Queen of the Cookbooks

by Ashton Lee

  Maura Beth wrinkled her nose a couple of times, clearly a sign of her unbridled affection for her husband. “I’m afraid she’s right, Jeremy. Having one pregnant woman on your hands is probably all you want to take on—even if you had superhuman powers. But, anyway, Elise, Connie and Douglas have already been here once today to show their support, and they said they would be coming back after lunch. So, you’re welcome to wait here and chat a little more, or you and Jeremy can walk on over and break the news to them.”

  Elise was gazing out Maura Beth’s wraparound office window at all the recreational activity on the lake. In the distance, an athletic young man was doing showoff tricks on his skis, sending a wake in the direction of a small yacht with several people casting their lines. Closer to shore, there were a couple of dinghies bobbing about with lazy, cane pole fishermen aboard. Could there be anything more relaxing on a hot summer day? “If you two don’t mind, I think I’ll stay right here and wait for Aunt Connie and Uncle Doug to show up. This scenery is so restful and just to die for. It’s almost like a form of meditation.”

  “Isn’t it?” Maura Beth said. “It remains to be seen how much work I actually get done as time goes on. And, no, I don’t mind one bit if you hang around. I may have to answer the phone or pop up now and then, but meanwhile, you and I can discuss pregnancy and all that goes with it. I’m so glad we have this in common. We can go through it together.”

  Elise’s sigh almost seemed to be one of relief; then she launched into one of the intellectual monologues everyone had come to expect of her. “Yes, we can. You know, I wasn’t sure how you and my brother would take this. Jer has probably told you that we haven’t been all that close over the years, and then you wrote that sweet letter to me practically begging me to come to your wedding. But just so you both know, I appreciate the understanding. These days, we seem to have become a society of judging people who do things a little differently and don’t fit whatever normal is—oh, how I hate that word, especially the way it’s used to bash people over the head. As I always tell my students, that’s not what this country is supposed to be about. The proof that we’ve gone off the rails a bit is that kooky bunch parading around out there with those ludicrous signs. They have every right to picket, of course, but I don’t think they’re going to win any arguments with those semiliterate opinions.”

  “I think we can all agree on that, Leesie,” Jeremy said. Then he rose, moved to his sister, put his hands gently on her shoulders, and began a gentle massage. “Welcome to Cherico.”

  “Yes, I think you’ll like it here, despite the antics of those people outside. They don’t represent the vast majority of our citizens,” Maura Beth added. “But here’s a little tip—I wouldn’t mention your sperm bank visit to them on your way out. Not that I think you should be intimidated by them. But you’d probably end up on their signs like I have. Actually, I consider it a badge of honor since they basically don’t have any idea what they’re talking about. Their foolishness only strengthens my resolve as a library professional.”

  Elise rolled her eyes and made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Believe me, I wouldn’t give them the time of day.”

  “That’s been our approach all along,” Maura Beth continued. “You can tell that what they desperately want is confrontation and some long, drawn-out shouting match that lowers us to their level. But we just aren’t going there. All of my Cherry Cola Book Club members have been showing up with regularity and giving them the silent treatment, and I know it’s driving them crazy.”

  “Not a syllable from me,” Elise said, putting a finger to her lips. “I’m used to talking to students who want to learn something about the real world, not a bunch of posturing and posing.”

  “Substance over style,” Maura Beth added. “That’s what I’ve been about since I got this job. If I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have lasted a day. Instead, I’ve toughed it out for seven years and won the day.”

  Elise was smiling now. “I’m very glad you’re my sister-in-law, Maura Beth. And to think—we’ll be expectant mothers together.”

  “Well, nothing usually brings most families together like baby news,” Maura Beth said.

  Then she found herself wondering why she had inserted the words usually and most in her statement. There were circumstances under which pregnancies were not welcomed at all. Would it turn out that way for Elise?

  13

  Pigeon Peas, Please!

