Aunt Ola’s Cookies

​A faint light filtered through the slats of the attic window, and dust motes floated lazily in the air. Raindrops tapped on the roof in a quick staccato, and rivulets of water rushed through the gutters down the sides of the house. A young girl sat on the dusty floor sorting through old records and long forgotten toys. She would rather have been playing at her best friend Janene’s house, but Janene had come down with a cold, so she was stuck helping her mother clean up the attic on this rainy Saturday afternoon.

​“Hannah, I’m on the phone with Aunt Kate. I’ll be back up in just a minute,” her mother called from downstairs.

​“Okay, Mom.” Hannah sighed. A conversation with Aunt Kate never lasted “just a minute”. She got up from the floor, went to the small circular window and looked out. The skies were a solid slate grey, and all hopes of riding her bicycle this afternoon faded away with the sound of the falling rain. As she turned back to the piles she had been sorting, her elbow caught a small box sitting on the shelf by the window, and it tumbled to the floor. Hannah bent down to pick up the old papers and pictures that were now scattered about. Her mother came up the steps sounding out of breath.

​“Is everything ok? I heard a crash.”

​“I just knocked over a box. I’m picking it up.”

​Her mother came over and began helping her clean up the mess. “Oh, this one brings back memories!” she exclaimed, holding out a picture for Hannah.

​She came and looked over her mother’s shoulder at the faded picture of two little girls standing on a sandy beach, ankle deep in water and grinning from ear to ear. At the bottom of the picture was written, “Annabelle and Kate, Sunny Shores, 1975”.

​“That was me and your Aunt Kate the year we took a family vacation to the coast. I was just about the age you are now. Boy, did we ever have fun!” she said shaking her head and smiling. Annabelle continued picking up the pictures and putting them back in the box, occasionally clucking her tongue or laughing softly when one invoked a particularly fond memory.

​“Who is Aunt Ola?”

The question brought Annabelle back to the present. She turned to face Hannah who was holding a piece of paper in her hand and she held it out to her mother.

​“Who is Aunt Ola?” she asked again.

Annabelle held it up in the dim light. The rose print paper was yellowed with age and the many smudged fingerprints attested to its use over the years. At the top in dainty cursive was written, “Aunt Ola’s Favorite Oatmeal Cookies”. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she remembered her and Kate sitting around the small round kitchen table waiting impatiently as Aunt Ola pulled the cookies from the oven and piled them on a plate. Not able to wait, they would grab a hot cookie and pass it quickly back and forth between both hands until they were able to bite into it. Annabelle’s mouth watered remembering how they were a little crispy on the outside, and soft and chewy on the inside. Aunt Ola would serve them with ice cold milk, fresh from the farm, and they would all eat the delectable treats from the plate and drink the milk from pink frosted glasses.

​“Aunt Ola was my mother’s sister,” Annabelle said. She sat on the floor and motioned for Hannah to sit beside her. “Aunt Ola and Uncle Felix lived on a small farm out on the edge of town and we went to visit them a lot when I was little. We learned a lot, especially about cookies!”

​“How much is there to learn about cookies?” Hannah asked dubiously.

​“Oh, we learned quite a lot from Aunt Ola, and besides these were no ordinary cookies,” Annabelle said with a secretive tone.

​Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “They weren’t?” She was motionless hanging on her mother’s every word.

​“No, they were very unique. Not only did they taste absolutely scrumptious, but it was what Aunt Ola did with them that made them so special. She was quite famous in that neck of the woods, and the word spread for miles that no cookies were as good as hers.”

​Hannah shifted to a more comfortable position and the floorboards creaked slightly in protest. “What did Aunt Ola do besides eat them?”

​“She gave them to people all around. If someone had a wedding or a shower, she prepared cookies for them, and made no telling how many for school bakes sales and church functions. Also, if someone she knew died, she would take cookies to the family.”

​“Would it help them not feel so sad?”

Annabelle gently patted Hannah’s hand. “Well, I am sure that the love and care she put into making them was a comfort. Sometimes small things can have a bigger effect on people than we realize.” The wind picked up outside and it came howling around the edges of the roof trying to get in. Hannah scooted closer to her mother and Annabelle continued, “We certainly learned that fact when Uncle Felix and Aunt Ola’s house burned down.”

​“Their house burned?” Hannah’s eyes reflected the sadness she suddenly felt.

​“Yes, Uncle Felix died that spring, and it had been a very dry summer that year. During a lightning storm one afternoon, a tree that was right up close to the house was struck.” Annabelle paused and shook her head. “The fire just raced through that house in nothing flat. It was mostly gone before the fire department even got there. All that was left were some family records and pictures that had been in a fire safe cabinet.”

