“Why do you think that?”
“Because of this.” Ella reached back into her purse and pulled out a wrinkled newspaper. She handed it to Aunt Jo, pointing to a picture.
Aunt Jo’s brow instantly furrowed. “That’s Angela’s second husband, John. He died a month ago.”
“It’s his obituary. He worked at the New York branch of a French bank. The article says Angela would be moving home to be with friends and family following the funeral.” Ella took the newspaper back and looked at the picture of the handsome white-haired man. “He was always kind to me when I visited.” She sighed and dropped the paper back into her purse. “About a week after I started having those dreams, that newspaper blew down the street and fell open to that exact page right at my feet.”
“Then you did the right thing, coming here. What did you and Angela argue about?”
“She accused me of stealing a family heirloom.”
Aunt Jo stiffened. “As if you’d do such a thing!”
“It made me furious, too.” Ella still got mad when she remembered that day. It had been late evening and she’d come downstairs with her suitcase, ready to go back to the city. Unlike her normal visits, it had been a less-than-fun Sunday, because that was the day she’d broken up with Gray.
Dating Gray had been a mistake, but at the time it had just seemed like a fun summer fling. Or at least, that was all it had been to her. She should have known better; he was more intense and emotional than the men she usually flirted with. But he’d had a smile that she couldn’t resist, and no man had made her laugh more.
On that day, still feeling a little down after facing Gray’s hurt expression when she’d ended things, she’d gone through the kitchen on her way out and had found Angela and Jules arguing, their faces red. On seeing Ella, Jules had given her a hard, cold look and then stormed away.
Ella had assumed Jules must have discovered that Ella had broken up with Gray, but then Angela, looking tired and dispirited, had asked, “Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
Angela’s mouth thinned. “The Book of Cakes has gone missing, and Jules is certain you took it.” Angela had nodded toward Ella’s suitcase. “Is it in there?”
Ella struggled to absorb the words. The prized possession of the Stewart family was an old, cherished cookbook filled with handwritten recipes from across the decades. Since most of the recipes were desserts, someone along the way had started calling it “the Book of Cakes” and the name had stuck. “Angela, I didn’t take your cookbook. How can you even say that?”
“Fine. Then prove it.” Angela, her back stiff, tapped her finger on the kitchen table. “Put your suitcase here. I want to see what’s in it.”
Ella simmered, but she yanked up her suitcase and dropped it on the table. “When you’re done, I expect an apology.”
Angela opened the suitcase. Besides clothes, Ella’s favorite rolling pin was there, as were copies of two recipes she’d brought for them to try, and her favorite apron, too. But there was nothing else. Angela shut the case, looking yet more weary. “It’s not there.”
“Of course it’s not. I can’t believe you’d think it would be.” Fuming, Ella snapped her suitcase shut. That was when Jules had burst back into the room.
It was obvious she’d been listening in as she descended on Angela. “Make her give it back! If she leaves, we’ll never see it again!”
“As if!” Ella yanked her suitcase off the counter. “I would never ever steal anything, much less a recipe book. Not from you, Jules, and definitely not from your mother, who is a close friend of mine.” She sent an accusing look at Angela. “Or so I thought.”
Angela turned red but didn’t reply.
“Then who took it?” Jules demanded, her voice shrill. “It’s gone and no one has been here but the family and you.”
“It wasn’t me! Angela, you know me. Tell her I would never do such a thing.”
Angela wasn’t able to look Ella in the eye. All she did was spread her hands on the empty counter in front of her as she slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ella, but I have to agree with Jules. None of us would have taken it, which leaves you.”
That was it for Ella. “I didn’t, and wouldn’t, steal a cookbook or even a recipe from anyone. I’m not that sort of person. And if you don’t know that by now, then I’m done with all of you.” She turned on her heel and, suitcase in hand, headed out the door. She was so mad that the drive home was nothing more than a blur.
A week passed, and then two. Ella kept expecting a phone call with an explanation, if not an apology, but it never came. She didn’t make friends easily, and she’d felt an unusually close connection with Angela. The confrontation had left Ella surprisingly low.
So, after a series of slow days filled with teaching and even slower nights spent perfecting recipes, she was relieved when, three weeks later, she was offered a job in Paris at a world-renowned patisserie. The job wasn’t supposed to start for six more weeks, but as soon as she finished her final class, Ella packed her things and headed for France, desperate to put some space between herself and the weight of her thoughts. The whole thing was a mistake. How could anyone think that I—a pastry chef, no less—would steal a family cookbook? No one reveres a cookbook like a chef.
Realizing Aunt Jo was watching her with a concerned gaze, Ella forced a smile. “It was an ugly time.”
Aunt Jo scowled. “I hope you gave Angela a good what-for.”
“I told her the truth. That’s all I could do. After that, I left for Paris, and we never spoke again.”
“Ah. You left and so the situation was never resolved.” Aunt Jo clicked her tongue. “Still running away from your problems, are you? No wonder your dreams are pushing you around. You need some pushing.”
That wasn’t fair. Ella said stiffly, “It’s not my fault Angela accused me of stealing that silly cookbook—”
“Cookbook?” Aunt Jo’s eyed widened. “The Book of Cakes?”
“You know it?”
“Years ago, Jules made a buttermilk pie for the Ladies’ Club, and the recipe was in that book—I saw it sitting open on the counter. I only got a glimpse of it before she realized she’d left it out and whisked it away. It looked old.”
“The first recipe came from the seventeen hundreds. It’s an amazing collection,” Ella admitted grudgingly. “All of the Stewart women pick a page and add some words of advice along with their favorite recipe. Angela’s was for her hummingbird cake.”
“She makes a fine one.” Aunt Jo picked up her bowl of green beans and placed it back in her lap. “So you think your dream wants you to settle things with Angela.”
“That must be it. I’ve tried to call her, but the number I had is no longer in service. I called Jules too, but she hung up on me. Repeatedly.” Ella shrugged. “So I came here.”
“You were right to come here. Poor Jules has a full house nowadays. Mark still lives there and helps his momma run the Moonlight Café. He’s turning into a fine line cook. But then all the Stewarts are good cooks.”