The Kitchen Witch
In the turbulent decade of the Sixties, even the small New England town of White Haven saw a change in social mores. There, like everywhere else across America, the youth culture was growing and rebellion was in the air, seemingly carried on the airwaves of rock 'n' roll music. Students protested against the war in Vietnam and called for integration and civil rights. Young people were not the only ones to freely express their views and seek to flex their political muscles. Women sought to be liberated from the shackles of domesticity. They wanted careers outside the home, equal pay and equal opportunities. It seemed as though everyone in White Haven wanted to do more, to say more and, most importantly, to be more.
Everyone, that is, except Martha Seacrest.
The Sixties saw more young women going off to college than ever before. Those that did not pursue an advanced education went into the workforce. Unlike her peers, Martha was content to stay at home. Married only three weeks after high school graduation, she had never been employed, either on a full- or part-time basis. Whereas other women griped about cleaning, cooking and other household chores, she took pride in keeping a clean, well-ordered house.
It was while she was in the kitchen baking Toll House cookies to put in an overseas care package to her husband that the doorbell rang. It could have been anyone from a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman to one of the neighborhood children come to ask about a lost pet, yet Martha's muscles tensed in fear. Instinctively, she knew who was on her doorstep. She momentarily closed her eyes, took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. It was no surprise then when she opened the door and saw a representative of the United States Army accompanied by a grim-faced chaplain.
"May we come in, Mrs. Seacrest?" the officer asked.
As Martha stood aside to let the two men enter the house, she was already mentally adjusting to her new social position. She was no longer a young wife; she was a widow. The official word was given to her right there in the kitchens with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies wafting through the oven vent. The chaplain tried to offer comfort, frequently quoting from the Bible. The young woman's attention, however, was on the small cloth doll—a long-nosed witch on a broomstick—that was suspended above her sink: a Scandinavian kitchen witch that was meant to bring good luck.
I'll need all the luck I can get now.
The Grim Reaper having done his duty and moved on, the twenty-one-year-old widow was eventually left with the unenviable task of picking up the pieces of her shattered life. There were bills that had to be paid and insufficient funds to pay them with.
I suppose I'll have to get a job now, she thought, with none of the eagerness of the so-called "women's libbers."
Three days later she put on the same black dress she had worn to her husband's funeral and walked into White Haven's only employment agency.
"Education?" the middle-aged man behind the desk asked as he filled in the necessary paperwork with a fountain pen.
"I graduated high school."
"Any college at all?"
"No."
"Work experience?"
"None."
The man's frown deepened as he continued to check off boxes on the form.
"Any useful talents or skills?"
"I'm pretty good in the kitchen."
Thus, Martha Seacrest was hired as an assistant to Spiro Pappas, the owner of a restaurant who wanted to branch out into catering.
Her modest admission to being "good in the kitchen" proved to be a colossal understatement. Despite having no formal training, she proved to be an excellent cook and an even better baker. Within two years of hiring the young widow, the restaurateur had her running his entire catering operation. Over the next twenty years, Martha went from preparing canapés for cocktail parties and entrées for formal dinners to specializing in cakes and pastries. When Spiro Pappas passed away in the early Eighties, his former assistant—who later became his partner—got out of the catering business altogether and opened her own bakery.
The sign above the door of the shop was a nod to the good luck charm which she still owned: The Kitchen Witch. Offering delicious pastries and uniquely decorated cakes, the business flourished and expanded. As the number of bakeries grew, she developed what we refer to today as a brand. Her logo was a kitchen witch on a broom, and her slogan referred to the "bewitchingly good taste" of her baked goods.
Middle age did not slow Martha down. On the contrary, as she approached her fiftieth year, she was still gathering momentum. When a cable television network dedicated to food and cooking was started, producers offered the renowned baker her own show. It was called, quite naturally, The Kitchen Witch. Thanks to the fledgling network, before "Ace of Cakes" Duff Goldman and "Cake Boss" Buddy Valastro became household names, Martha Seacrest was the most famous baker in America. She was to baking and decorating cakes what Julia Childs was to French cuisine and Ronald McDonald was to the hamburger.
