“I bet those lemons would make a mighty fine pie,” Woody said, staring at the tree in my backyard. It was heavy with ripe yellow fruit. “My grandma used to make the best lemon meringue. I haven’t had a decent one since she died.”
That gave me an idea. My sweetheart was going away for a spell, and the right pie might keep me on his mind while he was gone.
As soon as Woody left I looked up my grandma’s recipe for lemon meringue pie and spent the rest of the day making one.
I wasn’t much of a baker, and in my innocence I didn’t know what I was in for. The crust, the filling…the meringue! I stirred, I whisked, I whipped and I prayed. Help me recognize when the “stiff peaks form.”
When Woody came back over, the pie was waiting for him. I watched closely as he took the first bite. A look of rapture crossed his face. “That’s the best pie I ever tasted,” he said.
“Better than your grandma’s?” I teased.
Woody stopped to think, but only for a second. “Yes,” he said. “I can’t hardly believe I’m saying it, but this lemon meringue pie is even better than my own grandmother’s!”
If you asked me what was the exact day I won Woody’s heart, there’s no doubt in my mind: It was the day an angel put on an apron and helped me bake Woody’s favorite pie.
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