Black Chokeberry, page 26
“To Ruby,” Frances said. “May you remember the Recoup Hotel with fondness, for that is how we think of you, our darlin’ friend!” They each took a sip, feeling the warmth of the fortified wine all the way down to the soles of their feet. Ellen slid the envelope onto the small table. Frances demurred.
“My glasses are in the livin’ room and I am too nicely settled here now to get up and get them,” she said. “Please, you read it aloud.”
Slipping her finger through the sealed envelope, Ellen eased out the letter. She had never seen Ruby’s handwriting. It was elegant. She must have been a Palmer Method student, her hours of going round, round, round, swing a-round, round, round, evident in her cursive skills. Ellen cleared her throat and read the note slowly.
Dear Frances and Ellen:
By the time you read this I will be back in my own bed. I hope I haven’t caused you any worry, but the simple fact is, I need my own house again. I can’t explain it any better than that. You both have been more than good to me, and my departure has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with me. I am fine to take care of myself now anyway.
I thank you both for your generosity. I will certainly miss Ellen’s cooking. I’ll have to stock up on Lipton’s Dry Onion Soup and Hamburger Helper when I get home. I would like to learn how to make that bread pudding, Ellen. Maybe you can show me sometime. Anyway, we’ll talk soon. Don’t be mad at me. Thank you again.
With my best personal regards,
Ruby Bainbridge
P.S. If you decide to finish that Garrison Keillor book, I wouldn’t mind joining you. We could meet over here for a change of scenery. OK, I admit it. I am curious to see what happens at Evelyn’s funeral. She sure is a character.
Frances let the Port sit on her tongue, savoring the rich flavor before its warmth filled her throat. Ellen got up and went into the living room. She picked up Pontoon and brought it back with her, sitting down again next to Frances.
“Shall we save this for Ruby?” she asked.
“Oh my. I think so, don’t you? It wouldn’t be the same without her now.”
“I agree, Frances. It wouldn’t be the same at all.”
They decided to surprise Ruby with cinnamon raisin scones and good sweet tea the day of the reading.
About the Author
Martha Nelson has carried around stories in her head for sixty years, but Black Chokeberry is her first novel. Born and raised in Oswego, New York, she loved growing up on the shores of Lake Ontario. She is a graduate of Syracuse University and Lipscomb University and is a retired nonprofit executive, educator, award-winning journalist, and chef. She plays the piano and harp and used to play the flute. She has two grown sons, Terry and Billy Schiff, two daughters-in-law, Emily and Alicia, and two grandchildren, Riker and Seldon. Martha lives in the greater Nashville area with her husband, Mark, two dogs, Bart and Lulu, and Hank the cat.
Martha Nelson, Black Chokeberry
