{"id":2819,"date":"2015-10-21T03:32:08","date_gmt":"2015-10-21T08:32:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/?p=2819"},"modified":"2020-09-05T03:53:59","modified_gmt":"2020-09-05T08:53:59","slug":"apple-butter-fiction-crisafulli","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/apple-butter-fiction-crisafulli\/","title":{"rendered":"Apple Butter"},"content":{"rendered":"
Original Fiction by<\/h5>\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/a><\/h3>\n

What mattered now was using those jars one more time, to send them off full instead of thrown away empty.<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

W<\/span> ith her coat half on\u2014right arm pulled from its sleeve, the left one still in\u2014Amanda saw the phalanx of jelly jars on the counter. Two thoughts crossed her mind simultaneously: first, that her mother had kept these fat-bellied remnants of an earlier time when she and her sister still lived at home; second, that her mother had climbed up a stepstool against common sense and doctor\u2019s orders to retrieve them from a high shelf.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

\u201cMom?\u201d Amanda called out.<\/p>\n

For a long moment, the quiet of the house amplified her worst fears. Then she heard the metallic tap of a cane against the hardwood floor in the dining room. Grace Caswell stepped carefully in the kitchen on quiet, rubber-soled shoes. \u201cOh, you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amanda assessed the changes in her mother over the six weeks since she\u2019d last visited: clothes bagging a little more on her already thin frame; the bruise on the veined hand gripping the cane, the morning light hitting the rosy spots of her scalp. Eighty-two wasn\u2019t that old, but pneumonia the previous spring had taken five years out of her.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood flight?\u201d Grace asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust fine.\u201d Amanda decided against reciting the two hours from Chicago to Boston with a toddler behind her kicking the seat and then the hour-long drive elongated by construction and a fender-bender on the shoulder. \u201cWhat\u2019s with the jars?\u201d She pointed to the counter.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, just a little idea of mine.\u201d Grace planted the cane and guided herself to the kitchen table. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you when Veronica gets here. Now, I want to hear all about Darcy and Jonathon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amanda gave the latest updates about her son, now a sophomore in college, and Darcy, a high school senior. Just saying their names softened the knots inside; the kids were both good\u2014really good.<\/p>\n

By the time the coffeemaker stopped brewing, Veronica had arrived with a bag of cleaning supplies in one hand and a box of cider-flavored donuts in the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at those apples,\u201d Grace laughed.<\/p>\n

Amanda and Veronica exchanged a puzzled glance.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn your cheeks,\u201d Grace continued. \u201cJust like when you were little.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amanda noticed the redness of her sister\u2019s face, appearing all the more so in contrast with her shoulder-length hair, prematurely gray. At fifty-one and older by two years, Amanda wasn\u2019t ready to give up the trips to the salon every six weeks to keep her hair auburn.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing with the jars?\u201d Veronica popped the lid of the bakery box.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe won\u2019t tell me,\u201d Amanda interjected, reaching for a donut.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry I didn\u2019t climb up there,\u201d Grace said. \u201cWouldn\u2019t do something that foolish.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica widened her eyes in Amanda\u2019s direction.<\/p>\n

The two sisters had agreed that over this three-day weekend they would begin packing up the house, largely untouched since they removed their father\u2019s things after his death five years before. Grace was near the top of a waiting list for an apartment at the assisted living complex in town, and was certain to get in to their second-choice place, which was a little farther away.<\/p>\n

Amanda laid out her plan formulated on the plane: start with the upstairs closets and the attic; get as much packed up and hauled out as possible that weekend. Then she\u2019d come back in another three weeks, maybe Gary could come with her. This weekend he\u2019d had to be home; Darcy had homecoming.<\/p>\n

Veronica munched her donut. \u201cI\u2019m here\u2014I know I\u2019ll have to get up every weekend until this is done, but I\u2019m fine with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t come every weekend,\u201d Amanda said. \u201cAirfares are so high all of a sudden. And, I want to see Jonathon for parents\u2019 weekend, but I suppose I could skip that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica licked her fingers as if she were a little girl and not a hospital administrator with a degree in public health from Harvard. \u201cNo need to skip the weekend. Chelsea will be home right after Thanksgiving. She can help me, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

