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“You know very well we are the Auburn Ladies' Society.  And I’ll have you know, this is an old family recipe.  It goes back to our pioneer ancestry.  You don’t just pass something like that around.”
    Lila was still shaking the sting out of her fingers.  “I don’t think it’s the heritage of the recipe, or even the quality that matters anyway, is it?” she baited.  “The best recipe is the one that takes hours to make.  You're all a bunch of little old martyrs.”
    “ Well, if that’s what you think, you don't have to eat one,” Ada answered stiffly as she scraped soft butter into the bowl.  “ Anyway, that's certainly not true of the Bell sisters.  They aren't the best of cooks.”  She glanced around as if someone might be listening.  “In fact, often times their desserts are store bought .  Not that anyone would mention it, except maybe Betsy Barker.”  She closed her eyes and shook her head.  “That woman has no tact.”  She rushed to the fridge and pulled out a pint of milk.
    “ But they are extraordinary gardeners,” she continued.  “Their peonies are the biggest I've ever seen, and no one can get their secret.  I happen to know Betsy even offered to trade her mother's lemon meringue pie recipe.”
    Ada, beginning to feel rushed, turned the mixer on and poured the powdered sugar in too quickly, resulting in a fine white cloud of sweetness that hung in the kitchen.  The late morning rays of sunshine lit up the tiny particles like fairy dust.
    She called out over the whir of the mixer and pointed.  “Lila, be a dear and put a fresh doily on the table for me.  They’re in that bottom drawer.”
    The doorbell rang.
    “And could you get that, please?”
    Lila grabbed a doily and spread it out on the table, then hurried to open the door.  Gladys Ellison stood staring into her through her large bifocals.  She smiled and presented Lila with a crystal bowl filled with a frothy fruit salad creation as she stepped in. 
    “How are you, dear?  It’s good to see you again.  You look so pretty, but I'm afraid you're cold.  Don’t you want to put on a sweater?”  Lila's eyes were wide with disbelief.  She felt like she'd been locked in a sauna since she came here. 
    “ Maybe you just need to eat more,”  Gladys continued.  She patted and squeezed Lila's bare arm with one withered hand and handed her the bowl with the other.
    Lila smiled graciously and hung Gladys's jacket before ushering her to a floral-patterned chair.  She placed the bowl on the table.
    “Have you met my grandson Max yet?”  Gladys asked eagerly.  “It was a shame, you just missed him at the store the other day.” 
    “ Well, I—”  The doorbell rang and Lila breathed a sigh of relief, then hurried to answer it.  She couldn't tell this sweet woman that her grandson was a jerk.
    Matilda and Leona Bell stood on the porch, each of them carrying an offering for the meeting.  Lila caught herself glancing at a plate of cookies, as if the word “OREO” might be stamped into the middle of each one.  She blinked her eyes, momentarily stunned at what she had done.  It was one of those surreal moments where she suddenly wondered how she came to be this person, in a place she'd never imagined herself being.
    She looked back up at the ladies and smiled.  She recognized them from the funeral, but was relived when they introduced themselves again.  She'd forgotten which was which.  Matilda was the taller one, although it was difficult to tell how much of the height difference was due to posture.  Her silver hair was short and tidy, and a cross hung just over the top of her soft grey blouse.
    Leona stood beside her, her grin unrestrained.  She wore a sweatshirt with a flower on the front, hand-painted with long, loose strokes.  She looked to be the younger of the two, although her golden-blond hair was probably dyed. 
    “Do you like it?”  Leona asked, her eyes following Lila's to the