With each new season, The Kitchen Witch added more viewers. Because it was the most popular show on the Wine and Dine channel, producers and sponsors were willing to regularly increase the budget and produce more elaborate episodes. Martha toured the country, making cakes for celebrity weddings, Hollywood premiers, major charitable events, awards shows and holiday celebrations. Her show featured episodes filmed at, among other locations, the White House, Graceland, The Breakers, Radio City Music Hall and Walt Disney World. Her cakes appeared at the Oscars, the Super Bowl, the Times Square New Year's Eve celebration and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
To celebrate the tenth season of the show, The Kitchen Witch went international. Martha's fabulous cakes appeared at Windsor Castle, Versailles, the Acropolis, the Roman Colosseum and the Catherine Palace. In subsequent seasons, America's premier baker continued to travel the globe: Barcelona, Vienna, Zurich, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Brussels, Singapore, Hong Kong and Dubai.
Her cookbooks were published in twenty-seven different languages, and her line of home baking goods did a multimillion dollar a year business. Additionally, with the growing popularity of social media, The Kitchen Witch acquired a huge following on Facebook and Twitter. Like the fabled King Midas, everything Martha Seacrest touched seemed to turn to gold.
"So, what do we do this season?" Clayton Hallenbeck, the show's producer, asked after he received word that the show was picked up for another year—not that he ever had any doubt about its renewal. "It has to be something big since this is your twenty-fifth anniversary with the network."
Martha, who was finally showing her age and, worse, feeling it, did not look forward to trotting around the globe while keeping up with a grueling filming schedule.
"I suppose it's always good to go out with a bang," she said.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean I'm going to retire after this season."
The statement took Clayton by complete surprise. For twenty-five years, The Kitchen Witch was a network staple, consistently its highest rated show.
"In God's name, why?"
"I'm getting old. My body is telling me it's time to quit."
"You don't need to do that. We can cut back, make fewer episodes, film in a studio rather than on location."
"No. I'm done, and the matter is not open to discussion. Now, I have some definite ideas about the final season."
Clayton listened to Martha's suggestions about a year of holiday celebrations, but he had little enthusiasm for the concept. With the show going off the air, he had no desire to celebrate anything.
"Each month we'll feature a spectacular holiday party, for which I'll create an over-the-top cake."
"But it's a weekly show," the producer pointed out.
"The actual celebration episodes will be shot live, but we can film the remaining shows ahead of time. They will center on all the preparations that go into the parties. And it won't be just cakes. I'll make other goodies, too. I also want celebrity chefs and bakers as guest stars showcasing their talents. Can you imagine Martha Stewart and me on the same show? We'll begin with New Year's Day. I can make life-size cakes in the shape of Father Time and Baby New Year. Maybe Duff or Buddy can make a giant working clock or a scaled down version of Times Square. The following month we'll do the same, creating an all-out celebration for Valentine's Day. St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, the Fourth of July: we'll do them all. After the Fourth, we can take a hiatus for the remainder of the summer and the month of September and come back for what I promise will be the three best episodes of the show's history: Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, which will be the final episode."
Despondent though he was, Clayton had to admit Martha's idea had potential. Their viewers loved holidays, and holiday-themed shows always received high ratings.
"I think for the Christmas episode, you can create a giant decorated tree out of cake," he suggested.
Martha shook her head.
"No tree. I know exactly what I want to do: a gingerbread house."
The producer was disappointed. The network had already aired dozens of shows covering gingerbread competitions.
"What's so spectacular about a gingerbread house?" he asked.
"This isn't going to be any ordinary structure," the baker replied, her eyes widening with wonder as she envisioned her creation. "I'm going to make a magic castle, the largest gingerbread house in history. In fact, I want the Guinness people on set, ready to make the record official."
"Just how big do you plan on making it?"
"Remember Graceland?" Martha asked with an amused smile. "Picture a gingerbread castle about the same size."
The color drained from the producer's face. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"That's impossible!"
"I may be exaggerating just a bit, but it will be immense in size. I'm going to have a crew of bakers busy during the hiatus making sheets of construction grade gingerbread. Then I'll construct the castle on location. We can film short clips during the building and decorating phases and serve them up to our audience as updates."
"Good idea. We can build up the suspense that way. Maybe even put a few teasers on the website."
"The big reveal will be on the final episode."
"We'll pull out all the stops!" Clayton exclaimed, his excitement seeming to grow exponentially. "We'll have as many celebrity guests as we can get."
"And children."
"Children?"
"It's Christmas. I suggest the sponsors hold a nationwide contest. Children under the age of ten can enter to win an all-expense paid trip to the location where the castle will be on display. I will personally take the twelve lucky winners on a guided tour of the castle before anyone else is allowed inside."
