“You’re kidding. I didn’t know that.” She let out a snort. “Wish she loved everything else I was into.”
“She does, honey. Believe me. She’s got high standards, but it’s because she wants the best for people.”
The sunny look on Jessie’s face was gone. She stirred her soup, her eyes focused on her bowl. “Well if she wants me to reach my full potential she should be trying to spend a little more time with me instead of swooping in to criticize me at every turn.”
He covered her free hand with his own. “Hey, trust me Jess, I know how it feels to play second fiddle to A &A. But your mom takes her calling very seriously – “
“She was called to be a mother first. Either she forgot about that or God did. Either way, I’m not too happy with either of them in that regard.”
She pushed away her half-eaten soup and untouched sandwich. “I’m not really hungry. I’m going to get back to work.”
Shaun let her disappear back into the dining room without trying to stop her. He had his way of coping, and she had hers – he wasn’t going to push her to be okay with things. It hurt him to see the chasm between her and Savannah, but at this point he wasn’t sure it would be wise to encourage healing between the two of them anyway. Who knew who Savannah might be as time went on? And at this rate, there soon wouldn’t be an A &A to compete with, anyway.
SAVANNAH SAT IN THE ROCKING chair on the second story porch and watched the peach trees sway in unison with the wind. She pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and reluctantly admitted the weather was turning too cool to sit outside. She retreated to her room down the hall, quilt still around her shoulders, and shut herself in the Spartan room before she ran into anyone. She’d talked to a few others since arriving, and everyone was very gracious and kind, even those who recognized her name. But she didn’t feel like she could truly relate to them, given she had no real reason for hating God the way she did, and she was reluctant to give them the impression that she empathized completely with their situation. She chose instead to wander the main rooms during the group activities when everyone else was engaged, and kept her interactions with others limited to meals.
Boredom was becoming a problem, however. And boredom eventually led to her thinking, and thinking eventually led her to dwelling on her future, which she was loathe to consider. She was tired of reading, tired of sleeping, tired of staring at the orchard from the porch. What she really wanted to do was cook.
The food at The Refuge had been excellent so far. More than once Savannah had wanted to venture behind the swinging wood door and talk shop with Aniyah, the Creole woman Tabitha claimed was the best undiscovered treasure in the world of Southern cuisine. Savannah agreed, and had offered her thanks to the cook more than once when she’d brought out another plate of food to the long table where everyone ate together. But she hadn’t been ready to risk the possibility of an actual conversation that might turn to spiritual things, which was likely given the nature of The Refuge, especially when talking with people who had gone through the program. Aniyah had done that four years ago. She’d just never left.
Savannah looked around the room once more, just in case something interesting had materialized when she hadn’t been looking. No dice. She headed for the kitchen.
Aniyah played Motown girl groups as she worked. The music could be heard through most of the first floor unless multiple doors were closed between you and her. She sang along with a voice that rivaled Diana Ross’s and delivered just as much soul. Savannah paused outside the door, reluctant to interrupt the karaoke cooking. She waited for the song to end, her mouth watering at the scent that wafted under the door, and when “Ain’t No Mountain” faded to silence she slowly entered.
Three giant steel pots sat on the industrial sized range, steam billowing to the copper hood above them. Four squat rice cookers stood in a line on the counter, and at the island stood Aniyah, her fists punching bread dough in a huge ceramic bowl. “Well, now, looking for a snack? Don’t ruin your appetite for dinner, now, or you’ll be sorry when the gumbo comes around and you don’t have room.”
Savannah was six years old again, peeking into her grandmother’s kitchen in the hours leading up to a big family meal. It was the place where she first came to love the principles of good cooking-fresh ingredients, combined with skill and attention to detail, to nourish those you loved. Aniyah couldn’t have been more than forty, but her stout form conjured memories of Savannah’s Mimi, and she exuded a wisdom and authority that set Savannah back to feeling like a child eager to help and showcase her own budding abilities. But unlike her grandmother, who would shoo her from her workspace with a hand-embroidered tea towel when she spilled the flour or over-mixed the cake batter, Aniyah reached out a hand and said, “My sidekick is out sick, and I’m drowning in the details today. If you’re looking for something to do, come on in and lend a hand.”
Savannah smiled and let the door swing closed behind her. “It smells amazing in here. Seafood gumbo?”
“Aye-ya. And they need stirring. Spoon’s on the counter.”
Grateful for the chance to help, she stepped quickly to the range and located the hefty wooden spoon that rested on a coaster. She breathed deeply, savoring the scent of the gumbo as she stirred. Chunks of vegetables and shrimp were visible through the broth. Her stomach rumbled. “I don’t suppose I’ll get a sneak preview for lending a hand?”
Aniyah laughed as she cut the dough into four sections and spaced them out along the island top. “You dip in there early. I ain’t gonna stop you.”
“What else can I do when I’m done here?” Savannah asked as she stirred the second pot.
“Grab an apron from the drawer so you don’t get messy.”
Savannah grinned. “This sounds fun. What am I making?”
“Beignets.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of those! I’ve always wanted to try one.”
Aniyah chuckled. “Aw, you in for a treat then! The dough is in the fridge. Take it out and dust up the island with some of this here flour. Then turn out the dough and roll it. Pin’s in the island drawer on the left.”
Giddy, Savannah followed Aniyah’s instructions, relishing the weight of the hefty wooden rolling pin in her hands and the feeling of usefulness that fed her hungry soul. She rolled out the dough until Aniyah’s practiced eye pronounced it thin enough, then hunted down a pizza cutter as her mentor instructed. “Two inch squares. Though I ain’t gonna smack ya if you make them a little bigger.”
“Only two inches? We’re going to have piles of these.”
“Oh yes, but they go quick! You’ll see when you have ‘em.” She
“Well, I’m from Colorado.”
“That accent ain’t.”
Savannah chuckled, pushing the pizza cutter through the dough. “No, that’s true. I was born in South Carolina. But my mother wasn’t a fan of fried foods.”
Aniyah gave her a look. “Was she from Colorado?”
“No, just health conscious.”
“Mm, mm, mm.” Aniyah shook her head. “A shame, that is.” She finished greasing the pan and set the French bread loaves on it. “Healthy is important, but enjoying food is underrated. And some foods, you just gotta ignore how bad they are for you so you can have a little enjoyment. Ain’t no one I know enjoyed asparagus the way they enjoy a cookie.”
Savannah chuckled. “True.”
Aniyah slid the pan into the oven, then carried her mixing bowl to the sink and ran the water onto the mountain of dishes. “So how come you in here and not in with the others? You skipping out on therapy?”
Savannah winced inside as she rolled another line into the dough. She hadn’t expected to get the third degree from the cook. “I’m not actually… attending The Refuge. I’m an old friend of Tabitha’s.”
“Ain’t that nice. That woman. Mm.” She put a sudsy hand to her heart. “She saved my life, she did. Lord bless her.”
“Saved your life? How? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“Aw no, I’s an open book. Nothing to hide, and maybe something I say helps someone else, right?” She scrubbed a pot, her strong arms flexing with the effort. “I’s born in the Bayou, see, and my mama be a sorceress.”
Savannah gaped. “Seriously?”
“Aw yeah!” She looked at Savannah and laughed. “Not a lot of backwoods witches in Colorado, eh?”
“Well, Wicca is pretty popular, especially up north, but… you’re talking about voodoo, right?”
