Mya

“He pushed Mama in the water,” William said, taking his first tentative step into the kitchen from the stairs. The three older boys gasped with renewed laughter at the words.

Betsey’s little jaw dropped as she looked back at her brother, then at her mother for confirmation.

Phil looked equally baffled, repeating, “Papa pushed you in the water?”

“He did, indeed,” Eliza said, a smile blossoming on her face.

She closed her eyes a moment, letting the memory wash over her. The sun had blazed down on them all afternoon, so hot that her fan had done nothing to cool her. Alexander had suggested dipping her toes in the water, but even that hadn’t helped.

Amid her latest complaints, he had, with no warning, shoved her right off the dock into the lake below. She’d surface quickly enough, sputtering as she got her feet under her in the chest-deep water. The children had all been watching, wide-eyed, from the picnic blanket, but Alexander had been laughing hysterically above her.

“You rat!” she’d charged, glaring up at him.

That had only made him laugh harder. Still, he’d gotten down on a knee to offer his hand. Propelling herself forward, she’d reached up as though to accept his help. Only, when she had a firm grip, she’d yanked him hard towards her instead, and he tumbled off the dock into the water with a great splash.

He’d surfaced beside her with a gasp to a chorus of laughter from their children. Sniffling, he’d pushed the hair from his eyes and blinked at her. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“And then some,” she’d said.

“But you’re cooler, now, aren’t you?” he’d said smugly.

She splashed water at his face and laughed when he flinched away, nose wrinkling. Then he’d surged forward, catching her in his arms and giving her a soft, slow kiss. She had been cooler, admittedly, and the disapproving stare Alexander had endured from her mother had sent her into hysterical giggles of her own after they’d made it back to her parents that afternoon.

Eliza chuckled to herself fondly and leaned against the table across from her youngest children. “Your Papa was a silly goose. But it was all right. I pulled him into the lake after me, and then he had to endure Grandmama’s wrath, so I wager he learned his lesson twice that day.”

Betsey and Phil grinned at her.

Johnny, still laughing, added, “And remember when we tried to fly the kite that day we were camping? When Papa got all tangled up in strings?”

The boys all doubled over again.

Looking back towards William, she gestured for him to come join them. He sidled up to her, leaning against her side. She brushed a hand through his messy hair affectionately.

“I’m surprised you remember that, honey,” she said. “You were so little.” He couldn’t have been more than four that day when they’d picnicked at the lake.

He shrugged.  

“Would you like a ginger cookie?”

“Papa’s cookies?” William asked.

“The very ones,” she agreed. The recipe had been her mother’s originally, but Alexander had loved them. His eyes always lit up like a child’s when he smelled them baking. While she reached to retrieve the cooled cookie tray, she suggested, “Why don’t you tell Phil and Betsey about why these are Papa’s cookies?”

“They were Papa’s favorites,” William said simply.

“He could eat a whole pan by himself,” Alex said. “It was very impressive.”

“Remember,” William started, a tiny smile starting at the corners of his lips, “Remember when he tried to make them with us while Mama was away?”

“They burned so badly,” Jamie laughed. “Big old lumps of charcoal. Papa suggested we use them to feed the fire.”

“Why did you make them today?” William asked, peeking up at her.

That was a fair enough question. Usually the ginger cookies were saved for the holidays (or for when Alexander had been particularly endearing). In any event, a random Saturday in the early fall was certainly not typical.

“I was just missing him,” she said honestly. “The smell always makes me think of him.”

She passed the cookies out to Phil and Betsey while the older boys all grabbed a confection for themselves. William accepted a cookie as well, inhaling the smell before putting it to his lips. He leaned against her again.

“I miss him, too,” William said softly.

She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer to her side.

The smell of the baking ginger cookies had attracted all the other children to her as well, one by one. Phil and Betsey were intrigued by the promise of sweets, but the older children knew the significance of the smell. They’d gathered around her, telling silly stories designed to make her laugh. That Phil and Betsey benefited from the sharing of precious memories of the father they barely remembered only made it sweeter.

Later that night, when the children had been tucked into bed, Eliza poured herself a glass of wine and retrieved one of the last ginger cookies from atop the stove. Then she closed herself into Alexander’s office, curling up in his armchair with his robe tucked securely around her. Holding the sweet to her nose, she inhaled and savored the scent.