Christmas Cake by Lynne Hinton

about their friend. Louise and Beatrice agreed with Jessie. They all three assumed that Margaret understood what was happening in her body.
    â€œWell, I’m going to get back on my estrogen and I’m going to do better with Margaret and with you two,” Beatrice promised.
    â€œYou gonna take over the cookbook?” Louise asked.
    â€œAre you having some particular difficulty in collecting the recipes?” Beatrice asked with a smile. Even in her depression, she had found some enjoyment in considering that Louise was running that project.
    â€œDid you get Jan Causey’s grandmother’s recipe?” Jessie asked. She suddenly remembered the message she had gotten on her phone at home. She had returned the call and given the caller Louise’s number.
    â€œGranny Causey’s fruitcake?” Louise asked. She nodded, taking a big swig of her tea. “Got it.”
    â€œWhat kind of fruit does she use?” Beatrice asked. She squinted her eyes at Louise.
    â€œI don’t know what kind of fruit she uses,” Louise replied. “I just got it in the mail and typed it with the others.”
    â€œYou type the recipes on your computer and you don’t read over the ingredients?” Beatrice asked, sounding surprised. “How do you know if they’re right?”
    â€œI don’t care if they’re right or not,” Louise replied. “I just stick them in there the way they come.”
    Beatrice blew out a breath, making a kind of whishing noise. “I can’t believe that I turned this project over to you and that you aren’t checking out these recipes. Suppose something is wrong in one of them?” she asked. The look of exasperation was undeniable. “Help me out here, Jessie.”
    Jessie shrugged. “What?” she asked.
    â€œYou don’t think you should bake the cakes following the directions of the recipes before we publish them in a book with the name of our church on it?”
    Louise looked over at Jessie. Clearly, neither of them had thought about this. Louise folded her arms across her chest. “You tried out all of those recipes in the first cookbook before you sent them to the printer?”
    â€œOf course!” Beatrice replied. “How else do you know if they work?”
    â€œI don’t care if they work,” Louise responded. “I didn’t agree to bake fifty cakes when I said I would help you out on this.”
    â€œWell, if I had known how frivolously you were going to carry out this project, I would certainly never have allowed myself to drop down into the well of sorrow. I thought that at the very least, I could count on you to do a professional job!” Beatrice sounded hurt.
    â€œYou made all those recipes from that first book?” Jessie asked, sounding just as surprised as Louise. “Lord, Bea, I’d be depressed too if I thought I was going to have to bake all those cakes.”
    â€œThat’s not depressing,” Bea said, turning to face Jessie. “That’s just part of the job.”
    â€œWell, maybe it’s part of the way you do the job, but not me.” Louise shook her head. “Besides, have you managed to take care of your assignment in this project?”
    Beatrice’s face turned a bright shade of red.
    â€œYou haven’t, have you?” Louise asked in astonishment.
    â€œWhat was she supposed to do?” Jessie asked.
    â€œBeatrice, we’ve got to have a prize in the next couple of weeks. I’ve promised all these women that you’re working on something wonderful. They all think they’re going to be featured in some restaurant at Christmas. You haven’t gotten anybody to agree to sponsor this thing?”
    â€œI’ve got something,” Beatrice said innocently.
    â€œWhat?” Louise asked.
    â€œYou could try Lester’s Barbecue Shack. They could use a new dessert. The last time James and I ate there, they had