The Mystery of Mississippi Mud

“It’s not here!” Eileen whined with defeat, the tone of a child not ready for bedtime. Eileen was fifty-two, the youngest of the three Wormwood sisters. She’d been flipping through her mother’s church cookbooks for at least an hour.

“It has to be. I’m sure we just overlooked it,” her sister, Helen, said.

“I think Eileen is right. It’s not here. We’ve looked everywhere,” their oldest sister, Mattie, said. She let out a heavy sigh and sat down at the kitchen table to think about where they should look next.

It was Christmas Eve, the first holiday they’d shared in their mother’s house without her. They’d occupied the days before by decorating the house and playing games. Eileen loved Trivia Pursuit; Helen preferred Monopoly. Mattie didn’t care much for games though she did like to watch “Wheel of Fortune” every night and play Solitaire on her tablet.

As children, Mattie had been the kid who was content with having a tea party with just her and her dolls or playing on the swing set behind the house by herself. As an adult, after Ralph died and the kids moved away, she discovered she didn’t like being alone as much.

Helen played the piano while her sisters sang Christmas carols. They’d decorated all of their mom’s Christmas trees; she’d kept one in every room. They even put up the tiny tree on the plant stand in the bathroom, the one she decorated with little fish and duck-shaped soaps. Each soap was wrapped in pink and turquoise tulle, the kind used for wedding or baby shower party favors and filled with those candied almonds no one ever ate.

They planned to wake up early and start baking on Christmas Eve that had sent them into a frenzy searching for one of their mom’s recipes. They’d wanted to make all of their holiday favorites: cornflake candy, old-fashioned divinity, lemon icebox pie, and Mattie’s gingerbread trifle. Then, Eileen suddenly remembered a pie that their mother had made when they were kids. It wasn’t a Christmas recipe, but the memory of it had surfaced nonetheless.

“Do you remember that Mississippi Mud Pie she made when we were kids?” Eileen asked her sisters as she whipped eggs for the lemon pie.

“It wasn’t a pie. It was a cake,” Mattie said.

“But it had a graham cracker crust,” Eileen said.

“So did her cheesecake. Mattie is right. It was more of a cake,” Helen added.

Their mother’s Mississippi Mud Cake was a decadent chocolate cake with nuts folded into the batter. It was topped with miniature marshmallows, which melted and formed gooey mounds on top.

“We should look for the recipe,” Eileen said.

“Let’s get your pie into the oven first,” Mattie said.

As Eileen and Mattie finished making the pie, Helen decided to look in the most obvious place: their mom’s recipe box. It was a wooden lacquered box their father had made for her as a birthday gift before any of the three daughters were born. He’d carved an image of a pie on the top with curly lines representing steam rising from it. The lines wrapped around the words: Ruth’s Recipes.

“There’s no recipe for a Mississippi Mud Cake in her recipe box,” Helen said.

“What did you look under?” Eileen asked.

“C for Cakes,” Helen said, rolling her eyes.

“Check under pies,” Eileen said.

“I told you it wasn’t a pie,” Mattie snipped.

“Check anyway,” Eileen demanded.

“Okay. It’s not under pies either,” Helen said a few minutes later.

Helen had also checked under “Sweets” and “Other” to be sure. The only recipe in the “Other” section was for silly putty made with cornstarch. She debated starting checking the whole box to see if the recipe was out of place, but she knew better. Their mom had been meticulous about keeping her recipe box in order.

When the pie was in the oven, Eileen decided to look through the annual Baptist church cookbooks their mother had helped organize. There were over two dozen cookbooks on the bookshelf in the dining room. Helen sat down beside her to help. There were numerous casserole dishes. Ruth had even submitted a recipe for how to can pickle relish. The only dessert she’d ever submitted was for Molasses Popcorn Balls.

“Oh, I don’t think your mother ever shared her pie and cake recipes,” Aunt Mable said. While Eileen and Helen searched through the cookbooks, Mattie had called their Aunt Mable, who lived just a few houses up the road.

“We just put her lemon icebox pie in the oven,” Mattie said.

“No, dear, your mother never made lemon icebox. She made pecan pies. Don’t you remember?”

