Memories of Marguerite

When my first cousin Marguerite went to heaven last week, my sister Ruth met her at the gate. In my mind I can see them hugging. 

Ruth told me some stories about their childhood. Along with the hope of joining them in the distant future, I find comfort in memories of their past.

 

Marguerite and Tom Woodard
Photo by Leslie Brown

Ruth told about an adventure they had:

When Marguerite was twelve and I was eleven, her mother had been taking us boat riding in a little wooden paddleboat in a nearby pond.

One day we walked over to the pond. We were sure that if we got into the boat we would know how to paddle it, so we piled in and started beating the water with the paddles. The boat started moving out into the deep water.

We couldn’t synchronize our motions. If one of us paddled on the right, both of us did. If one paddled on the left, both did. All we did was go in circles in the center of the pond. For what seemed like two hours, we two girls—with nobody in hearing range—circled around and around in the deep water until finally we landed at the dam, where we were able to climb out the boat.

We never told a living person, and we never tried again. We never had the temptation.

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Marguerite Hester Woodard, the daughter of Marion and Idell Hester, was an intelligent lady who retired from her career at a bank. She and her husband Tom operated an embroidery business after they retired. I asked her for a recipe to put in a collection. She didn’t send me a recipe, but she wrote me a letter. Here’s the body of it. “Aunt Myrtle” was my mother.

Aunt Myrtle cooked:

I don’t cook much.  I remember more about the way Aunt Myrtle cooked than about how my mama cooked. It was so different.

I remember the time when I spent the night with Ruth and Aunt Myrtle wanted to fix something special for breakfast. She got up and killed a chicken, and she fried it and cooked rice and gravy for breakfast.

I had trouble eating it that early in the day. Mama never fixed that except for Sunday dinner.

Aunt Myrtle used to make fig ice cream. It was unusual. She made fruitcake that tasted different from anybody else’s. It didn’t matter what the recipe called for. She put whatever kind of fruit and nuts she had into it.

            I didn’t like soft teacakes. Aunt Myrtle used to make them for me the way I liked them. They rattled. She said it all had to do with how much lard and sugar you put.

She used to put syrup, eggs, lard, and sugar in them. She would make a hole in the flour and mix them in there with her hand like making biscuits. They were good.

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Ruth gave me this recipe:

Molasses Tea Cakes

1 cup shortening

1 cup sugar

½ cup molasses

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 eggs, beaten

Enough self-rising flour to achieve cookie-dough consistency

Extra flour as needed

Preheat the oven to 350°. Cream the shortening, the sugar, and the molasses together.  Add the vanilla and eggs.  Gradually add the flour and stir until smooth.  Roll on a floured board and cut with a cookie cutter or shape the dough into teacakes with your hands. 

Bake until light brown.                              

Note from Ruth:

Actually Myrtle sifted a mound of flour into her biscuit-mixing pan, a small galvanized dishpan used exclusively for this purpose.  Then she combined the other ingredients in a separate bowl and poured them into a hole she made in the flour hill.  She mixed the cookies with her hand and shaped them like thin biscuits.