The mention of her niece and goddaughter who was doing a semester abroad reminded Amanda of what her sister wasn\u2019t doing\u2014visiting Chelsea before she came back to the States. \u201cMaybe I can come back in two weeks. We\u2019ll see Jonathon another weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grace spoke up. \u201cI don\u2019t want to do any of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica reached across the table and laid her hand over her bony knuckles. \u201cMom, we talked about this already. You can\u2019t stay here another winter. If you got sick again or fell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes. I know.\u201d Grace took back her hand. \u201cBut you\u2019re both here and that doesn\u2019t happen very often. I want to do something else this weekend. Then you can pack me up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNobody is packing you <\/em>up. This house is too big and there\u2019s so much stuff.\u201d Amanda closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can do what you want. I\u2019m <\/em>making apple butter.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amanda leaned in, not believing what she\u2019d heard. \u201cMaking what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou heard me\u2014apple butter. And no I\u2019m not demented.\u201d The cane clicked loudly as Grace got up from the table and made her way to the jars. \u201cI had Jimmy the neighbor boy get these down for me yesterday. We just have to wash and sterilize them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, I didn\u2019t come all this way for apple butter,\u201d Amanda said.<\/p>\n

Grace turned slowly. \u201cI would hope you came all this way for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Grace leaned on the cart as they wheeled slowly through the aisles of the store. Whoever said aging was a process never made it past eighty. It started with the usual progression: hair graying, joints a little stiffer than usual on cold mornings, and flesh sagging where it once had been firm. Then the descent steepened. Her body that had once ice skated, swam, and played doubles tennis no longer moved or functioned in any recognizable way.<\/p>\n

Her mind, though, still coaxed her into action every morning with plans and ideas that didn\u2019t last past the first tentative step out of bed. Now she was giving in to the good sense of doctors and daughters. It was time for assisted living; she agreed with that. But she needed something to remind her that she was once the wife, the mother, the woman in charge of the house.<\/p>\n

Yesterday afternoon, when she\u2019d opened the cupboards, she\u2019d seen the jelly jars on the top shelf. She hadn\u2019t used them since her grandchildren were small, when her daughters and their families came for a long weekend. The men had watched football and she and the girls made pies and apple butter. Or maybe they\u2019d only made pies and the apple butter was a different time. What mattered now was using those jars one more time, to send them off full instead of thrown away empty.<\/p>\n

Amanda surveyed the bottom of the cart. \u201cOkay, we have the spices and the vinegar and the sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica picked up the five pound bag with the fluorescent yellow wrapper. \u201c\u201cLet\u2019s see if they have organic raw sugar. Besides this one is too big.\u201d She swapped it out for two pounds of free trade sugar that cost twice as much.<\/p>\n

Last stop was produce. Amanda suggested Macintosh that were on sale. Veronica said they\u2019d be too watery; she liked pink ladies.<\/p>\n

\u201cGranny smiths,\u201d Grace announced. She picked up a bright green orb and held it to her nose.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Veronica put a cutting board on the table and handed her mother a short-handled paring knife. \u201cJust be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoodness, you\u2019d think I was a child,\u201d Grace protested.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re on Coumadin, Mom,\u201d Veronica said. \u201cYou cut yourself and it\u2019s serious.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica watched her mother try to cut into an apple; she didn\u2019t have enough leverage or strength. With quick strokes, Veronica quartered the apples, but left the skin and cores. That was the secret to good apple butter, she\u2019d learned from her mother years ago: The skin and cores released natural pectin for thickening.<\/p>\n

Grace picked up her knife and slowly cut the apple quarters into smaller pieces, even though it wasn\u2019t necessary.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

While the apples simmered, the sisters got out the tall stepstool and emptied the top shelves of the cupboards, sorting dishes into three piles\u2014take, donate, and discard. Amanda dumped a stack of discolored Tupperware in the recycling bin. Two casserole dishes with lids were tagged for the church kitchen. Veronica took a deviled-egg serving platter with a kitschy pattern of baby chicks.<\/p>\n

Amanda held up an oval Christmas plate ringed with a holly motif\u2014good bone china she could see her hand through. In her mind, her mother stood in the living room beside a Christmas tree wearing a red boat-neck sweater with pin on the shoulder, a holiday apron cinching her slim waist, holding the holly plate stacked with walnut fudge. Uncle Frank ate piece after piece. \u201cThis is divine, Gracie, just divine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to take this. I can bring it home in my carry-on,\u201d Amanda said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, good,\u201d Grace said. \u201cIt makes me happy to think of these things in your homes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t take too much,\u201d Amanda cautioned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever you want we can ship to you,\u201d Veronica added. \u201cNo trouble at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

When the apples were soft, the sisters searched the kitchen for the food mill, which Grace assured them she hadn\u2019t thrown away. Amanda found it in the basement, coated with dust. Finally clean, the food mill was fitted over the largest mixing bowl. Veronica ladled the cooked apples, while Amanda turned the crank.<\/p>\n

\u201cSlowly,\u201d Grace warned. \u201cDon\u2019t want to spatter yourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