“Well, whose pie recipe is this?”

“It’s mine, dear. I always made the lemon icebox. It was your Uncle Wesley’s favorite.”

“Do you know where we might find that Mississippi Mud Cake recipe?”

“Maybe in her recipe box? That would be the first place I would look.”

“It’s not there. Helen already checked.”

“Have you checked the church cookbooks?”

“Eileen and Helen are doing that now. Any other places you can think of where we should look?”

“Not right now, but if I think of something, I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks, Aunt Mable”

After checking through every church cookbook, the three sisters decided to make a list of ingredients based on their memories of the cake. If they couldn’t find their mom’s beloved recipe, maybe they could recreate it. As Helen wrote down the ingredients, Mattie searched the pantry for each item.

Eileen whipped together a basic dry cake batter using flour, baking powder, sugar, vanilla, and salt. She sifted in some cocoa, and then she added eggs and melted butter. She watched her cake mix slowly turn from white to brown and from dry to wet. She tapped her finger on the surface and gave it a taste to make sure it had enough sugar. It was perfect.

“What kind of nuts do you think she used?” Helen asked.

“Pecans?”

“Mom loved walnuts when it came to baking,” Mattie said.

“Walnuts are denser, and they’ll sink in the batter,” Eileen said.

“Not if you chop them into smaller pieces.”

There were no walnuts in the pantry, but they found pecans in the freezer, so they would have to use those. There was a pecan tree behind Aunt Mable’s house, so pecans had always been plentiful in the family household. Eileen was pretty sure her mom used pecans in most of her recipes for that very reason, but she wasn’t going to challenge her sister.

Mattie chopped the nuts, and Eileen folded them into her batter. Helen greased a cake pan with some butter. Once Eileen poured the batter into the pan and put it in the oven, they set a timer for twenty minutes.

“We’ll need marshmallows,” Eileen said. “And I think there was some a frosting on top of the cake.”

“Coming right up!” Helen said, going into the pantry.

“Are you sure about the frosting?” Mattie asked Eileen. “I think the marshmallows just melted into the top of the cake. They were the frosting.”

“Maybe. When should we add those?”

“Right before you take the cake out of the oven.”

Eileen checked the timer. With three minutes left, she opened the oven door and slid a toothpick into the top of the cake. The toothpick came out clean. The cake was done and had risen beautifully. Using oven mitts, she slid the rack out and then stood back. Helen was standing by and ready with the marshmallows. She sprinkled a generous amount across the cake. When she was done, Helen smiled and nodded at her sister. Eileen slid the rack back into the oven.

When the timer dinged two minutes later, Eileen took the cake out and sat it on top of the oven. The marshmallows had melted and congealed, but they still provided a nice lumpy layer across the top. Eileen was pleased with it. Her sisters approached to inspect how it looked.

“I don’t remember there being that much marshmallow on top,” Helen said. “Do you think I added too many?”

“No, I think Eileen was right about the frosting,” Mattie said, smiling at her sister.

“I told you!” Eileen said, playfully smacking her sister on the shoulder with one of the oven mitts.

They sat at the kitchen table and chatted while waiting for the cake to cool. Just as Mattie was retrieving some plates from the cabinet to serve the cake, there was a knock at the front door.

“Aunt Mable! What are you doing here?” Helen said, opening the door.

“I came to see if you had any luck finding your mom’s cake recipe,” Aunt Mable said, tapping the snow from her boots before stepping inside. “Oh, look! You put out all of your mom’s decorations. The house looks lovely! Mmm! I smell chocolate cake! You must have found the recipe.”

“I’m afraid not, so we attempted to make our own.”

“Aunt Mable, you’re just in time. I’ll cut you a slice,” Mattie said as Helen and their aunt entered the kitchen.

“Yes, please do!”

The four women sat down at the table, each with a slice of chocolate cake in front of them. They fell silent as each took a bite. Aunt Mable looked around the table and smiled at each of her nieces.

“Oh! My goodness! Your mother would be so proud of you,” Aunt Mable said, smiling.

“It’s good, but it is missing something,” Mattie said.

“Frosting,” Eileen said with a wink.

