Janie tried to spit out the fluffy feeling that seemed to be her cheek.
"I still feel like I have cotton balls in my mouth," she groaned.
"Yeah, fillings are the pits," said Sean.
He was twelve. His hair, the color of straw left out in the rain, always looked as though it had been last washed by a tongue. He was not tall for his age, and would have been rather puny, had he not been made strong by lifting bales of hay and milking cows. He would not be a small man though. Already he was beginning to shoot up, and his feet looked disproportionately large. His sister, Janie, was three years younger. Their mother would plat her strait brown hair into French pigtails. They suited her, a girl who liked catching frogs, climbing trees and having tea parties. Freckles covered her face like patches of light filtering through forest leaves. For going into town that day she wore a plaid dress of faded blue.
They walked on along the country road. It was June, and the grassy shoulder had become over grown. From it heavy seed heads nodded in the wake of a butterfly. Janie stopped and picked some vetch that was climbing up the long grass stalks, weaving its beads of pink into the green. She hurried after her brother, her hands full of trailing flowers.
"I have tons of homework, Nie. Let's take the short cut through Becky's field."
"Can we stop and visit? She was going to bake a raspberry pie today."
"Stopping by Becky's for raspberry pie is probably why we're coming back from Dr. Jackson's right now."
Janie scowled at her brother, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to burst through. Becky's raspberry pie was as delicious as a honey kissed sunset, and the two of them had been reared on it.
Becky was an old friend of their mother's. As long as they could remember, she had lived alone in the two story Victorian house across the street from their own. It was an old house. When leaned against, the porch railing creaked warily. The weathercock hung slightly forward as though it wished to know who was coming to visit. On the periwinkle walls, drips and little hand prints could be seen from the time Janie and Sean had helped put on a new coat of paint.
"Anyways," Sean said as they neared the house, "I don't have time. Mrs. Robson assigned a four page report on Alexander the Great today, and it's due tomorrow."
"Oh, come on," whined Janie, "we won't stay long."
"You have no scruples against lying when it means getting some of Becky's pie, do you?" Said Sean, imitating Pastor Wright.
Janie gave her brother a hurt look but smiled inwardly, knowing she had won.
They walked past the blooming rose bushes that lined the path to the front door. Janie breathed deeply.
"Almost as good as her raspberry pie," she said.
"Yeah, as almost as Becky's pregnant heifer could almost win the Kentucky Derby."
They laughed.
Surrounding the roses were lilac bushes, beds of bright and fragrant perennials, fruit trees and rows of luscious raspberries. Becky always said mowing was for cows.
As the two ran up the front steps scents of pie wafted past them.
"Yep, she's been baking," said Sean.
Janie knocked on the screen door.
"Coming" called Becky, her voice resonating through the hallway. They heard the water being turned off in the kitchen. She must be doing dishes thought Janie. The kitchen door opened.
"Why hello! Word travels fastest when there's bad news or pie! Well, come in, come in."
With that she opened the screen door.
"I picked you some flowers, Becky," said Janie, handing her the overflowing bouquet.
"Why aren't they pretty! And I was just needing some fresh flowers for the kitchen table. Thank you dear.
"Sean, did your mother make you a new shirt? It makes you look so handsome! Why, if I wasn't such an old maid I'd be quite taken by you."
She gave him a smile and led them into the kitchen. Becky was as plump as a ripe raspberry. The sleeves of her lavender dress were rolled up showing the piebald pattern made by flour on her dark arms. A matching handkerchief held back her iron wool hair. It was the color of charcoal edged with gray ash.
"I picked the berries this morning. They were so warm from the sun I didn't think I'd have to cook them."
Janie giggled.
"You two sure are smart. The pie's just right now, cool enough to have thickened but still as warm as the sunshine that grew it."
She took the pie from the windowsill and placed it on the table. Through heart shaped holes in the crust could be seen the ruby filling. It glistened like dew on a rose, still steaming slightly. Becky cut out three pieces from the butter cookie crust. She placed the slices of raspberry pie on her favorite china, the set decorated with flowering briers, then drowned them in fresh cream.
Between bites Sean said, "We've just been to town. Janie, had to go to Dr. Jackson's for a filling."
"For once I'm glad the walk's so long," said Janie, her mouth full of pie, "I don't think I could have watched you eating when I still had to wait."
"The fair grounds were just crawling with workers setting up for this weekend," Sean interjected." They were painting, repairing, putting up banners and booths and rides; some of the animals were even there!
"Becky, are you going to enter your pie?"
"Oh no, child. You know I don't like crowds. I'd feel silly among all those people."
"You wouldn't have to stay the whole time. Oh, please enter your pie. You'd be sure to win. Last year Mrs. Jackson won, and I got to have a piece of her raspberry pie. It was so bad I could hardly eat it. Compared to your pie hers was like sour sawdust!" Said Janie, "Can I have another piece, Becky?"
Cutting her another slice she said, "That's right sweet of you, Janie, but Mrs. Jackson would probably win even if I did enter."
"Oh no, your pie's better than hers, I promise!"
Becky looked deep into Janie's green eyes, and then into the flint gray of Sean's. "It's not that dear, folks don't think it's right my having my own farm, what with my being a woman and black too. It makes them feel threatened. People like that wouldn't judge my pie fairly. Mr. Jones is usually a just man, but he doesn't like me, and he wouldn't like my pie."
"Why doesn't he like you?" Said Sean.
"He resents that I run a farm instead of some white folks kitchen."
"That's not fair!" Said Janie indignantly.
The three lapsed into silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Outside a cloud passed across the sun, blurring the edge between shadow and light on the ground below.
Breaking the silence Becky said, "why in the excitement of your visit I'd almost forgotten, Buttercup calved last night!"
The cloud sailed on in the sea of blue.
"Can we see?" Said Janie, excitedly.
"Why of course you can! You just leave the dishes in the sink there, I'll do them latter," said Becky, relieved to have the subject changed.
They headed out to the barn. Sean held back, brooding. I just don't understand, he thought. How can Mr. Jones be afraid of Becky? He's met her, I'm sure. It just doesn't make sense. Surely he saw what a generous, kind person she is. Maybe it's like looking at something but not really seeing it.
"Come on, Sean!" Called Janie, sticking her head out the barn door. "You have to see Buttercup's calf, she's so cute!"
"I'm coming," he called and ran the rest of the way
to the barn, shutting the door behind him.