Justin and the Best Biscuits in the World

by Mildred Pitts Walter

  Justin scraped the tiny scales off confidently. Then he hesitated. Screwing up his face, he shuddered as he cut, then pulled the insides out. Finally he got the knack of it.

  Grandpa, satisfied that Justin would do fine, went into the kitchen to make a fire in the big stove.

  Later that evening, Justin felt proud when Grandpa let him put the fish on the table.

  After dinner, they sat in the living room near the huge fireplace. Great-Great-Grandma Ward had used that same fireplace to cook her family’s meals.

  Justin looked at the fireplace, trying to imagine how it must have been then. How did people cook without a stove? He knew Grandpa’s stove was nothing like his mama’s. Once that big iron stove got hot there was no way to turn it off or to low or to simmer. You just set the pots in a cooler place on the back of Grandpa’s stove.

  “Grandpa, how did your grandma cook bread in this fireplace?” he asked.

  “Cooking bread in this fireplace was easy for my grandma. She once had to bake her bread on a hoe.”

  “But a hoe is for making a garden, Grandpa.”

  “Yes, I know, and it was that kind of hoe that she used. She chopped cotton with her hoe down in Tennessee. There was no fireplace in the family’s little one-room house, so she cooked with a fire outside. She had no nice iron pots and skillets like I have now in the kitchen.

  “At night when the family came in from the cotton fields, Grandma made a simple bread with cornmeal and a little flour. She patted it and dusted it with more flour. Then she put it on the iron hoe and stuck it in the ashes. When it was nice and brown the ashes brushed off easily.”

  “How did they ever get from Tennessee to Missouri?”

  “Justin, I’ve told you that so many times.”

  “I know, Grandpa. But I like to hear it. Tell me again.”

  “As a boy, my grandpa was a slave. Right after slavery my grandpa worked on a ranch in Tennessee. He rode wild mustangs and tamed them to become good riding horses. He cared so much about horses, he became a cowboy.

  “He got married and had a family. Still he left home for many weeks, sometimes months, driving thousands of cattle over long trails. Then he heard about the government giving away land in the West through the Homestead Act. You only had to build a house and live in it to keep the land.”

  “So my great-great-grandpa built this house.” Justin stretched out on the floor. He looked around at the walls that were now dark brown from many years of smoke from the fireplace.

  “Just the room we’re in now,” Grandpa said. “I guess every generation of Wards has added something. Now, my daddy, Phillip, added on the kitchen and the room right next to this one that is the dining room.

  “I built the bathroom and the rooms upstairs. Once we had a high loft. I guess you’d call it an attic. I made that into those rooms upstairs. So you see, over the years this house has grown and grown. Maybe when you’re a man, you’ll bring your family here,” Grandpa said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’d have to have an electric kitchen.”

  “As I had to have a bathroom with a shower. Guess that’s progress,” Grandpa said, and laughed.

  “Go on, Grandpa. Tell me what it was like when Great-Great-Grandpa first came to Missouri.”

  “I think it’s time for us to go to bed.”

  “It’s not that late,” Justin protested.

  “For me it is. We’ll have to get up early. I’ll have to ride fence tomorrow. You know, in winter Q-T Ranch becomes a feeder ranch for other people’s cattle. In spring, summer, and early fall cattle roam and graze in the high country. In winter when the heavy frosts come and it’s bitter cold, they return to the plains. Many of those cattle feed at Q-T. I have to have my fences mended before fall so the cattle can’t get out.”

  “Can I ride fence with you?” Justin asked.

  “Sure you can. Maybe you’ll like riding fence. That’s a man’s work.” Grandpa laughed.

  Justin remembered that conversation in his room about women’s work, and the tears. He burned with shame. He didn’t laugh.

  Upstairs, Grandpa gave Justin sheets and a blanket for his bed. “It’ll be cool before morning,” he told Justin. “You’ll need this blanket. Can you make your bed?”

  Justin frowned. He hated making his bed. But he looked at Grandpa and said, “I’m no baby.” Justin joined Grandpa in laughter.