“Oh, hush about the frosting already,” Helen said, grinning to let Eileen know she was only joking.

“Your sister is right. There was a chocolate frosting on top,” Aunt Mable said. “It was evaporated milk, powdered sugar, butter, and cocoa. Maybe a touch of vanilla.”

“How do you know that?” Eileen said.

“Because I’m a good cook, just like your mom was!”

“Something else is missing. Mom’s cake tasted richer. I bet she used buttermilk,” Mattie said.

“I think I know what it might be,” Aunt Mable said, looking down at her plate.

The three women looked at their aunt and waited. Enjoying the cake, Aunt Mable raised her fork to her mouth to take another bite. As she chewed, she looked up and noticed them staring at her.

“What’s wrong?” Aunt Mable asked.

“You said you think you know what’s missing,” Mattie said, urging her along.

“Oh yes! She added chili powder,” Aunt Mable said after chewing and swallowing her cake.

“What?” Mattie and Eileen said in unison.

“What made you think of that?” Helen asked.

“Your mother kept scrapbooks of her county fair entries. You know she was always entering canned goods, quilts, and recipes. After you called, I got to thinking about that. If she won a ribbon for something, the recipe probably wouldn’t be in her scrapbook. She was very secretive about her prize-winning recipes.”

“We haven’t found the recipe here, so what makes you think she added chili powder?” Eileen asked.

“I’ll show you,” Aunt Mable said, reaching down to retrieve a giant bag she’d brought in with her and sat down next to her chair.

She pulled out a thick scrapbook from the bag and sat it on the table next to her plate. She opened it and started thumbing through it, gently flipping the oversized pages. The three girls stood up and gathered next to their aunt to look at the book with her.

“Where did you get this?”

“Oh, your mom and I loved scrapbooking together. She gave me her leftover craft supplies and some of her scrapbooks right after her cancer diagnosis,” Aunt Mable said.

Giant blue and red ribbons were pinned to various pages representing their mom’s first and second place wins. The rosettes had been flattened from the weight of the book and resembled pressed flowers. Opposite each ribbon were newspaper clippings announcing the winners. There were black and white photos of their mother proudly holding up a strawberry pie or a jar of peaches. In one photo, her arms were stretched wide to display a quilt she had made. In another, she proudly wore a dress she had sewn. As the years passed with each page, the photos came to life with color.

“Look here,” Aunt Mable said, having landed on a page where there was a photo of their mother posing with a three-layer strawberry shortcake.

Ruth proudly held up her cake in one hand and a red ribbon in the other. She had taken second place that year. A woman stood next to her holding a blue ribbon and what looked like a chocolate cake.

“First place in the desserts category went to Edith Armstrong for her Mississippi Mud Cake,” Mattie read from the newspaper clipping that was posted next to the photo.

“What?” Helen yelled.

“You mean it wasn’t Mom’s recipe?” Eileen said.

“I don’t think so,” Aunt Mable said. “Look at this.”

She lifted the photo of Edith and Ruth which was not glued completely down. From underneath the picture, she pulled out a small index card with scalloped edges. Typed across the top were the words: “Edith’s Mississippi Mud Cake.”

The ingredients listed were almost identical to what the sisters had come up with on their own. Pecans had even been used in the batter. Not walnuts. The one thing listed that they had not used in the cake was a half teaspoon of chili powder.

“I told you there was frosting,” Eileen cheered, looking over the list of ingredients that Aunt Mable had recited.

“I can’t believe Mom was a thief,” Helen said.

“Oh, she wasn’t a thief. She was smart. Edith won first place with that cake, and your mom knew it was a good recipe. Edith probably gave it to her,” Aunt Mable said.

“I like to think Mom swiped it while Edith wasn’t looking,” Mattie said, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, you may not have figured out your mom’s recipe, but you girls did great. That’s what makes a good recipe so special. You make it your own,” Aunt Mable said.

“Or you steal someone else’s,” Mattie said with a hint of sarcasm.

The women all laughed.

“And now you know what you were missing,” Aunt Mable said.

The three sisters looked at each other, and all three of them smiled and spoke in unison:

“Frosting!”