The Lioness of Moon Valley Manor

The food services director held out two straws and said, "Pick one."

I didn't understand the fuss; we were here to feed senior residents, not lions. I'm talking about the retirees residing in Moon Valley Manor nursing home where I worked. You'd think we were in the small town of The Lottery and someone was about to be sacrificed.

Of course, I drew the short straw and soon learned why lions might not be a bad comparison. I delivered the evening meal to room 109 and my life changed forever.

***

"Good afternoon Ms. Touchberry," I said.

"I prefer to be called Esther," she said.

"Hi Esther, I'm Keri. I brought your evening meal for you."

"Meal? The garbage served here can't be categorized as food. Let's take a look," she said.

I set the covered plate on the rollover tray over her bed.

Esther, confined to her bed, appeared harmless. Her aged hands quivered when she removed the cover to reveal the broiled chicken breast, yellow squash, white rice, and yellow cake. She picked up the cake, took a bite, and spat the glob on the floor.

Call a hazmat team.

"Did you bake this?" she said.

"No, ma'am."

"This is processed trash, not cake," she said.

Esther tossed the remaining cake toward the trash can and missed. The dessert scattered across the floor and yellow icing splattered the white wall.

I froze for a second and wanted to escape the lion's den. Instead, I did my job and cleaned up cake debris and wiped the icing from the wall.

"Are you married or have a boyfriend?" Esther said.

This woman is nuts.

"No," I said.

"I didn't think so, not if you think this fake cake is edible," She said.

"A man is the last thing on my list," I said.

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I can teach you to bake if you want to learn," she said.

"How could you teach me?" I said.

You can't even wipe your own tush.

"If you want to learn, then come back when your shift is over and bring a notepad," she said, “and take this tray of unprocessed vomit out of here before I puke."

***

Curiosity had gotten the best of me throughout the evening, and I found myself in Room 109 after my shift. I didn't have anywhere else to go, anyway. I worked my schedule and went home to my boarding room every night. When I turned eighteen, I aged out of the child services program and lost my support base. My few friends from school had all scattered in different directions.

"I'm surprised you came back," Esther said.

I am too.

"I will talk. You take notes."

I listened and wrote down her instructions on how to bake her Lemon-Olive Oil cake recipe.

"My husband Ulysses became ill with cancer, and his ability to eat became a challenge. In the last few weeks, before he died, the only food he would eat was my Lemon-Olive Oil cake. He said the cake reminded him of me, 'sweet and sour with a bite.' Wouldn't you agree?" she said and laughed.

Drop the word "sweet" and you're close.

***

The next day I returned to her room and presented the cake to her. I'm not sure what the cake was supposed to look like, but the expression on her face told me I had missed the mark.

"This reminds me of a horror movie, The Blob," she said.

Esther placed a pinch in her mouth and spat the sample to the floor. She threw the cake toward the trash can and missed.

She's definitely not NBA material.

"Did you use olive oil?" she asked.

My eyes watered in anger and held emotions as I cleaned up the mess.

"No, I didn't have any. I used vegetable oil."

"Can't you read? I instructed you to use Olive oil," she said.

"Why are you such a high and mighty bitch? I've never baked anything before and shouldn't have tried," I said.

I walked to the door to leave.

This bitch can kiss my butt. I'm done.

"Your mom never taught you anything?" Esther said.

I stopped and said, "I've don't have a mom. I was on my own most of the time when I grew up, not that you'd care."

My words stung her. She closed her eyes and I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

"I'm sorry, this isn't how I am, Keri. You don't deserve to be treated this way," she said. "Come sit down and let's start over."

You're right. I don't.

I sat by the window.

"I haven't seen my boys since the oldest moved to New York City and the other to Paris. They call when they want something. I get lonely, then mad, and I take it out on others; I'm sorry," she said.

That really sucks. Why am I still sitting here?

"I accept your apology," I said.

***

Over the next week, I learned about oven temperatures, ingredients, and the proper order to blend them. I presented my fourth lemon cake to Esther and was prepared to clean up the floor again. She eyed the cake up and down, side to side, and then sniffed the crust.

"Now this a Lemon-Olive Oil cake like I'd bake. Let's have a taste," she said.

Esther pinched a corner off the cake and rolled it in her mouth like a Sommelier rating a fine wine, and smiled.

"Keri, this is excellent. I am so proud of you. Uly would have loved this," she said.

The tension in my mind released, and my eyes teared up from the words I'd never imagined anyone would speak to me.

Why do I try so hard to please this old lioness?

"Enough of the tears. We don't have time for that; it's time to move on to the Poundcake. You have a contest to win," Esther said.

I wiped the tears from my face.

