by Ann B. Ross
Chapter 20
Just about the time I finished copying Binkie’s recipes, Coleman came in, looking handsome in his dark blue uniform, but creaking and squeaking from all the paraphernalia strapped around his waist. Squealing with delight, Gracie ran to him as soon as he came through the door. He picked her up, then threw her in the air, making me gasp in fear.
“Guess what, Coleman,” Binkie said, giving him a quick kiss. “Miss Julia wants your recipes for the cookbook she’s writing for Hazel Marie.”
“Hi, Miss Julia,” he said, smiling in welcome. “What’s this? You know I’m no cook.”
“Yes, you are,” Binkie said. “I told her about your shish kebabs, and she thinks J.D.’s going to need it.”
“Oh, well, yeah, that is a good recipe,” he said, handing Gracie to her mother. “Let me get some of this stuff off and I’ll find it for you.”
In just a few minutes, Coleman came back to the living room, sans utility belt, handgun, handcuffs, walkie-talkie, and sundry other items, ready to share his recipes.
“Now this one,” he said, handing me a splotched and smeared page. “I don’t remember where I got it. But it’s good, and even better,” he went on, cutting his eyes at Binkie, “if the lady of the house fixes the marinade.”
Binkie laughed. “I do most of the time, don’t I? Thing of it is, Miss Julia, somebody has to make the marinade and cut up the steak the day before the cook plans to do the grilling.”
“Yeah,” Coleman said. “It’s better on the grill, but I’ve done it under the broiler in the oven. But if you do it inside, you’re gonna have smoke—the marinade sizzles and spatters so much. Tell Hazel Marie to be prepared for the smoke alarm to go off.”
“Unfortunately, she’s used to that. But maybe I shouldn’t mention using the oven.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “But if you’re gonna put my recipes in your book, put this in, too. I don’t have it written down, since it’s just one extra ingredient for grilling hamburgers.”
So I wrote down what he told me, and hoped that, if Mr. Pickens bought a grill, he’d use it himself and keep Hazel Marie far from it.
“Okay,” Coleman said, “I’m gonna do something that might not be on the up-and-up—claiming something that’s not really mine. But it’s Lillian’s lemon pie, and my absolute favorite. I keep hoping my wife’ll make it for me, but so far, no luck.” He gave Binkie a mock glare, and she gave him one right back.
“Well, bless your heart, Coleman,” I said. “I’ll ask Lillian to make one for you. We don’t want you to feel deprived.”
“Yeah, poor thing,” Binkie said, squeezing his muscular arm. “He looks deprived, doesn’t he?”
I declare, those two act like they’re newlyweds, which on occasion can be embarrassing to an onlooker. Still, it’s most encouraging to see a young couple so in love, despite the fact that they’ve rearranged a few of the traditional rules and roles.
As I copied Coleman’s recipes, a part of my mind was pondering Hazel Marie’s situation and wondering if she and Mr. Pickens could benefit from the unusual, but obviously working, example in this household. Probably not, I mentally sighed, for how often do we see ourselves as others see us? Hazel Marie’s problems—both present and potential—were plain to me, but clearly not to her.
One thing at a time, I told myself, as I erased a mistake I’d made, and kept on copying.
Coleman’s Shish Kebabs
3 pounds lean beef (round, chuck, or sirloin) cut into 11/2-inch cubes
Cover the beef cubes with California Marinade (below). Refrigerate 12 to 24 hours (use longer time for lesser cuts of meat to tenderize), turning occasionally.
Fill 6 skewers, alternating the meat cubes with mushroom caps, tomato wedges, and parboiled green-pepper wedges and onions.
Grill over hot coals to the desired doneness of meat, brushing with the marinade occasionally. May also be broiled inside in the oven, but your smoke alarm may go off.
California Marinade
Thoroughly combine 1 cup of salad oil, 3/4 cup of soy sauce, 1/2 cup of lemon juice, 1/4 cup each of Worcestershire sauce and prepared mustard, 2 tablespoons of salt, 1 tablespoon of coarsely cracked pepper, and 2 cloves of minced garlic.
