Page 36

Wednesday, 1 February 1950

This morning I arrive as Nina and Peter are leaving for school. Nina stops and grabs my arm. “Can you ask Mum to bake more shortbread? I tried to make some yesterday, but she said you brought the ingredients.”

I give her hand a good squeeze. “I did, but I’ll share them. Shortbread is your favorite?”

Nina nods.

“I’m not sure what she has planned, but I’ll put a vote in for shortbread.”

The girl’s face splits into a broad grin, not unlike her mother’s, and she races out the door.

“Hallo, Miss Brown.” Peter waves to me as he rushes after her.

Ursula emerges from the kitchen as I shut the door behind the kids. “The hurricane blew away?”

“To blow back in later this afternoon, but only happily if shortbread is waiting.”

“Asked you, too, did she? She’s wily, that one.” Ursula chuckles with pride. “Come into the kitchen. I’m washing the breakfast dishes.”

I follow her and plop into a chair. “Mr. Hastings loved your idea about the book club. So much so he wants the first meeting, the one in which people will select the books, to be this Friday.”

Ursula turns to me. “My goodness, that man moves fast.”

“I’ve learned when Mr. Hastings likes something, he’s full steam ahead. He sent me to Peggy right away, and adverts are already posted on the board at church and were included in the Sunday bulletin. He also wrote up a sign for the store window within an hour.”

“What wonders we could do if we all had a David Hastings in our corner.”

“Yes.” I laugh with her. “I can’t imagine.”

She claps her hands together. “So Friday then. We need to make something to truly impress them. I purchased some hothouse lemons yesterday. We’ll make a lemon cake.”

“A lemon cake in February.” My voice lifts in wonder. “Wherever did you find lemons?”

She looks at me, almost as if lost for a second. “London.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Some things one simply can’t find outside the city.” Ursula rushes on. “But we can’t make it today. What time is the meeting Friday?”

I force myself past myriad questions. “Noon. That way I can do it during my lunch break. I hate all the time I’m missing at the store.”

“This is for the store.” She tilts her head. “And for you.”

“That’s what Mr. Hastings said, but still . . . Noon.”

“Then can you come earlier Friday morning? We can still get you to work on time, but this cake needs to be warm and fresh.” She steps to her pantry and returns with a bowl of bright-yellow lemons.

I stand and reach for one. “They’re gorgeous. And they smell like summer.”

While I marvel over the lemons, Ursula pages through the stack of cookbooks she keeps in her kitchen’s deep window well. Upon finding the recipe, she writes down all the ingredients, minus the lemons she is donating to my cake, and I slip the list into my pocket.

“Now a quick batch of shortbread and I’ll send you back to work early today. Mr. Hastings will be delighted.”

We start in on the shortbread, which now takes only a few minutes to mix and a mere twenty-five minutes to bake. I sense Ursula is in a bit of a rush today, and I’m no better. I want to check the sign-up list Mr. Hastings set upon the customer service counter, I want to select the books for Friday, I want to figure out what I’m going to wear and say and do . . .

Soon I’m back in Ursula’s parlor. “Wait. We normally meet Fridays, so you’ll be free and can come to the inaugural book club meeting?”

Ursula nods but pauses a moment before replying. “I’d love to come.”