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She’s taking over the cake project,” she said.
    â€œLouise?” he asked, sounding very surprised at that announcement. He knew Louise as well as anyone. She was not the cookbook chairperson kind of woman.
    â€œYes,” Beatrice replied. “She’s going to handle the remaining tasks except for finding a prize for the winner. I still have to do that.”
    Dick seemed to be thinking about this bit of news. “You’re letting Louise take over?” he asked.
    â€œYes, well, I think she could do a little more this time anyway,” Beatrice noted.
    â€œOkay,” Dick said, sounding unconvinced. “What are you doing the rest of the day?” he asked, knowing that the cookbook project had been the only thing she had been involved in during the past few months.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “I’m sure there are things I will find to do,” she added. “I’ll think of something.”
    â€œOkay.” He sounded hesitant to hang up the phone. “You call me if you need me,” he instructed. “I’ll have my cell phone.”
    â€œRight,” Beatrice said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
    She hung up the phone without even saying good-bye, and she watched as the blue jay flew away.
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    Holiday Pound Cake
    2 sticks butter
    Â½ cup shortening
    3 cups sugar
    6 eggs
    3 cups flour
    Â½ teaspoon baking powder
    1 cup milk
    1 teaspoon vanilla
    2 teaspoons orange extract
    1 tablespoon grated orange rind
    Â½ cup nuts
    Â½ cup raisins
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    Cream together butter, shortening, and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, beating thoroughly after each addition. Add one third of flour and baking powder and one third of milk, beating well after each addition. Repeat until all is used. Stir in flavorings, orange rind, nuts, and raisins. Pour into tube pan that has been well greased and floured. Put into cold oven. Then turn on oven and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Chapter Four
    H ere it is,” Margaret announced to no one except herself. “Holiday pound cake,” she added. Then she glanced around and realized that she was talking to herself. She shook her head, glad that no one else had seen her. She didn’t want anyone to think she had started chemotherapy treatments and lost her mind in the same week.
    She had been searching for the old recipe ever since Beatrice mentioned the idea of a holiday cake cookbook to the Women’s Guild. She wasn’t really interested in the project, thought it was sort of lame, but she knew that once again Beatrice was simply trying to make things better for her and the other women in the community, and besides, truthfully, she was glad to have something else to think about except the test results and the upcoming surgery.
    That was all she seemed to think about these last few days. She wondered if she would be sick from the treatments again. She wondered if she should hire someone to stay with her for a while afterthe surgery. She thought about prescriptions and insurance and what nightgown to take to the hospital and whether the cancer had already metastasized somewhere else in her body.
    Unlike her friends, Margaret knew the cancer had recurred before there was a test. She knew it even before she started feeling sick to her stomach. Of course, she was hypervigilant, like most cancer survivors. She had been analyzing herself every day. And she just had a sense after the last surgery, and even with an “all clear” prognosis, that the cancer wasn’t finished with her, that there was more to this event than just the lumps in her breasts and the one round of treatments.
    She couldn’t explain it, never talked about her premonitions to anyone. She knew if she did, her friends would just say she was anxious, that everybody felt as she did after a cancer diagnosis, and maybe that was true. Maybe because of her anxiety and worry, she had even talked herself right