  It took exactly three days of enduring the record temperatures and humidity of midsummer on the picket line for the members of the Church of the Eternal Promise to give up the ghost. That, and the incessant stream of Chericoans frequenting the library as the ultimate reminder that the “believers” just might be on the wrong side of this particular issue.

  The Cherry Cola Book Club members, in particular, had even cobbled together a schedule for their visits to the library around the clock. Connie and Douglas McShay had volunteered to make at least one morning and one afternoon appearance for as long as the protests continued; Periwinkle and Parker Place would show up midmorning before their luncheon preparation at The Twinkle; Audra Neely had agreed to delay the opening of her antique shop on Commerce Street to drop in and read various newspapers and magazines at her leisure; Locke and Voncille Linwood would continue to make visits to the significant genealogical section where she conducted her ongoing research for her “Who’s Who in Cherico?” meetings; Justin and Becca Brachle would each take turns at home minding Markie while the other visited with Maura Beth to keep up her spirits; and even Mamie Crumpton agreed to do her part, putting aside her disenchantment with her sister, Marydell, long enough to do a daily browsing of the stacks to find something to read at one of the windows overlooking the deck. Wasn’t that a kick in the pants?

  To the dismay of the protestors, they were finding out that Maura Beth McShay was untouchable and off-limits, a veritable community icon; and the new library was such an overwhelming, state-of-the-art contrast to the old, inadequate facility, that Chericoans from all walks of life simply couldn’t stay away. The shortsighted—no, more like profoundly myopic—members of the Church of the Eternal Promise definitely hadn’t counted on that.

  Still, Elder Warren had made a final appearance at Maura Beth’s office door unannounced, and she had resisted the powerful urge to call security and have him ushered out quickly. Instead, and probably because watching the sun glinting off the lake all morning had produced its usual calming effect on her, she had generously allowed him to remain and say his piece. What could it possibly hurt to be the bigger person here?

  “You may have won this round, Miz McShay,” he told her, not willing to cross her threshold, “but the truth is on our side. You’ll see. You can’t just shove us under the rug.”

  “We haven’t done that at all. You’ve had free reign—no one has blocked your path. You’ve had your say out in the open, but it appears that no one was paying much attention.”

  Elder Warren thrust out his chin defiantly and pointed his finger accusingly. “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s ’cause that snotty book club a’ yours put the word out on the street. Mr. and Miz Posey told me all about it ’cause their daughter Renette’s got herself all brainwashed by you. I could tell she was all mixed up at the hearing the other day. It’s got to where some say you and your club practically run this town now. You’ve even got Councilman Sparks crawlin’ around on his knees. Don’t know how you managed to beat him down so bad like that, but the word is that he hasn’t been the same man since you came to Cherico.”

  Maura Beth’s laugh was prolonged and somewhat incredulous. “You have quite an overwrought imagination there, Elder Warren—especially your ridiculous depiction of Councilman Sparks. It’s true that he and I have had our differences in the past, but now we’re on the same team. We’ve extended the olive branch to each other for good. And your information is bogus about my Cherry Cola Book Club, too. I can assure you it’s a voluntary organization devoted strictly to the apprecia
tion of good literature, enjoying potluck dishes, friendship, and the promotion of community spirit. We welcome everyone with intelligence. Even a hint of it.”

  Elder Warren narrowed his eyes, which added an extra layer of anger to his hard-boiled features. “You can say all the rude, smart-alecky words you want to, missy, but like I’ve said many times and like our church believes, the way of godliness is on our side.”

  “And yet you have such an ungodly way of demonstrating it.”

  “We are only exercising our rights as Americans. You just don’t happen to agree with us.”

  “I will certainly agree with you on exercising your right to protest, but I also highly doubt your effectiveness.”

  “You haven’t heard or seen the last of us.”

  “I’m sure, but I believe this conversation has gone on long enough. All I have left to say to you, Elder Warren, is good-bye, sir. I’m sure you can find your way out.” And with that, Maura Beth mentally put the entire episode to bed as she watched him leave, turning to look over his shoulder and glare at her every now and then.