"A contest. Kids. Perfect! I gotta hand it to you, Martha! You certainly have a knack for PR."
* * *
The final season of The Kitchen Witch was a watershed year for television and specifically for the Wine and Dine Network. Major companies vied for the highly coveted advertising spots, much like they do to run high-budget commercials during the Super Bowl. Celebrities—actors, singers, sports stars, politicians and bestselling authors as well as the world's best-known chefs and bakers—clamored for a guest appearance on one of the holiday-themed shows.
There were no foreign locations this season; all episodes were filmed in famous homes or hotels in America. No expense was spared. For the New Year's Eve episode, set designers turned San Simeon, the Hearst Castle, into a star-studded party palace. Boldt Castle on Heart Island, built as a symbol of love, provided a romantic backdrop for the Valentine's Day celebration. Newport's Marble House was decked in green for St. Patrick's Day. The Biltmore Estate in North Carolina hosted an Easter egg hunt that surpassed any ever held at the White House. The Mother's Day high tea was filmed at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, and the Father's Day barbecue was set in Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater. George Washington's Mount Vernon was the fitting location for the Fourth of July all-star picnic.
Meanwhile, bakers were busy turning out thousands of sheets of sturdy gingerbread and hundreds of pounds of royal icing for construction of the magic castle. Plans were also being made for cake decorators from around the world to showcase their artistic skills on the Christmas episode. Their contributions would include life-size figures of Santa and Mrs. Claus, toy-making elves, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Dickensian carolers and a dozen whimsical snowmen.
By the time The Kitchen Witch took a hiatus from filming, Martha Seacrest was exhausted. When seen without her makeup, she appeared decades older than she did on her show.
"You look tired," Clayton said after filming was wrapped following the July episode. "Why don't you take a nice long rest and have someone else finish the gingerbread castle?"
"It's my project. I want to do it. This is going to be the pièce de résistance of my career."
"Well, at least let me hire you some assistants."
"I'll be fine. Really. I have Randy."
The next day Martha headed to Michigan's Mackinac Island where she would build her magic Christmas castle. Daily shipments of gingerbread and royal icing were shipped to the Grand Hotel. Come December, the famed landmark would be converted into a winter wonderland.
Upon arrival at the hundred-and-thirty-year-old resort, Martha was treated like visiting royalty. Not only was she a celebrity—the Grand Hotel had seen their share of them over the years—but she had also reserved both the most expensive suite and the theatre for the next five months.
No sooner did she check into her rooms than she changed into comfortable clothes and headed toward the theatre to begin work on her magic castle. Randy Kellett, her sole assistant, a strong man who had worked with Martha for the past fifteen years, was there waiting for her. Not only could he be relied upon to do all the heavy lifting and grunt work, he could also be trusted to keep quiet. She did not want anyone to know what was going on behind the locked doors of the theatre.
"I built the frame according to the blueprints you sent me," he needlessly explained since no one could miss the huge wooden skeleton that dominated the room. "It was a tight squeeze. I don't know how you're going to fit a film crew and guest stars in here."
"Let me worry about that. Okay?"
"You're the boss. What can I do to help now?"
"You can start unpacking the tubs of royal icing and sheets of gingerbread. Try to keep the different colors of icing separated, if you can."
While waiting for the first boxes to be opened, Martha placed her kitchen witch doll on her worktable. (The cloth poppet had rarely left her side since she was a young wife baking cookies to mail to her husband overseas.) With her supplies at hand, she attached the first piece of gingerbread to the frame with a large glob of white icing.
"One down," she laughed. "And about a million more to go!"
* * *
After two months of eighteen-hour days, the magic castle was taking shape. Most of the structure was complete. All that remained was the roof, and Randy was busy working on it. Once that was on, Martha could begin decorating.
"That's it," the assistant announced as he climbed down the ladder. "The roof is done."
"And right on schedule," Martha added with a smile. "I never could have done this without you."
"Thanks, but we still have a lot of work ahead of us."
"I know, but for now, I've got to go and turn the House of the Seven Gables into a haunted house."
"Ah, the Halloween episode! Sounds like fun. I wish I could be there."
"Sorry, Randy. I need you here."
"I know. I'll guard the place with my life."
"You'll also be of great value to me in case some of the sheets of gingerbread come down. You're the only person I trust to put them back up."
"What about the guy from the network who's been shooting the updates? Will he be stopping by while you're hobnobbing with witches in Salem?"
