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Devil's Food Cake
by Mary J. Breen
The chicken coop was foul and airless in the summer heat, but it was one place where Fran knew he’d leave her alone. She stood idly moving bits of hay from one nest to another when she heard a truck tearing up their lane. Carolyn. Only Carolyn drove like that, spitting up dust and gravel like a teenager. Soon she heard Carolyn’s voice called out, “Yoo-hoo! Fran! Where are you?”
Fran poked her head out and waved. “Hello, Carolyn! Over here. Be right there.”
Carolyn lifted up the box she was holding with both hands and smiled.
“What the hell do you want, Carolyn?” Ellis was glaring down from the back porch.“You’re bothering us. We’ve got work to do.”
“Hello, Ellis,” Carolyn said over her shoulder as she waited for Fran to make her way past the kitchen garden and the drooping beds of tiger lilies. Ellis turned back into the house, letting the door slam behind him.
Carolyn stopped to admire Fran’s sweet peas before they headed into the house. “I brought you two some baking,” she said as she put the box on the kitchen table. “Did it this morning before the heat. A Devil’s Food cake and an apple pie. Transparents, too. I just picked them yesterday. First of the season.”
“You stupid woman,” Ellis said. “You know I can’t eat chocolate.”
“Oh be quiet, Ellis. Fran likes chocolate, don’t you, Fran?”
Fran nodded. “Would you like some lemonade?” she whispered as she reached for the fridge door.
“Oh, no. Thanks, but no. Some other time. Gotta catch Mae Johnson before her nap. I made her a pie too. Her hands are so bad now she can’t begin to roll out pastry.”
Carolyn stuck her head into the living room before heading for the door. “It’s looking nice in here now, Ellis. A woman’s touch. Real nice.”
“Waste of money,” he said.
“And it’s time you got a phone in here too, Ellis.”
“Time you went home, Carolyn.”
Fran and Carolyn waved their good-byes and soon the truck was tearing back down the lane. Ellis took his penknife, cut a big piece of pie, and plopped it on the palm of his other hand. He set off for the TV room. “It’s not time for a phone, but it’s time you got me my lunch,” he said.
Fran brought him a ham sandwich, a mug of instant coffee, and another piece of pie with a slice of cheese, this time on a plate. He didn’t say anything. Back in the kitchen, she made herself some coffee and reached for the cake. It was easy enough to cut, but when she tried to remove the piece, she saw that the cake lifter had caught under something. She thought she could see a thick, folded piece of brown paper through the dark crumbs. She managed to pull it out without doing too much damage to the cake. The smudged words were barely legible.
“Dear Fran: I know what he’s like. It’s not too late. Just say the word and I’ll come and get you and take you to the shelter in town. That’s what it’s for—people like you. God bless. Carolyn.”
Fran crammed the note into her apron pocket and headed out to the raspberry patch so she could cry in peace.
So, Carolyn knew. But then, she would. She was Ellis’s sister.
Mary J. Breen teaches creative nonfiction and seniors' memoir writing. Her essays have been broadcast on CBC Radio, and she has published fiction and nonfiction in national newspapers, essay collections, travel magazines, health journals, and literary magazines including Boston Literary Magazine, Canadian Woman Studies, Mystery Authors, Other Voices, Inscribed, Crime and Suspense, and Quality Women's Fiction. She lives and works in Peterborough, Ontario, Canada.
