wonât help. Hi, Dad.â
âHi, sweetheart.â Bill pulled his chair in next to Tracey and gave her a kiss. Then he accepted his bowl from Lisa and dug right in.
âYours is better,â Mike said, after taking only one bite. âTheir peaches are too mushy.â
âThatâs exactly what I was going to say,â Bill added. âTheirs taste like canned, but yours taste like fresh. Where did you get fresh peaches in February?â
âI didnât. Theyâre frozen. The trick is not letting them thaw all the way before you bake them.â
âI must remember to tell my cook that technique when I return to England.â Winthrop gave Hannah a cordial smile. âItâs brilliant, my dear. And your peach cobbler is simply exquisite.â
âThank you,â Hannah said in her best effort to be gracious. Winthrop had been the soul of geniality at their infrequent meetings, but she just couldnât seem to warm up to him. She still missed her father and seeing Delores with anyone else was a jolt.
âI think your spices are just right, dear,â Delores offered up her opinion.
âPerfect,â Carrie agreed. âTheir cobbler has so much cinnamon, you canât even tell youâre eating peaches. It could beâ¦practically anything at all.â
âSoda crackers,â Jack Herman said, winking at Lisa.
âWhat?â several in the group chorused.
âSoda crackers,â Jack Herman repeated. âLisaâs mother used to make something called âMock Apple Pie.â It used soda crackers and there wasnât an apple in it.â
Hannah noticed that Lisa, Marge, and Herb all turned to smile at Jack warmly and that made her feel good. The experimental drug-testing program was working. It wasnât a cure. He still had Alzheimerâs and nothing could change that. But his memory had improved and it was no longer such a struggle for him to communicate.
âYou know that recipe, donât you, Hannah?â Lisa asked.
âI donât think so. But apples are available all year in Minnesota. Why would anyone want to make a mock apple pie when they could use real apples?â
âJust to see if they could,â Norman answered promptly. âItâs like training a dog to walk on his hind legs. Itâs not that he can do it wellâ¦itâs that he can do it at all.â
âSamuel Johnson. But it wasnât a dog,â Hannah countered, remembering the story of the woman preacher and bristling slightly.
âTracey has that book, but thereâs nothing in it about dog training,â Andrea said, looking confused.
âWhat book?â
â Sam Johnson and the Blue Ribbon Quilt. Itâs a picture book Mother gave her. Itâs about a man who loves to quilt.â
Hannah and Norman locked eyes. The message that flashed between them was clear. Neither one of them wanted to embarrass Andrea by explaining that theyâd been referring to Dr. Samuel Johnson, not a character in a childrenâs book. Hannah was fairly certain that the closest their eighteenth-century literary figure had come to quilting was to sleep under one.
âSounds like a good book,â Hannah said, because the silence that greeted Andreaâs remark was deafening.
âI liked it a lot when I was little,â Tracey spoke up. Then she picked up her bowl and turned to Lisa. âCan I have seconds, Aunt Lisa? Itâs really good!â
Lisa scooped more cobbler into Traceyâs bowl and went around the table with second helpings. When she reached Bill, he watched while she broke the crust with the tip of her serving spoon and lifted it out to top the peaches in his bowl. âWhatâs the topping? It tastes a little like something Iâve had before.â
âIt is,â Hannah said with a laugh. âItâs a variation of the topping on your motherâs coffee cake. I tried to think of what