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  Glenna had become perpetually miffed ever since Diana’s new mother and grandmother had taken over the household.

  Corey’s grandparents and Diana had fallen in love with one another during their first visit together. After several months of the girls splitting their time between Long Valley, where Rose and Henry Britton lived, and River Oaks, Robert instructed an architect and a building contractor to renovate and enlarge the estate’s guest cottage. The next step was a greenhouse for Rose and a vegetable garden for Henry.

  Robert was rewarded for his generosity with fresh fruits and vegetables grown on his own property and mouthwatering meals served in an endless variety of delightful ways and changing locations.

  Robert had never liked to eat in the vast kitchen at the back of his house. It had been designed to accommodate the small army of caterers who were needed on those occasions when a large party was being given. With its white tile walls, oversize stainless-steel appliances, and uninspiring view from its single window, it struck Robert as institutional, sterile, and uninviting.

  Until Mary and her family had come into his life, he had contented himself with the fiery fare that his cook, Conchita, prepared, which he had eaten as quickly as possible in the rigid formality of his dining room. He would never have considered eating under a tree in his pleasant but uninspiring backyard or dining beside the Olympic-size rectangular pool that his builder had unimaginatively stuck near the middle of the yard and surrounded with an ocean of concrete.

  Now, however, Robert was a changed man, living in a greatly altered environment, enjoying savory meals, and he loved it. The kitchen he had once avoided had become his favorite room. Gone was the sterility of white tile walls and blank, gloomy spaces. On one end, Henry had created a solarium by installing skylights in the ceiling and tall windows along the outside wall. In this cozy, bright area were comfortable sofas and chairs for lounging in while dinner preparations were underway. Mary and Rose had hand-stenciled vines and flowers on each piece and covered the thick cushions with fabric of the same pattern. Then they’d filled the area with a profusion of green plants growing in white pots.

  At the opposite end of the refurbished kitchen, the ordinary white tiles had been ornamented with a festive border of hand-painted ones. Mellow old bricks gathered from a torn-down building now covered one wall and formed a wide arch over the stoves, above which hung copper pots and pans in every size and shape.

  His wife and her family had transformed his surroundings, bringing breathtaking natural beauty to the grounds and inviting charm to interior spaces. Whether their current project was unique place mats, elaborate picture frames, graceful, hand-painted furniture, gilded vegetable centerpieces, or elegant foil gift-wrap, it was created with a wealth of love.

  A year after her marriage to Robert, Mary had made her formal debut as his hostess by planning and executing a lavish garden luau for the sophisticated, somewhat world-weary Houston socialites who were Robert’s peers and friends.

  Instead of calling in professional caterers and florists, Mary and Rose supervised the preparation and presentation of food, which was cooked according to their own recipes, seasoned with herbs from Henry’s garden, and served by flickering torchlight on tables covered with hand-appliquéd linens lavishly strewn with Henry’s showy blossoms.

  In keeping with the luau theme, Mary and her mother gathered hundreds of orchids from their own greenhouse; then Diana and Corey and four of their friends were put to work making elegant leis. Mary and Rose decided that each lady should receive a small lacquered ring box decorated with tiny painted orchids in the same hues as the real ones used for the leis. Clinging to the belief that even jaded Houston millionaires would surely appreciate the merits and uniqueness of her handcrafted table decorations, homegrown edibles, and the changes she’d made to soften and brighten the house’s austere formality, Mary and her mother spent many happy hours in the kitchen planning and creating.

  Two hours before the party, Mary inspected the grounds and the house, and burst into tears in her husband’s arms. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have let me do this!” she moaned. “Everyone will think I’ve ruined your beautiful home with homemade j-junk. Your friends are world travelers accustomed to five-star restaurants, formal balls, and priceless antiques, and I’m putting on a—a fancy backyard barbeque for them.” Tears dripped from her eyes as she clung to him, her wet face pressed to his chest. “They’re going to think you married the Beverly Hillbillies!”

  Robert stroked her back and smiled over her shoulder. He, too, had taken a tour of his house and grounds that day, looking at everything through the eyes of an outsider. What he saw filled him with pride and anticipation. He truly felt that Mary and her parents had brought a whole new meaning to the term “homemade.” They had redefined and elevated it to a creative act that personalized the impersonal and transformed commonplace things into items of remarkable beauty and significance. He was convinced his guests were discerning enough to recognize and value the uniqueness and beauty of Mary’s efforts. He thought they were going to be amazed by her as well as everything she had done. “You’re going to dazzle them, Mary girl,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”

  Robert was right.

  The guests raved about the delicious food, the decorations, the flowers, the gardens, the house, and, most particularly, the unaffected graciousness of the hostess. The same acquaintances who had expressed amused shock months ago when they discovered Robert had plowed up part of his lawn for a vegetable garden tasted the vegetables it had produced and asked to have a look at it. As a result, Henry spent several hours proudly giving moonlight tours of the garden. As he guided them along the neat rows of organically grown vegetables, his enthusiasm was so contagious that before the night was over, several of the men had announced their desire to have vegetable gardens of their own.

  Marge Crumbaker, the society gossip columnist for the Houston Post who covered the party, summarized the reactions of the guests in her next column.

  As she presided over this lovely party and looked after her guests, Mrs. Robert Foster III (the former Mary Britton of Long Valley) displayed a graciousness, a hospitality, and an attention to her guests that will surely make her one of Houston’s leading hostesses. Also present at the festivities were Mrs. Foster’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Britton, who were kind enough to escort many fascinated guests and would-be gardeners and handymen (if we only had the time!) through the new garden, greenhouse, and workshop that Bob Foster has erected on the grounds of his River Oaks mansion. . . .

  Now, a year later, Diana thought of all that as Glenna continued her litany of complaints about the upcoming party. To keep from getting angry, she reminded herself that Glenna didn’t really dislike her stepmother or grandparents; Glenna simply disliked being replaced as head of “domestic affairs.” As far as Diana was concerned, life was wonderful, so filled with people and activities, with love and laughter . . .

  “I’m the last one to point a finger at a person’s upbringing,” Glenna confided, “but if Mrs. Foster had been from a nice high-society family, instead of from some rinky-dink little town, then she’d know how rich people are supposed to do things. Last year, when your daddy told me he was bringing her parents here to live in the guesthouse, I figured things couldn’t get any worse. Next thing I knew, your new grandpa was digging himself a vegetable patch and a compost heap, right in our backyard; then he turned the garage into a—a toolshed and a greenhouse! And before I could catch a breath, your new grandma was diggin’ up the grass for an herb garden and making clay pots with her own hands. It’s a miracle that gossip-column lady—Marge somebody—didn’t call us hicks in her column after she came here for the first party.”

  “Glenna, that’s completely unfair, and you know it,” Diana said, pausing to put down her schoolbooks. “Everybody who meets Mom or Gram or Gramps thinks they’re wonderful and special, and they are! Why, we’re getting famous in Houston for what Mom calls ‘Getting Back to Basics.