"No. He's got enough footage for now. When I come back, I'll let him take a peek at the decorating process. Then he'll be gone for good."
"Where will you go for the Thanksgiving episode?"
"The Ringling Mansion in Sarasota, Florida."
"Ringling as in the circus? Why?"
"Because it's warm."
"But what's it got to do with Thanksgiving? I would have imagined you'd film in Plymouth, Massachusetts."
"I had originally considered Plimoth Plantation, but those reconstructed houses are too small. We would have to hold our feast outside. It's far too cold in New England to have a picnic."
Since she would be returning to the Grand Hotel to decorate the magic castle, she did not bother to check out of her suite. The aggravation and time she would waste packing, temporarily storing and unpacking her belongings would not be worth the money she would save—or rather, the producers and sponsors of the show would save.
"Off to Salem now?" Randy asked when his boss dropped into the hotel theatre before leaving Mackinac Island.
"Yes," she joked. "I've got my broom parked outside. Want me to bring you back anything?"
"A trick-or-treat bag of candy would be nice. Heavy on the chocolate and peanut butter."
"You got it."
"Wait. You forgot your good luck charm," he called, pointing to the kitchen witch doll.
"She's not coming with me this time. I want her here to keep an eye on the gingerbread house."
"I thought that was my job," the assistant laughed.
"You're only human, Randy. I can't expect you to be on guard twenty-four/seven."
* * *
The episode shot at the House of the Seven Gables was a huge hit. Most Americans love Halloween, and what better place to celebrate the holiday than Salem, Massachusetts?
Randy Kellett was startled by Martha's appearance when she returned to Michigan.
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked with concern.
"I'm just tired. Honestly, I've loved every minute of my career, but I can't wait for January to get here."
"What do you plan to do once you retire?"
"Travel."
"Really? But you've been all over the world. What's left for you to see?"
"Correction. The Kitchen Witch has been all over the world. Everywhere I've gone, it's been work, work and more work."
"I see your point. It's been kinda like a busman's holiday."
"Right. Come January, I intend to go where no one knows who I am."
Randy secretly thought that few people would even recognize the superstar baker if they could see her without her skillfully applied makeup.
Martha went up to her suite, took a quick nap and a shower and, after downing a cup of coffee, she joined her assistant in the hotel theatre.
"Has the candy arrived?" she asked, eager to begin work.
"Oh, yeah! Boxes and boxes of it."
"Can you unpack them while I start filling in cracks in the structure with the royal icing?"
"Sure thing."
"By the way, this is for you," Martha said, handing him a bag of chocolate-covered peanut butter candies.
"You remembered! Thanks."
For two weeks, the pastry chef piped white, red and green icing along the seams of her gingerbread castle. She also used a variety of colored icings to affix candy to its walls. There were sugary treats of all kinds, shapes and colors: gumdrops, jelly beans, licorice rolls, candy canes, gummy animals, nonpareils, sugar-coated fruit slices and gum balls.
"This looks like something out of the world of Willy Wonka," Randy said when Martha was about to leave for Florida for the Thanksgiving episode. "All it needs is an army of oompa loompas with everlasting gobstoppers."
"Do we have any of those?" Martha laughed.
"What's left to do?"
"When I get back from Sarasota, I'll add a few final touches here and there. At that point I'll have my celebrity chefs come in and position their cakes and sugar works. Lastly, I'll have coconut flakes and confectioner's sugar sprinkled everywhere to look like snow. Then we'll be done!"
"Have the sponsors chosen the lucky children that will get to enter the castle yet?" Randy asked.
"No. They're going to draw the names when the Thanksgiving episode airs."
"I hate to see the show end, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I can't wait for the Christmas episode."
"Neither can I," his employer said, looking more haggard than ever.
* * *
By December 24, the Grand Hotel was filled to capacity as was every other hotel and motel on Mackinac Island. Once the show's celebration ended, the doors to the theatre would be opened to the public, and people were eager to see for themselves the world's largest gingerbread house. The twelve contest winners arrived with their parents and siblings and were enjoying a private brunch with Santa Claus. The six little boys were dressed in white suits, the six little girls in red velvet dresses. Representatives from television stations, magazines and newspapers were everywhere, all eager to interview and photograph the celebrities in attendance and take photos of the incredible baked goods.
Fifteen minutes before the live show was to begin, Clayton Hallenbeck knocked on the door of Martha's suite.
"Are you ready?" he called.