Serves 6.
(It might be better to let Mr. Pickens cube the meat, Hazel Marie. He’s probably had more practice with a knife than you.)
Coleman’s Hamburgers on the Grill
1/4 pound ground chuck (80% lean to 20% fat) for each patty
Add salt, pepper, garlic powder, and Worcestershire sauce, mixing well. Shape into 4 patties.
Sprinkle each patty liberally with Montreal steak seasoning.
Grill to the desired doneness.
(Be sure to give Mr. Pickens lots of compliments when he grills, Hazel Marie. That way, he’ll be eager to do more of it.)
Coleman’s Favorite Pie
1 envelope unflavored gelatin
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 eggs, separated
1/3 cup lemon juice
2/3 cup water
1 teaspoon lemon peel grated
1 cup whipping cream whipped
1 baked and cooled 9-inch pastry shell
Mint sprigs for garnish
In a saucepan, thoroughly mix the gelatin, 1/2 cup of the sugar, and the salt.
In a separate bowl, beat together the egg yolks, lemon juice, and water. Stir into the gelatin mixture. Cook and stir over medium heat just until the mixture comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and stir in the lemon peel. Chill, stirring occasionally until partially set.
Beat the egg whites until soft peaks form, gradually adding the remaining 1/2 cup of sugar, beating until stiff peaks form. Fold into the cooled gelatin mixture, then fold 1/2 of the whipped cream into that. Pile into the prepared pastry shell and chill until firm.
Garnish each slice with an additional spoonful of whipped cream and a sprig of fresh mint. This pie slices beautifully and holds its shape—perfect for serving at the table.
Serves 8.
(This recipe is Lillian’s Lemon Chiffon Pie, Hazel Marie. Coleman wanted his name on it because he likes it so much.)
Chapter 21
When I returned home, I found Sam, Lloyd, and Lillian waiting dinner for me. Apologizing for being late, I quickly sat at the table and began to recount my visit with Binkie and Coleman, marveling aloud at how Gracie had grown. We were still at the table, catching up with the day’s events, when Hazel Marie called.
“I’m so sorry for calling at dinnertime,” she said when Lillian called me to the phone, “but I have to ask you something.”
“It’s all right, Hazel Marie—we’ve finished. Is anything the matter?”
“I’m not sure, and I hate to ask you because I know you have things to do. But Granny Wiggins just called and said she’s coming in the morning to doctor on James’s foot. I told her I didn’t need her till Wednesday, when LuAnne will be cooking again, but she said treatment couldn’t wait and I’d thank her when she had James up and walking. So,” Hazel Marie stopped and drew a deep breath with a little rasp in it, “so could you come over, too?”
“Well, of course,” I said, mentally rearranging a few minor tasks on my to-do list. “What exactly is she planning to do? Did she say?”
“Just that she’s bringing Epsom salts and her big canning pot, so I guess she’ll soak James’s foot. Unless she’s planning to put it up for the winter.”
I laughed. Hazel Marie wasn’t known for having a sense of humor, but occasionally she’d surprise me—mainly because she never realized when she’d said something funny. “Well,” I said, “I’d rather see her do that than dose him with it.”
“Why? What would it do?”
“Clean out his system like nobody’s business, and with the shape he’s in, that’s the
last thing he needs.”
“Oh, my,” Hazel Marie said, taking me seriously. “You think she’d do that?”
“No, no, she won’t.” But I wasn’t all that sure what Granny would do, so I looked on the bright side. “She’ll just let his foot soak in it, I expect. But don’t worry, Hazel Marie. I’ll be glad to come over and, between the two of us, we’ll make sure it all goes on James’s foot and not in his mouth. By the way, how did LuAnne’s dinner go?”
“Everybody loved it,” she said. “There was only one problem: I didn’t have enough pork chops. Uncle Vern would’ve had two if I’d had them, but I didn’t. Do you think I could double the recipe next time?”
“I’m sure you can. Just fill two Pyrex dishes with pork chops and double the sauce recipe. You can bake them both at the same time.”
