford Finnegan, and they certainly never refused his offer.Except, this wasn’t an offer.No, it was a demand, and Ian didn’t like demands, especially ones that held nothing in it for him.“Okay, I get it.I shouldn’t have used your credit card for the Belize trip, and I should have told you I planned a trip to Lisbon over break and wouldn’t be home.Sorry, I got caught up in the excitement.”Partly true, because hehadbeen caught up in the excitement of spending daysandnights with Andrea.But Andrea or not, he hadn’t wanted to spend seven days listening to his father’s lecture on why he needed to become part of the family investment empire.
The best way to avoid the conversation was to make other plans, and that’s why he’d decided on Lisbon.It wasn’t like his old man paid attention to his school schedule, unless his mother informed him.Plus, what was an extra few thousand dollars tacked onto a credit card bill that never ran under ten grand?And even when Ianwashome, his father didn’t notice unless there was an event that required all family members attend.
Family?What a joke.Ian’s oldest sister lived in Paris, and his other sister called Sedona home.One labeled herself a painter and the other a jewelry maker.Both insisted those locations were necessary to learn their “art”.What a crock.Camille and Estelle wanted to live their own lives, not the ones determined by their father.Of course, they still took his “help” for condo payments, lessons, designer wardrobes, and the occasional trip to wherever for “relaxation”.Their father went along with it, maybe because he figured they’d eventually return home, and then he could convince them to work alongside him in the investment business.Continue the legacy.
That was a good one.Legacy?Yeah, how to screw up your kids and tell them you’re doing it for their own good.Ian rubbed the back of his neck, darted a glance at his father.The ice-cold stare said “not buying it”, so Ian offered another layer of fabrication.“I’m sorry I overdid it on the credit card.I guess I just–”
“Stop.”Those blue eyes turned three shades darker.“Enough of the lies.I may appear ignorant to your shenanigans, but I’ve always known about the spending, the partying, and the women.”A nod of his silver head, and a firm, “You don’t get to own an investment company without paying attention.”