The door opened. The producer was shocked by his star's appearance. Although she had always taken pains to dye her gray streaks, her hair was completely white. Was she planning on attending the final celebration as Mrs. Claus? If so, the Swarovski crystal-studded, white velvet designer gown she wore would hardly be fitting attire for Santa's wife.
"Let me stop by makeup first. I need a quick touch up," she announced.
Her gait was slow and stiff, and she walked with a slight limp. Clayton did not need to hear the words from her; he knew she was dying. Perhaps she would live to see the ball drop at New Year's, but he seriously doubted she would survive much longer.
As Martha walked toward the theatre, people pointed their cell phones and cameras at her and took pictures. The twelve children and one cameraman were waiting for her at the door.
This is it, she thought, looking at the twelve youngsters who were eager to see the magic castle.
The Kitchen Witch then went live with its final episode.
"Are you ready, boys and girls?" she asked sweetly, with the cameras rolling.
The door was opened, and the children rushed inside. Martha and the cameraman followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Look at all the candy on the house!" one boy exclaimed. "Can we eat it?"
"No, little one, but there's plenty of candy inside for you."
As instructed, the cameraman would film the children's reactions as they went inside the magic gingerbread castle and then, later, when they came out again. Once they emerged from their guided tour, the theatre door would be opened and the celebrities and film crew would enter in small groups. Since the castle took up most of the space in the theatre, the actual party would be held in a different room.
"Let's go," Martha said.
A moment later, the Kitchen Witch crossed the threshold of the gingerbread house with the dozen children at her heels. To avoid dead air on the live broadcast, the director chose to interview the guest stars while Martha was busy giving a private tour to the young contest winners. Meanwhile, the cameraman inside the theatre waited patiently to film their reactions.
He waited. And waited. And waited.
His cell phone rang. It was Clayton Hallenbeck.
"What's taking so long?" the producer asked.
"She hasn't come out yet," the cameraman answered.
Oh, God! Clayton silently prayed. Please don't let her have died inside there.
"What about the kids?"
"They're in the castle with Martha."
"Can you hear them?"
"No. Everything is silent. Funny, I thought they'd be making a lot of noise."
"Unlock the door. I'm coming in."
What was intended to be a magical Christmas wonderland felt downright eerie, given the silence that pervaded the theatre. With a growing sense of dread, Clayton went inside the candy-covered castle. Ten minutes later he came out, his face whiter than the coconut flakes that were strewn on the floor to resemble snow.
"Should I call 911?" the cameraman asked, fearing the worst.
"I ... I don't know who to call," Clayton replied. "There's no one inside. Not Martha. Not any of the children."
"But that impossible!" the cameraman cried. "I saw them go in."
"I know. I watched them enter on the live broadcast as did millions of television viewers worldwide."
"What do we do now?"
"I haven't the slightest idea!"
For months the disappearance of Martha Seacrest and the twelve young contest winners created a media storm. Local and state police assisted the FBI in their investigation, but no leads as to the whereabouts of the missing persons were discovered.
Conspiracy theories abounded, and the tabloids reported bizarre stories of alien abduction, satanic sacrifices and portals into alternate dimensions. Because the alleged crime occurred on Christmas Eve, there were even stories linking the disappearance of the children with the death of six-year-old JonBenét Ramsey whose body was discovered on Christmas morning in 1996.
Eventually, the story ceased to be news and faded into the murky realm of the supernatural, often appearing alongside tales of the missing crew of the Mary Celeste, the lost colony of Roanoke, Amelia Earhart and Malaysia Airlines Flight 370.
* * *
The head of human resources at a small cookie company in Estonia, a Baltic country formerly part of the Soviet Union, looked at the attractive young woman sitting across from his desk. He assumed from her attire that she wanted to apply for a clerical position in the company's business office.
"I presume you're familiar with computers: word processing, spreadsheets and such," he said.
In perfect Estonian, the young woman answered, "No, I'm afraid not."
"What qualifications do you have then?"
"I'm pretty good in the kitchen," she answered with an enigmatic smile.
Thus, the cycle of aging, death and renewal that had come full circle on Christmas Eve began again. What had started during the Middle Ages with the death of two children (a boy and a girl) in a cottage in Germany's Black Forest would continue. When the current cycle came to an end, however, even more youngsters would be needed to work the dark magic that would assist the centuries-old kitchen witch doll in restoring youth and good health to its owner.
I usually don't let Salem near my gingerbread houses because he eats all the chocolate candies off them.