“Will I need to double the oven temperature?”
Oh, Lord, even I knew better than that. “No, Hazel Marie, don’t do that. You’ll burn them up. The same temperature will do for both.”
“Okay,” she said, then after a pause: “Maybe that’s why my baked potatoes were little nubs when I took them out.”
I just closed my eyes and shook my head. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Hazel Marie had many outstanding qualities that could almost completely cancel out any deficiencies she might also have.
So I was knocking on Hazel Marie’s door bright and early Tuesday morning, knowing that country people get up before the sun, and I was fully intent on being there before Granny Wiggins arrived.
Mr. Pickens opened the door, said, “Welcome to the madhouse,” shoved his dark aviator glasses on his face, and walked out as I walked in. That didn’t bode well for a good start to the day and, from the sounds in the house, nobody else was having a good start, either.
I put my coat and pocketbook on a hall chair and went into the den, where the television was tuned to a quartet blaring forth. Brother Vern, still in his pajamas and that seedy bathrobe, was sitting on a footstool, hunched over, glued to the television screen, an empty cereal bowl and coffee cup on the floor beside him. A sugar bowl, an open cereal box, and a half-empty bottle of milk were there, along with pages from the morning paper scattered across the floor.
Turning his head as he heard me walk in, his face lit up as he said, “You’re just in time! Don’t you want to cook us up a big pot of grits and some sausage gravy?”
“No,” I said as serenely as I could, thinking that Brother Vern could trash a room quicker than anybody I knew. “I don’t believe I do. In fact, I’d suggest that if you want grits and sausage gravy, you hightail it to the kitchen and cook it yourself. And fix enough for everybody in the house while you’re at it.”
At the shocked look on his face, I calmly went on. “It’ll be good practice for you, since I hear you’ll be cooking great quantities of soup fairly soon. I’m sure Mrs. Allen will appreciate hearing that you’re so eager to start your new mission that you’re helping out in the kitchen here.”
“Well, I . . .” he started, then pulled himself together to instruct me in the finer points of ministerial work. “Now you know, Mrs. Murdoch, that there’s a great, wide difference between workin’ in a woman’s kitchen and feedin’ the hungry in a mission dedicated to the needs of the downtrodden.”
That just flew all over me. As babies screamed upstairs and James’s bell started jangling, I reached over and slapped off the television. Brother Vern cringed as I leaned over him. “It’s time you got up from there, taking your dirty dishes with you and getting some clothes on. Then you can get yourself back downstairs and start cleaning up the kitchen. Your mission this morning is going to be dedicated to the needs of this household, or else . . .” I stopped, wondering what the or else could be. “Or else,” I went on as I thought of something, “I will tell my very good friend Mrs. Allen that you’re not worth spending one cent on. And if you’ve let that milk spoil, you can go to the store for more. Get a gallon this time.”
And I flounced out to stand in the hall to pull myself together. While doing that I heard the clink of dishes as he gathered them up. I smiled to myself and headed for James’s room to put a stop to that jangling bell.
It stopped in midjangle as I walked in. James sheepishly placed the bell on the bedside table, then said, “I guess I didn’t ’spect you today, Miss Julia. How you doin’ this mornin’?”
“Quite well, thank you.” I stood by the bed, clasping my hands at my waist, while I surveyed the rumpled sheets, the remains of cold cereal on a tray, and the opened envelopes strewn across the bed. “What do you need, James?”
He turned his head and sighed deeply. “Oh, Miss Julia, I need lotsa things, but don’t look like I’m gonna get ’em.”
“Name one, and let’s see.”
“I need to be up from here an’ on my own two feet again. It ain’t like me to be laid up in bed ’thout even bein’ able to help myself. I’m jus’ a burden to Miss Hazel Marie an’ a millstone ’round Mr. J.D.’s neck. An’ I can’t do nothin’ but lay here an’ let ’em do for me like I was one of them babies that’s always needin’ something, too. I ain’t good for nothin’, an’ that’s a fact.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, James,” I said, moved in spite of myself. “I know you’re tired of being so limited, but here’s some good news. Granny Wiggins will be here soon, and she says she’s going to doctor you up.”