​The room was silent except for the occasional moaning of the wind and tree branches scraping the roof. Hannah looked dismayed. “Mom, that’s so sad.”

​“Yes it was. But from that horrible thing happening, we learned one of the best lessons of all.”

​Hannah leaned forward. “What was the best lesson?”

​“When Mom and Dad found out about the house burning and told us, we all felt just awful and went over to see if we could help. As we drove up the road, we saw the most amazing thing! People were coming from everywhere with tools and lumber, clothes and appliances. Tons of sacks full of groceries and just about anything a person could need. It looked like the whole town had shown up.”

​“The whole town? Wow.” Hannah’s voice was filled with wonder.

​“Every one of those people that came to help that day said how much Aunt Ola meant to them, and how much she had touched their lives by her acts of giving. We all just stood there and cried, and tried to thank them as best we could.” Annabelle sniffed loudly and stood up suddenly with a smile. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Come on.” She took Hannah’s hand in her own and they started down the steps.

​Later that afternoon, Hannah stood peering through the glass door of the oven as heavenly smells of oatmeal cookies baking wafted throughout the kitchen. After what seemed like an eternity, the timer finally sounded, announcing they were ready. “Mm.” She inhaled the aroma and watched as her mother put them on a plate.

Annabelle smiled and poured them two glasses of cold milk. “Can’t forget this,” she said, and they sat down to eat.

Hannah bit into the first golden brown cookie and her eyes flew open in surprise, and then closed as an expression of sheer delight came over her face. “Mom, they’re so good! These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted. No wonder they made people so happy!”

Annabelle nodded chewing on hers. “Yes, they are a little piece of heaven. I’m glad you found the recipe.”

“These are good enough for them to sell them at the store!” Hannah exclaimed, already working on her second one.

“You know, I remember sitting with Aunt Ola on a Saturday afternoon much like this one. We were having our usual snack of milk and cookies and I asked her why she gave away so many. I still recall her answer.”

“Anniebee..”

“That was her nickname for me.”

“Anniebee, you never know who is hurting and who might just need a reminder that somebody cares about them. I know a batch of cookies may seem like just a little thing but sometimes it’s the little things that end up making the biggest difference. Besides, you want to know what the secret is behind my cookies?”

“What Aunt Ola?” Annabelle had been on the edge of her seat.

Aunt Ola had winked at Annabelle with her eyes twinkling. “They taste so much better when you give them away.”

Hannah smiled at her mother. “Mom, I want to give away some cookies just like Aunt Ola! Who can we give some to?” She looked ready to burst with excitement.

“Well, Mrs. Kincaid down the street is all alone and her children live out of town, so I know she doesn’t get visitors much. Several times I have seen her in the wicker rocking chair out there on her porch looking lonely. I’ll bet she would like something sweet and a visit,” Annabelle suggested.

“Oh, Mom. Let’s do it! Let’s make some more right now and take them to her.”

Annabelle gave her daughter a tender hug. “I know Aunt Ola would be proud that we are continuing her tradition.”

After the new batch was ready, Annabelle and Hannah walked up the rain washed street to the white frame house with the peeling blue trim. It had stopped raining, but everything was still wet, and it made the honeysuckle vine crawling its way up the side of Mrs. Kincaid’s house smell all that much sweeter. Hannah held the plate of cookies and they stepped up onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Kincaid came to the door looking surprised. “Oh, Hello.”

Annabelle smiled. “Hi, I’m Annabelle and this is my daughter Hannah. We live just up the street from you in the house on the corner.”

Mrs. Kincaid nodded. “Please, come in.” She opened the door and they went inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“We brought you some oatmeal cookies. Some really good ones!” Hannah explained with a gigantic grin.

“Well, isn’t that nice.” The smile on Mrs. Kincaid’s face started small and then grew until it lit up her whole face.

They talked and laughed for a while until Annabelle noticed the afternoon turning to twilight. “This has been so nice but we better get going,” she said and they all stood.

“I hope you can come again.” Mrs. Kincaid looked down at Hannah. “I can’t tell you how much this has meant to me. It was just the thing I needed to cheer me up today.”

Hannah and her mother exchanged knowing smiles. They stepped out onto the porch and prepared to leave, but Mrs. Kincaid stopped them.

“Just a minute,” she said going back in the house. Less than a minute later, she reappeared with two cookies wrapped in napkins. She handed one to each of them. “For the walk back home.” She winked at Hannah.

They waved goodbye and started home. The sun was setting behind the last of the clouds, and the streetlamps began to come on one by one as they walked. Hannah bit into the cookie Mrs. Kincaid had given her and she looked up at her mother, eyes dancing with glee.

“Aunt Ola was right, Mom! They do taste better when they’re given away!”