Free Lemon Pies and Little White Lies by Ellery Adams Page B

measure of comfort to Mrs. Mercer’s son.”
    “I’m sure it would. I’ll let him know,” Hardy promised. “He asked me to spread the word that his mother’s memorial service will take place Wednesday morning. He doesn’t really know who her friends were, and I’m afraid I’m not much help . . .”
    Ella Mae waved her hands as if to dispel his worry. “Between my aunts and Reba, we’ll pack the church.” She paused. “I wonder if he’s planning to serve food. If so, I could lend a hand.”
    “Apparently, some of his mother’s cousins—people he’s never met—are driving down from Pennsylvania and made it clear that they expected to be served funeral pie. Mr. Mercer has no idea what they’re talking about, but I suspected you might.”
    “I do indeed, though it’s definitely not a popular pie among my customers. You really have to like raisins to enjoy that pie. And I mean really .”
    When Hardy’s mouth twisted in a grimace, Ella Mae had to laugh. “Are you the victim of a childhood raisin trauma?”
    “I never cared for them. Despite that, my mama put them in everything. Cookies, bread, oatmeal, cakes, chicken, casseroles. Even in the meatloaf.”
    “Meatloaf?” Ella Mae shuddered for Hardy’s benefit. “Well, if Mr. Mercer’s relatives want a funeral pie, I’ll make them one. Please tell him that I’ll take care of the refreshments. No charge. With relatives like that coming to pay their respects, he’ll need as much kindness as we can offer. I’ll also add a few shoofly pies to the menu to mollify his mother’s cousins. It’s Hugh’s favorite, so I’ve made it. . . .” she trailed off.
    Hardy, who was adept at reading people, gave Ella Mae’s hand a paternal pat. “He won’t stay away forever. He can search the far corners of the world and not find anything better than what he has here.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and stood up. “I’ll tell Mr. Mercer about your generous offer. Thank you, Ms. LeFaye.”
    After saying good-bye to Hardy, Ella Mae went into the kitchen to dig through her recipe box. She hadn’t made a funeral pie in a very long time and wanted to make sure she had an authentic Amish or Pennsylvania Dutch recipe. Uncertain as to the origin of her recipe, she ended up searching the Internet for the history of funeral pie.
    “The idea was to use shelf-stable ingredients,” she toldChewy, who appeared to be listening raptly. He sat on his haunches, his ears perked and his head cocked to one side, and gazed up at her. “Things that don’t spoil,” she continued. “Like raisins, sugar, allspice, cider vinegar, and flour.” She clicked a link and was taken to another site. “According to this woman who posted her family’s Depression-era recipe, the funeral pie was supposed to be so cloyingly sweet that the grieving family would forget their sorrow while having a slice. Do you think that would work?”
    Chewy wagged his tail in reply.
    “Shoofly pie is really sweet too. I’d better make some savory tarts to offset the heaviness of all those raisins and molasses. And we need something really special for Finn Mercer. Anything with melted cheese is comforting, right?”
    Chewy barked in agreement.
    “Yes, a triple cheese pie with a biscuit crust. I’ll imbue it with the same warm and cozy memories I used for Mrs. Drever’s pie.”
    Ella Mae jotted down a shopping list and ushered Chewy into her pink truck. After a visit to the grocery store and the farmer’s market, she stopped at the hardware store for plastic sheeting and a staple gun. She returned to the pie shop, covered the broken window with plastic, and then spent the rest of the day making balls of dough.
    On Monday, while waiting for the glass repairman to arrive, she e-mailed invitations to Elders across the country. Ella Mae didn’t want to limit the attendees to her kind, so she sent a press release to cooking and baking magazines, pastry shops, culinary arts schools, and