Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ella
By four p.m. the next day, I’d baked my grandmother’s famous pecan pie with the secret ingredient, cardamom.
I drove over to Seth’s dressed in a red, knee-length, sparkly cocktail dress and black ballet slipper flats.
The dress had a large bow over my small baby bump, so I was hoping to hide it.
I was just starting to show a tiny belly bump that might be mistaken for a bloated stomach if someone didn’t know I was pregnant.
My hair was down and curled. This was the most put together I’d looked at in months.
There was a car in Seth’s driveway with Montana plates and another with rental plates. They must’ve belonged to Seth’s brothers.
I parked next to them and brought my pecan pie up to the front door, but when I got there, I read the sign and smiled.
Eleventh annual pie contest. Drop your pie in the box by the door so we can keep entrants anonymous. - Maggie
I peered down at the cardboard box to see that three pies already lay inside. One looked to be a pumpkin, one apple, and another pecan. I gently set my pecan on top of the apple and wished it luck.
Then I knocked on the door.
I could hear people talking loudly inside, but no one answered, so I knocked again, more forcefully this time.
The door opened, and Seth was covering his eyes with his hands. “Did you put your pie in the box?” he asked without looking at me.
I laughed. “Yes.”
He then pulled his hand down and looked at me, his face falling a little.
“Everything okay?” I asked in alarm.
He swallowed hard, his gaze going over my hair and my dress. He cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”
“Oh. Thanks. I do clean up well when I’m not sulking in depression and chicken PJs.” I’d meant it as a joke, but it was a little too close to home.
He gave me one of his easy smiles. “You looked beautiful in your sulking depression get-up, too.”
The second compliment made me a little uncomfortable.
Not that he’d crossed a line or anything, but I liked it when he called me beautiful and it instantly made me feel guilty.
It felt like maybe we were flirting, which then felt like cheating, but I knew it wasn’t.
James was gone and had been for months now.
And that hit me like a ton of bricks. I was free to flirt again.
I was free because I was no longer married.
But I didn’t want to flirt with Seth. I wanted to flirt with my husband. I wanted James back.
The awkward moment was saved by two young boys about age four screaming and crashing into Seth with toy swords.
“Whoa!” Seth called out and reached down to pick one of them up by the legs, expertly tossing him over his back so that the kid was hanging upside down.
The boy squealed with delight, and the other little one pouted. “I want a turn! Give me a ride, Uncle Seth!”
Seth motioned for me to step inside, and I did. Then he proceeded to run in circles while the little one he carried cackled wildly. The sight brought a smile to my lips.
“Are you Ella?” A female voice called my attention to the right, and I spun to find a woman in her mid-twenties with reddish brown hair smiling at me.
“I am!” I told her, holding out my hand.
She shook it. “I’m Sarah, Seth’s sister-in-law. Mother to these rugrats.” She pointed to the twin boys.
If Maggie or Seth had told her anything of my saga, it didn’t show. She wasn’t currently looking at me like I was a pathetic pregnant widow, so that was good.
“I hear that age is tough,” I told her.
She smiled. “Truthfully, every age has its moments, but as they get older, you get more sleep and it gets easier to function.”
I laughed. “I need about ten hours a night to be sane.”
She grinned, “Same.”
We fell into an easy conversation. She seemed to only know that I was a new neighbor who worked for Seth and didn’t have a family to spend the holidays with. We talked about our favorite TV shows, baking, and all the animals I had on the farm. She got a kick out of my stories about Honey.
I met Seth’s younger brothers. They were all handsome and friendly.
Derek was married to Sarah. He was a lawyer who lived in Connecticut, and the other brother, Mark, was a single fireman who lived in Montana.
We were in the kitchen where Maggie was cooking, and Seth was setting the table when the conversation turned to my relationship status.
I’d forgotten to put my ring on this morning when I’d lotioned my hands. Sarah asked if I had a boyfriend, and my mind blanked.
“I’m…” I didn’t want to say it; I hated the word widow, and she’d been so easy and fun to talk with. I didn’t want to put a damper on the whole holiday. “Single,” I said and watched as Maggie shared a small look with Seth over by the stove.
Well, I wasn’t going to say married and have Sarah ask where my husband was. That would have gotten awkward quickly. But I regretted not saying widow the second the words left my mouth. Now, I looked like a fool in front of Maggie and Seth!
“You’re single?” Sarah exclaimed. “Well, you gotta go to the single twenties and thirties night at church. That’s next week, isn’t it, Maggie?” she asked. “I saw the flyer around here somewhere.”
The stack of forks that Seth had been holding slipped from his hand and clattered to the plate. My gaze flicked over to him, and he was rigid. Maggie gave a nervous laugh but confirmed that it was indeed next week.
Oh gosh. I’d dug a hole now.
“Oh… Well, I’m not really single,” I amended. “Well, I am, but…” The room spun as anxiety washed over me. I hadn’t really had to say the W-word to a person I’d just met before.
Sarah looked confused, and Seth swooped in beside me.
“Unfortunately, Ella and I are in the same club.” He widened his eyes at his sister-in-law, and her face fell.
“Oh, Ella. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Thank God for his tactfulness and grace. I was clearly not prepared for this kind of talk.
I just nodded, unsure of what to say. I’d liked chatting with her before she had known I had some tragic past.
“Food’s ready!” Maggie broke the uncomfortable silence, and I sighed in relief.
We all gathered around the large table. Maggie, Seth, his two brothers, his sister-in-law, the twins, and two guys from work. It was a nice meal with all the fixings. I was starved, not used to eating for two, and quickly downed a full plate before grabbing seconds.
“Maggie, this is all so good,” I told her.
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 Sarah hit 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.