The apple juice ran quickly through the sieved bottom, then the paddle on the food mill pressed the pump through the holes, leaving the core and skin behind. The apple juice and pulp went back into the pot to simmer with the sugar and spice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll stir.\u201d Grace leaned on her cane with her left hand and reached for the wooden spoon with her right. \u201cFor old times\u2019 sake.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica brought a tall stool from the basement and helped Grace settle herself atop it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI forgot about those stools,\u201d Amanda smiled. \u201cDo we still have Dad\u2019s bar plaque? Remember, Ned\u2019s Place?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLong gone,\u201d Grace said. \u201cFell from the nail one day and broke.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish Chet and I threw parties like you and Dad,\u201d Veronica said, and recounted her memories of a New Year\u2019s Eve party when the adults moved the furniture, rolled up the carpet, and danced to records on the hi-fi.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the cousins outside with their own party, hoping nobody knew we had beer,\u201d Amanda added. \u201cRemember Donny brought Uncle Frank\u2019s flask?\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica made a face.<\/p>\n

Amanda left the room quickly; her footsteps on the stairs echoed back to the kitchen. She returned with two thick photo albums. Three heads bent over the pages, laughing at unflattering hair styles, wide sideburns, plaid pants, short skirts and knobby knees.<\/p>\n

Amanda paused at a picture of Grace in a blue dress with a sheen to the fabric, the photo tucked loosely into the album. \u201cWith your hair like that, you look like young Elizabeth Taylor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grace chuckled. \u201cNo violet eyes here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Veronica held the photo. \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019ve seen this one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIrma sent me that the other day.\u201d Grace picked up the wooden spoon and resumed stirring.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

She\u2019d loved that dress: silk shantung with a deep square neckline, fitted bodice and a slim skirt with a slit in the back. Ned had said she looked like an empress. They\u2019d gone to the country club with Irma and Frank, the two couples laughing and dancing. Forty years later, it still embarrassed her to remember how Frank had too much to drink that night and tried to kiss her on the dance floor. She\u2019d ducked out of the way before someone saw, but she always suspected that Irma had.<\/p>\n

Irma and Ned had always been close as brother and sister. What if Irma told Ned what she saw? Then Ned would\u2019ve wondered why she didn\u2019t say anything to him. But she thought she did the right thing. Don\u2019t cause trouble. <\/em>Instead, she\u2019d lived with a guilty conscience because of what her brother-in-law had done because she never spoke up.<\/p>\n

Earlier that evening, before he started drinking Manhattans\u2014that was always his drink\u2014Frank had taken pictures of them. She\u2019d framed the one he took of her and Ned, arms around each other and laughing. But she never saw the one Frank took of her by herself until Irma mailed it to her, just a few weeks ago with a short note: \u201cYour girls might like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grace tensed her arm to stir the apples mixture all the way down to the bottom.<\/p>\n

Had Irma kept that photo or had Frank? Grace shook her head. What difference did it make now? Frank and Irma moved to Florida twenty years ago, and now Frank was dead\u2014gone twice as long as Ned.<\/p>\n

If young couples knew how much they\u2019ll grieve one day when a spouse dies, they\u2019d never have a fight, Grace thought. Of course nobody would tell young people that. But one day she might explain to her daughters that it doesn\u2019t matter who forgets something or doesn\u2019t say happy birthday or won\u2019t give a compliment. One day that person won\u2019t be alive any more, then all those petty things will seem so stupid.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The scent of applies hung thickly in the air, and the kitchen window clouded with steam that condensed on the cold glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome February, this will be a real treat,\u201d Grace said, admiring eleven filled and sealed jars on the counter. \u201cFour for each of you and three for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t bring them back in my carry-on. They\u2019re more than three ounces,\u201d Amanda said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll mail them to you\u2014with that Christmas plate,\u201d Veronica said.<\/p>\n

Grace gripped her cane and maneuvered to the table. \u201cPlus they\u2019ll be more stuff when we start cleaning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should start upstairs tomorrow,\u201d Amanda offered.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe linen closet is packed solid,\u201d Veronica added.<\/p>\n

\u201cTook a lifetime to fill up this house. It\u2019s going to take more than one weekend to empty it\u201d Grace told them.<\/p>\n

Amanda retrieved three teaspoons from the drawer and brought a small dish of leftover apple butter to the table. She dipped her spoon first into the apple butter, which earned its name because of the creamy consistency.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust the right amount of lemon,\u201d Grace said smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really can taste the cinnamon.\u201d Veronica pursed her lips. \u201cAnd the cloves.\u201d<\/p>\n

The scent of the spiced apples evoked a memory for Amanda, of standing on a stool, her mother\u2019s apron tied under her armpits, and stirring the pot while it simmered. She was so pleased with herself for helping.<\/p>\n

Smiling, now, she took another spoonful from the dish on the table, ignoring Veronica\u2019s teasing about double dipping.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s perfect,\u201d Amanda said, closing her eyes. \u201cJust as I remember it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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