"What contest?" I said.

Esther pointed her arthritic finger to the nightstand. I retrieved a flyer and read:

Rich's Flour Company's Fifty-first Annual Blue Ribbon Baking Contest

First prize -- $5000 with a match to a charity of your choice.

"This contest is in three days," I said.

"Yes, it is, and you've got work to do because you are going to win it," she said. "So, listen to me and start taking notes."

I don't know the type of insanity she suffers, but it must be contagious.

***

Esther threw the first Poundcake I baked across the room and scored a hit with the trash can. The second, she told me to give it to the man next door.

"Always share your cakes unless made for hire, Keri. Let them eat cake and make the world a better place."

Yea, she's not blowing her money on all these ingredients.

I learned she had won the Rich's Flour Company contest ten times over the years and was well-known in the baking community.

"To what charity did you donate your prize?" I said.

"I paid my son's college tuition with the prize and donated the charity match to "Pleasant Hill Orphanage," she said.

I'm starting to like this woman.

The Pleasant Hill Orphanage had been my home for seventeen years. I was shocked to know that Esther and I had been connected all these years through her contributions.

***

The day of the contest arrived and Esther inspected the Poundcake with the eye of a fine jeweler.

"This cake is perfect, Keri. Let's go win the contest," she said. "Today, you are going to roar."

Please, tell me she can't read my mind.

I tried to dissuade Esther from attending the event, but she wouldn't listen.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, even if it kills me," she said.

Yep, you're stubborn enough to test fate.

***

The Manor's van transported us to the State Fairgrounds Exhibition Center. The hall had over five hundred tables set up, each with a cake on display. I had never seen so many cakes in my life. There were strawberry, coconut, chocolate, and layer cakes in every shape, size, and color you could imagine.

Many were decadent with decorations and appeared more like art than entries in a baking contest. Nervous contestants stood guard over their entries like they were gold as the judges inspected and sampled each one. I didn't believe I stood a chance of winning.

Look at her, she sits there in her wheelchair, like a ray of sunshine, and I'm freaking out inside. I don't belong here.

They named nine finalists and my number hadn't been called. I had started boxing my cake when they announced the tenth.

"Contestant, four hundred and one, please bring your cake to the podium."

"That’s my number," I said. "Is this a mistake?"

Esther smiled and clapped her hands.

"There's no mistake. Now get up there before the judge's change their minds," she said.

After the final round of judging, the emcee announced the winner.

"And the winner, with a cake that represents Rich's mission of excellent ingredients and perfected skills... is.... Contestant 401, Keri Grafton."

I won or better said, we won. I alternated between laughing and crying as I accepted the prize. They wanted a speech.

Oh crap.

"I'm new to the world of baking and I want to thank Esther Touchberry for being my teacher, mentor, and friend. She is like a grandmother to me."

The audience recognized her name and dozens lined up to speak with her after the awards ceremony.

Esther and I are champions.

Esther beamed at the blue ribbon in my hand, and I hugged her. She put her hand to my cheek.

"I am so proud of you, Keri. What charity did you name?" she said.

"Pleasant Hill Orphanage, where I grew up," I said.

I had finally got one over on her, and in a pleasant surprise, she kissed my cheek.

"You’re like the daughter I wanted, but never had," she said.

Esther made a request of me before I left her room that night.

"Tonight, I want you to bake me one more cake," she said. "This will be your final exam," she said.

I sat down and took notes.

The recipe was for a chocolate War Cake.

"Sixty-five years ago, I entered my War Cake in a USO baking contest. Soldiers who had returned from the war would bid on them. The winners won the cake and a date with the girl who baked it. Two weeks later, Uly and I were married," she said.

***

I baked late into the night and brought the cake to Esther's room early the following morning for her appraisal. When I stepped into the room, her bed was empty.

I panicked and ran to the attendant's station. The nurse shook her head and told me Esther had passed during the night. I dropped the cake box on the counter, went to her room, and cried.

You can't abandon me like this.

Esther had given the nurse a note, the night before, during final rounds. She brought it to me. I unfolded the paper and read the scrawled words of her arthritic hand through my tear-blurred eyes.

Let them eat cake and make the world a better place. Love always, Esther.

I understood then, retrieved the cake, and served a slice of chocolate cake to everyone in the hall. She had planned it this way.

"May I have a slice?" a handsome young man asked. "I'm sorry for your loss, my grandfather is in the room next door to your grandmother, and he says you make the best cakes."

Our eyes met, and to the young man's puzzlement, I laughed.

"Don't they say, let them eat cake?" he said.

I served him and watched the young man, my future husband, eat his cake.

Oh, Esther, you are such a wicked lioness.