  But the protests had not ended without constructive results, bringing a record number of people out of the woodwork to support their library. Little wonder, then, that most of them were aware of the Queen of the Cookbooks’ first baking lesson in the library’s state-of-the art kitchen one week after opening day. Maura Beth had allowed Ana Estrella to post notices all around the lobby and at the circulation desk, and twenty-six patrons had signed up for the program so far. It was going to be a bit of a tight squeeze with all those chairs moved into the kitchen for the program—and thankfully the library’s real furniture had finally arrived to replace the odds and ends the club members had provided at the last minute; but what did that really matter when the goal of record library usage was being realized and then some?

  COME AND LEARN HOW TO MAKE PIGEON PEAS CAKE IN A FREE DEMONSTRATION, the flyers had proclaimed. Since Ana’s dessert had propelled her to the overall title on the Fourth of July, it was easy to conclude that lots of Chericoans wanted to make it for themselves whenever they developed a craving. That had to be the ultimate tribute to her culinary skills.

  * * *

  “Bizcocho de gandules,” Ana Estrella was saying to all the patrons sitting in their chairs placed throughout the library’s kitchen. They had gathered at the appointed hour to learn how to make her prize-winning recipe and were giving her their full attention.

  She in turn was standing behind the gleaming marble island countertop that Maura Beth had insisted architect Rogers Jernigan include in the staff lounge blueprints. What a battle that had been with him as well as Councilman Sparks for a first-class design; but she had not given an inch and won out! Because of that, Ana had plenty of room for mixing bowls and measuring cups and all the other utensils she needed to do her show-and-tell without feeling cramped and compromised.

  “That’s pigeon peas cake in Spanish, of course. But first, I want to thank those of you who voted for me and made it possible for me to win the Queen of the Cookbooks title. You have no idea what that means to me, being a newcomer to Cherico. I feel very welcome here already, and sharing this recipe with you is my way of giving back. As a part of Spurs ’R’ Us, I want to be a good citizen. Now, as I go along, please don’t hesitate to ask any questions you like.”

  “I have one off the bat,” Becca Brachle said, raising her hand in the middle of the cadre of Cherry Cola Book Club members present. “Why pigeon peas in a cake? Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s delicious, and yes, I was one of the many who voted for you because I thought it was such a revelation when I tried a piece on the Fourth of July. Nothing much surprises me anymore when it comes to food, but this did, and I had to come up with all sorts of unusual dish ideas when I did my cooking show on the radio all those years. You run through recipes so fast, it’s a bit dizzying, and then you start worrying that you’ll run dry. But enough about that. Please tell us all about those peas.”

  “Yes, the very thought of making a cake from peas has me obsessed,” Voncille Linwood added.

  Ana adjusted the apron she was wearing and smiled. “I’d be delighted to tell you all about it, of course. Back in Puerto Rico where my family is from originally, pigeon peas are a staple. Mixing them with rice for a savory dish is how they are usually used. But then because they are so plentiful, someone came up with the idea of using them in a cake. Who knows where these strange inspirations come from—maybe there was nothing else in someone’s pantry at the time—but you’ll find that most cultures use what they have lots of and what’s cheap in a variety of very creative ways. It’s also a good way of stretching your budget in tough economic times. These days, I think we can all agree that that’s a big plus.”

  Mr. Parker Place’s hand shot up. “That’s definitely true. Black folks didn’t have a lot of money way back when, but they found ways to turn greens they could grow out in the yard and chicken parts and sweet potatoes into an art form. We stewed the greens, fried up the chicken, made pies out of the sweet potatoes, and ended up calling all of it soul food somewhere down the line. None of it’s particularly fancy or even what you’d call gourmet, but it sure hits the spot when your stomach’s growling. Necessity being the mother of invention and all that.”

  “Different cultures can learn a lot from each other, and I promise I’m going to sample some of yours as soon as I can now that I’m living down here in Mississippi,” Ana told him.