  Grandpa went to his room. When he was all ready for bed, he came and found Justin still struggling to make his bed. Those sheets had to be made nice and smooth to impress Grandpa, Justin thought, but it wasn’t easy.

  Grandpa watched. “Want to see how a man makes a bed?” Grandpa asked.

  Justin didn’t answer. Grandpa waited. Finally, Justin, giving up, said, “Well, all right.”

  “Let’s do it together,” Grandpa said. “You on the other side.”

  Grandpa helped him smooth the bottom sheet and tuck it under the mattress at the head and foot of the bed. Then he put on the top sheet and blanket and smoothed them carefully.

  “Now, let’s tuck those under the mattress only at the foot of the bed,” he said.

  “That’s really neat, Grandpa,” Justin said, impressed.

  “That’s not it, yet. We want it to stay neat, don’t we? Now watch.” Grandpa carefully folded the covers in equal triangles and tucked them so that they made a neat corner at the end of the mattress. “Now do your side exactly the way I did mine.”

  Soon Justin was in bed. When Grandpa tucked him in, he asked, “How does it feel?”

  Justin flexed his toes and ankles. “Nice. Snug.”

  “Like a bug in a rug?”

  Justin laughed. Then Grandpa said, “That’s how a man makes a bed.”

  Still laughing, Justin asked, “Who taught you how to make a bed? Your grandpa?”

  “No. My grandma.” Grandpa grinned and winked at Justin. “Good night.”

  Justin lay listening to the winds whispering in the trees. Out of his window in the darkness he saw lightning bugs flashing, heard crickets chirping. But before the first hoot of an owl, he was fast asleep.

  6

  RIDING FENCE

  THE SMELL OF COFFEE and home-smoked ham woke Justin. His grandpa was already up and downstairs cooking breakfast. Justin jumped out of bed and quickly put on his clothes.

  Grandpa had hot pancakes, apple jelly, and ham all ready for the table. Justin ate two stacks of pancakes with two helpings of everything else.

  After breakfast, Grandpa cleared the table, preparing to wash the dishes. “Would you rather wash or dry?” he asked Justin.

  “Neither,” Justin replied, quickly thinking how little success he had with dishes.

  Grandpa said nothing as he removed the dishes from the table. He took his time, carefully measuring liquid soap and letting hot water run in the sink. Then he washed each dish and rinsed it with care, too. No water splashed or spilled. Soapsuds were not all over. How easy it looked, the way Grandpa did it.

  After washing the dishes, Grandpa swept the floor and then went upstairs.

  Justin stood around downstairs. He had a strange feeling of guilt and wished he had helped with the dishes. He heard Grandpa moving about, above in his room. Justin thought of going outside, down into the meadow, but he decided to see what was going on upstairs.

  When he saw his grandpa busy making his own big bed, Justin went into his room. His unmade bed and his pajamas on the floor bothered him. But he decided that the room didn’t look too bad. He picked up his pajamas and placed them on the bed and sat beside them. He waited.

  Finally Grandpa came in and said, “Are you riding fence with me today?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Fine. But why don’t you make your bed? You’ll probably feel pretty tired tonight. A well-made bed can be a warm welcome.”

  Justin moved slowly, reluctant to let Grandpa see him struggle with the bed. He started. What a surprise! Everything was tightly in place. He only had to smooth the covers. The bed
was made. No lumps and bumps. Justin looked at Grandpa and grinned broadly. “That was easy!” he shouted.

  “Don’t you think you should unpack your clothes? They won’t need ironing if you hang them up. You gotta look razor sharp for the festival.” He gave Justin some clothes hangers.

  “Are we really going to the festival every day?” Justin asked.

  “You bet, starting with the judging early tomorrow and the dance tomorrow night.” Grandpa winked at him.

  Justin’s excitement faded when he started unpacking his rumpled shirts. “They sure are wrinkled, Grandpa,” he said.

  “Maybe that’s because they weren’t folded.”

  “I can’t ever get them folded right,” Justin cried.

  “Well, let’s see. Turn it so the buttons face down.” Grandpa showed Justin how to bring the sleeves to the back, turning in the sides so that the sleeves were on top. Then he folded the tail of the shirt over the cuffs, and made a second fold up to the collar. “Now you try it.”

