“Shh!” I rubbed her shoulder. “Everything is going to be all right!”
I don't know if she heard my words. She just repeated over and over again that she was sorry, but I couldn't stay. The need to comfort Gabriel far surpassed the need to comfort her. He had been beaten! That’s why he was so harsh toward her. His own mother had left him in the hands of a father who abused him!
Dear God, help us!
I closed the door behind me and hurried to the kitchen. Whenever my grandmother messed up and needed to apologize to my pa-pa, she always made him her, I feel guilty tarts. Gabriel reminded me of my pa-pa with his sweet tooth, which meant like my grandmother, I had to be careful of the treats I made him. My grandma's biggest fear was that my pa-pa would drop dead of diabetes and that it would be all her fault. So, when she baked for him she did what she called, tricking his palate.
Instead of using a lot of sugar, she used fruit that was naturally sweet. I frowned as I pulled the berries I had gotten from the grocery store out of the fridge, which of course these were not. I hated buying my fruit from the grocery store. The fruit we grew on our land was always sweet. My pa-pa said it was due to his special blend of fertilizer. I don't know about that. I always believed that God had just blessed our little patch of earth.
I continued to take out the things I was going to need, praying my, I feel guilty tarts worked as well as my grandmother’s did with my pa-pa. As I rolled out the dough I silently cried.
Poor Gabriel.
I had judged him so harshly, calling him all kinds of monsters in my head. And here he had grown up being abused by a monster. How alone he must have felt then. Needing his mama and she was nowhere to be found.
I stopped for a moment and clutched my stomach. Just the thought of that made me feel ill. I had to take deep breaths to try and get my emotions under control. My imagination was getting the best of me. Did he punch him? Kick him?
Dear God, forgive me, because I was glad the man was dead. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. You’re not supposed to have ill feelings for the dead, but I had them, for two men, Mayor Davenport and Calhoun. I prayed they burned in hell!
No, Yasmin! You can't pray hell on nobody!
I know! Dear God, I know. But what kind of man beats a defenseless woman and child, or kills a poor old man who just wanted to tend to his land?
Eventually, I got control of my emotions, at least enough so that I didn't have tears blurring my vision. With hands that shook slightly, I shaped the dough into little boats, and after making fresh jam with the strawberries, spooned a little in the belly of the boats.
I liked to use a mix of fresh fruit and dried fruit with my tarts. I arranged some dried kiwi slices and strawberry slices real pretty in the belly of the boat, letting the jam serve as my adhesive. Then I put them in the oven to bake for a bit.
When they were half way done, I pulled them out and then added my fresh fruit. After that, I covered everything in a buttery glaze that was our secret ingredient. It had been passed down to the women in our family from generation to generation, and it was top secret.
We put it on everything we baked. Folks didn't know it, but it was the glaze they fell in love with. Without it, our fruit was just fruit. With it, our fruit turned into a wondrous delight that seemed to melt on the tongue.
After the boats were done, I took them out the oven and arranged all twelve on a serving tray. I know he wasn't going to eat all twelve, but it looked better presentation wise than just putting two or three of them on the tray.
“Okay, you can do this.” I looked down at myself.
Goodness!
Maybe I should put on something else other than these old overalls. I tried to see myself through his eyes; barefoot with overalls rolled up to my shin. Instead of one of my t-shirts, I had on a pretty blue cami that Stacy had insisted I get to match up with the beautiful black wrap skirt she also insisted I get. She would probably have a stroke if she saw what I chose to match it up with instead.
I shook my head. I was so stalling.
“Okay.”
Squaring my shoulders, I picked up my tray and headed out the kitchen. I would go back and check on Gabrielle a little later. I prayed she will be alright till then.
When I got to Gabriel's office door, I nearly lost my nerves. How would he look at me after the performance I put on today?
Oh my goodness! I couldn't do this.
That's probably exactly what Gabrielle thought, when Gabriel needed her most.
I lifted my hand and knocked three times.
“Come in.” His deep voice came from the other side of the door, sounding tired.
Cracking the door open a little bit, I peeped my head in. The office was dim. The only light came from a wall-unit in back of him. It cast a soft glow up the wall in the shape of a sea shell. He sat at his desk managing to look dangerously handsome, although his head was resting back against his chair.
It looked as if he had been lost in his thoughts.
“Are you busy?” I asked, feeling more nervous than I had ever felt in my life. He shook his head.
“No, come in.”
I opened the door and entered with my tray in hand. Slowly, I approached him.
“I brought you something.”
“Oh yeah? What?” Goodness, his