  “I can give you some tips about where to eat in Memphis where I used to work, if you’d like,” he said. “Just get with me after this is over. Whatever kinda food you prefer, I can put you on its trail.”

  “I’ll look forward to that. Now,” Ana continued, “please refer to the handouts I had printed up for all of you. First up on the list of ingredients, you’ll need one cup of gandules, as you can see. You can get them in the fifteen-ounce can that I’m holding up, and I was a little proactive about this and asked Mr. Hannigan to stock them at The Cherico Market for everyone. I knew you’d all be making a beeline to the grocery store sooner rather than later. Let’s give him a round of applause for making that happen, shall we?”

  James Hannigan seemed slightly embarrassed by the extra attention but stood up briefly and acknowledged it with a wave of his hand. “Hey, that’s what we do for one another here in Cherico all the time. Just hope I don’t run out, judging by the size of this crowd.”

  Ana and many of the others laughed good-naturedly. “As long as you folks don’t double up on the recipe, I think it’ll all work out. And once you open those cans, be sure and drain off the liquid. That’s vital, or you’ll end up with a very runny batter. You’ll also find that fifteen ounces is too much for one cake—just use one cup of the peas and then you can save the rest for a savory recipe. As I said, maybe you can try the peas with some rice for a different side dish. It’s a very versatile ingredient. Once you’ve tried it, I think you’ll be hooked.”

  “I’m looking down the list of the rest of these ingredients and all this mixing and blending we’re going to have to do,” Marydell Crumpton said. “I didn’t know it was going to be this complicated. Mamie and I have always had help to do our cooking, so I think I’m a little intimidated.”

  “Don’t even worry ’bout it,” Jellica Jones whispered to her employer, who was sitting next to her. It had taken some doing on Marydell’s part, but Jellica had finally given in and allowed herself to be talked into participating in the program. “I can follow any recipe, Miz Marydell. Mama Surleen, she was the best cook ever, and I learned errything I know about cookin’ at her side. You and Miz Mamie, you’ve never had no complaints about my food, so just calm down.”

  Up at the counter, Ana continued her spiel without missing a beat. “Well, everyone, I have to admit there are quite a few other ingredients to deal with. There’s coconut milk and regular milk, butter, sugar, vanilla extract, eggs, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg . . . you know how it is with cakes. They don’t make and bake them
selves, the tasty little devils. But just follow along step-by-step—it’ll all be worth it when it comes out of the oven and fills your house with unbelievable aromas. Your family members will all come running every time, begging you to cut it while it’s still warm. I know I always did when I was growing up.”

  “It sure was irresistible during the Grand Opening,” Connie McShay added. “I especially loved how dense and moist it was.”

  “I admit it’s a little extra work with all the preparation and such,” Ana said. “Just remember to be patient for the payoff, and you’ll have a treat your family will always be requesting.”

  Meanwhile, Maura Beth—who had found time in her schedule to take in Ana’s presentation—sat back in her chair, silently observing with a great deal of pride the interaction between Ana and her cadre of diverse patrons. This was what a library should be about—involving the community in a variety of ways, making it seem as diverting as a movie theater or a county fair with all the crazy rides that took your breath away. To the point that the public would always be wondering what fun, enticing event was going on at the library. To the degree that it would always be a relevant part of the lives of Chericoans.

  After seven years of trying as hard as she could and against some significant odds, Maura Beth McShay had finally achieved her goal of being the director of a state-of-the-art library that was making a difference. Perhaps Councilman Sparks had not always understood her mission. Heck, he’d even gone out of his way not to. Perhaps her own parents had been puzzled by her dedication, as well as her unwillingness to budge on where and how she lived her life. But none of that mattered now. She had reached the light-filled clearing of her recurring dreams, and it was as sparkling and exhilarating as the sunlit waters of Lake Cherico. The only thing better than that was the knowledge that she had a brand-new human being growing inside of her—made from the love that she and Jeremy shared.