  Justin tried it. “Oh, I see. That was easy, Grandpa.” Justin smiled, pleased with himself.

  “Everything’s easy when you know how.”

  Justin, happy with his new-found skill, hurriedly placed his clothes on the hangers. He hoped the wrinkles would disappear in time for the festival.

  “Now you’ll look sharp,” Grandpa said.

  Justin felt a surge of love for his grandpa. He would always remember how to make a bed snug as a bug and fold clothes neatly. He grabbed Grandpa’s hand. They walked downstairs, still holding hands, to get ready to ride fence.

  Riding fence meant inspecting the fence all around the ranch to see where it needed mending. Riding fence took a great deal of a rancher’s time. Justin and Grandpa planned to spend most of the day out on the plains. Grandpa said he’d pack a lunch for them to eat on the far side of the ranch.

  Justin was surprised when Grandpa packed only flour, raisins, and chunks of smoked pork. Grandpa also packed jugs of water and makings for coffee.

  The horses stood in the meadow as if they knew a busy day awaited them. While Grandpa saddled Pal, he let Justin finish the saddling of Black Lightning. Justin tightened the cinches on Black, feeling the strong pull on his arm muscles. With their supplies in their saddlebags, they mounted Pal and Black, leaving Cropper behind to graze in the meadow.

  The early sun shone fiery red on the hilltops while the foothills were cast in shades of purple. The dew still lingered heavily on the morning. They let their horses canter away past the house through the tall green grass. But on the outer edge of the ranch where the fence started, they walked the horses at a steady pace.

  The fence had three rows of taut wire. “That’s a pretty high fence,” Justin said.

  “We have to keep the cattle in. But deer sometimes leap that fence and eat hay with the cattle.” When it got bitter cold and frosty, Grandpa rode around the ranch dropping bales of hay for the cattle. It took a lot of hay to feed the cattle during the winter months.

  “I didn’t think a cow could jump very high,” Justin said.

  “Aw, come on. Surely you know that a cow jumped over the moon.” Grandpa had a serious look on his face.

  “I guess that’s a joke, eh?” Justin laughed.

  Justin noticed that Grandpa had a map. When they came to a place in the fence that looked weak, Grandpa marked it on his map. Later, helpers who came to do the work would know exactly where to mend. That saved time.

  Now the sun heated up the morning. The foothills were now varying shades of green. Shadows dotted the plains. Among the blackish green trees on the rolling hills, fog still lingered like lazy clouds. Insects buzzed. A small cloud of mosquitoes swarmed just behind their heads, and beautiful cardinals splashed their redness on the morning air. Justin felt a surge of happiness and hugged Black with his knees and heels.

  Suddenly he saw a doe standing close to the fence. “Look, Grandpa!” he said. She seemed alarmed but did not run away. Doe eyes usually look peaceful and sad, Justin remembered. Hers widened with fear. Then Justin saw a fawn caught in the wire of the fence.

  Quickly they got off their horses. They hitched them to a post and moved cautiously toward the fawn.

  The mother rushed to the fence but stopped just short of the sharp wire. “Stay back and still,” Grandpa said to Justin. “She doesn’t know we will help her baby. She thinks we might hurt it. She wants to protect it.”

  The mother pranced restlessly. She pawed the ground, moving as close to the fence as she could. Near the post the fence had been broken. The wire curled there dangerously. The fawn’s head, caught in the wire, bled close to an ear. Whenever it pulled its head the wire cut deeper.

  Grandpa quickly untangled the fawn’s head.

  Blood flowed from the cut.

  “Oh, Grandpa, it will die,” Justin said sadly.

  “No, no,” Grandpa assured Justin. “Lucky we got here when we did. It hasn’t been caught long.”

  The fawn moved toward the doe. The mother, as if giving her baby a signal, bounded off. The baby trotted behind.

  As they mounted their horses, Justin suddenly felt weak in the stomach. Remembering the blood, he trembled. Black, too, seemed uneasy. He moved his nostrils nervously and strained against the bit. He arched his neck and sidestepped quickly. Justin pulled the reins. “Whoa, boy!”