James pulled the covers up to his chin. “What she gonna do?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but it has something to do with Epsom salts.”
“Oh, Lordy, my mama used to dose us with that ev’ry spring that rolled around.” James reached toward me with his good arm. “Miss Julia, don’t let her give me that stuff. I won’t ever make it to the bathroom on this bad foot. I’ll have to jus’ stay in there all day long an’ pro’bly all night, too.”
“No, James, she’s not going to dose you with it. She’s going to soak your foot and ankle in it. I don’t think it’ll do any harm at all and may do you some good.”
“You sure she won’t make me take it?”
“That’s why I’m here—to be sure it goes on the outside and not in the inside.”
“Then,” James said with relief, “I’m glad you here. You stick around, Miss Julia, and watch her. That ole woman quick as a snake an’ she likely ram it down my throat ’fore I know what happen.”
“Then I’d keep a tight rein on . . .” The doorbell rang, stopping me. “That must be her now. Why don’t you swing your feet around and sit on the side of the bed. That way, you’ll be all ready for soaking.”
I hurried to the door and found both Granny Wiggins and Lillian waiting. Granny Wiggins breezed in, carrying a large, deep pan with a brown grocery sack in it. “I hope that feller’s ready for some doctorin’. Stay in bed long enough an’ a body won’t ever get up. That’s why you got to be on top of things, get movin’ an’ nip it in the bud.”
Lillian came in behind her, giving me a raised-eyebrow look as she did. “I come to do a load of washin’ for Miss Hazel Marie,” she said, keeping her eyes on Granny, who was headed down the hall to James’s room.
“That’s thoughtful of you, Lillian,” I said, shutting the door against the cold. “I know she’ll appreciate it. But first, let’s see what Granny’s going to do.”
We hurried to James’s room and met Granny on her way out. “He needs to be got to the kitchen,” she said, almost ramming me with that huge pot that was big enough to hold a half dozen Mason quart jars at one time. “I’ve tried luggin’ this pot full of boiling water before, an’ let me tell you, it’s heavy. Better to get him to the water than the water to him.” And off she took to the kitchen, not wasting a glance on Brother Vern as he scrambled up the stairs.
Lillian and I looked at each other, then at James clutching Sam’s robe around him as he sat on the side of the bed. “I guess it’s up to us to get him
there,” I said. And we did, although it wasn’t easy because James and I both almost fell when he stabbed my foot with his cane.
We got him settled in a kitchen chair and watched as Granny put her pot on the stove, turned the eye to high, and began filling the pot with water.
“Uh, Miss Granny?” Lillian said as she watched the process. “It might be better to put the pot where you want it on the floor, then use that kettle to pour hot water in it. That way we won’t have to lift something so heavy. And so hot.”
“Why,” Granny said in wonder, “that’s a thinkin’ woman right there. We’ll do it that way an’ not run the risk of scaldin’ somebody.”
James looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear. “She gonna scald me?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “She’ll temper it with cold water to make it just right.” I leaned down to whisper, “Don’t worry, James—we’re watching her.”
Granny did just as Lillian had suggested, then took from her sack a box of Epsom salts. She poured about half the box into the hot water, then stirred it good. “While that’s coolin’ a little,” she said, “let’s get that bandage off.” Snatching up James’s leg, she clasped his foot between her knees. James yelped at the suddenness of it just as Hazel Marie walked in. She took one look at what was going on and collapsed into a chair.
Granny gave her a quick smile and said, “We’ll bind him up again when I get through doctorin’. But right now we gonna unbind him just like he was Lazarus.”
James looked at me. “Lazarus?”
“It’s all right, James,” I said, patting his shoulder. “It’s just a manner of speaking.”
Granny unhooked the metal clasps and, to my dismay, put them on the kitchen table. Then she began unwinding the Ace bandage. “This thing’s seen better days,” she said, letting the ends fall to the floor.
“Let me have it,” Lillian said, reaching for it. “I’ll put it in with the washin’.”