  “Let him run,” Grandpa said.

  Justin kicked Black’s sides and off they raced across the plain. They ran and ran, Justin pretending he was rounding up cattle. Then Black turned and raced back toward Grandpa and Pal.

  “Whoa, boy,” Justin commanded. Justin felt better and Black seemed calm, ready now to go on riding fence.

  7

  ABOUT BLACK COWBOYS

  THE SUN BEAMED down and sweat rolled off Justin as he rode on with Grandpa, looking for broken wires in the fence. They were well away from the house, on the far side of the ranch. Flies buzzed around the horses and now gnats swarmed in clouds just above their heads. The prairie resounded with songs of the bluebirds, the bobwhite quails, and the mocking-birds mimicking them all. The cardinal’s song, as lovely as any, included a whistle.

  Justin thought of Anthony and how Anthony whistled for Pepper, his dog.

  It was well past noon and Justin was hungry. Soon they came upon a small, well-built shed, securely locked. Nearby was a small stream. Grandpa reined in his horse. When he and Justin dismounted, they hitched the horses, and unsaddled them.

  “We’ll have our lunch here,” Grandpa said. Justin was surprised when Grandpa took black iron pots, other cooking utensils, and a table from the shed. Justin helped him remove some iron rods that Grandpa carefully placed over a shallow pit. These would hold the pots. Now Justin understood why Grandpa had brought uncooked food. They were going to cook outside.

  First they collected twigs and cow dung. Grandpa called it cowchips. “These,” Grandpa said, holding up a dried brown pad, “make the best fuel. Gather them up.”

  There were plenty of chips left from the cattle that had fed there in winter. Soon they had a hot fire.

  Justin watched as Grandpa carefully washed his hands and then began to cook their lunch.

  “When I was a boy about your age, I used to go with my father on short runs with cattle. We’d bring them down from the high country onto the plains.”

  “Did you stay out all night?”

  “Sometimes. And that was the time I liked most. The cook often made for supper what I am going to make for lunch.”

  Grandpa put raisins into a pot with a little water and placed them over the fire. Justin was surprised when Grandpa put flour in a separate pan. He used his fist to make a hole right in the middle of the flour. In that hole he placed some shortening. Then he added water. With his long delicate fingers he mixed the flour, water, and shortening until he had a nice round mound of dough.

  Soon smooth circles of biscuits sat in an iron skillet with a lid on top. Grandpa put the skillet on the fire with some of the red-h
ot chips scattered over the lid.

  Justin was amazed. How could only those ingredients make good bread? But he said nothing as Grandpa put the chunks of smoked pork in a skillet and started them cooking. Soon the smell was so delicious, Justin could hardly wait.

  Finally Grandpa suggested that Justin take the horses to drink at the stream. “Keep your eyes open and don’t step on any snakes.”

  Justin knew that diamondback rattlers sometimes lurked around. They were dangerous. He must be careful. He watered Black first.

  While watering Pal, he heard rustling in the grass. His heart pounded. He heard the noise again. He wanted to run, but was too afraid. He looked around carefully. There were two black eyes staring at him. He tried to pull Pal away from the water, but Pal refused to stop drinking. Then Justin saw the animal. It had a long tail like a rat’s. But it was as big as a cat. Then he saw something crawling on its back. They were little babies, hanging on as the animal ran.

  A mama opossum and her babies, he thought, and was no longer afraid.

  By the time the horses were watered, lunch was ready. “M-mm-m,” Justin said as he reached for a plate. The biscuits were golden brown, yet fluffy inside. And the sizzling pork was now crisp. Never had he eaten stewed raisins before.

  “Grandpa, I didn’t know you could cook like this,” Justin said when he had tasted the food. “I didn’t know men could cook so good.”

  “Why, Justin, some of the best cooks in the world are men.”

  Justin remembered the egg on the floor and his rice burning. The look he gave Grandpa revealed his doubts.

  “It’s true,” Grandpa said. “All the cooks on the cattle trail were men. In hotels and restaurants they call them chefs.”

  “How did you make these biscuits?”

  “That’s a secret. One day I’ll let you make some.”