Southern Fried Christmas

by Marian Merritt

  She smiled then returned her attention to his mother. “Mrs. Labouve—”

  “Call me Eula, and know you are staying here for your entire visit.” With a nod of her head as though the subject were settled, she continued to lead Kelly toward the back door and the elderly lady standing there with her hands on her hips.

  When they’d climbed the steps and approached, the elder woman turned her attention from Chelsea to Kelly and offered a wrinkled hand. “Miss Shepherd, I’m Camilla Comeaux and it is my pleahza to meet you.” She shook with both hands, and Kelly basked in the warm softness of the old woman’s hands. The enticing scent of gardenias enveloped her.

  “Mrs. Comeaux, it’s my pleasure. I look forward to spending Christmas with you and your family.”

  “She’s not Mrs. Comeaux. She’s Mameré Milla.” Chelsea piped in.

  “That’s right, I’m Mameré Milla to everyone who stays here. So I’m now your Mameré Milla.” Her eyes danced when she said the words. Kelly found herself drawn into them. She’d never known her grandparents. The acceptance of Mameré’s warm touch and endearing smile removed any doubt Kelly had about staying here.

  “Come in. Come in.” Eula waved Kelly into the house and talked as she strolled in. “We don’t have to stand out here in the heat. Kelly, I have a big pot of crawfish etouffée simmerin’, rice, green beans, some field peas, and a green salad, with a loaf of French bread.” She finally stopped and turned toward Kelly. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  The rumble in Kelly’s stomach answered the question. “I am.” She breathed in the heady aromas in the kitchen. Smells she didn’t recognize, but made her feel welcome. Cozy.

  She scanned the large kitchen and living room combination. The outside of the house gave little indication to the size of the inside. Denny walked by with her heavy suitcase, carrying it with ease in one hand. The last rays of the day’s sunshine filtered in through the skylight in the vaulted ceiling and reflected off his brown hair as he crossed the living room.

  His crooked smile as he passed sent a tiny chill through her. A chill she ignored. A man living in south Louisiana next to his mother and grandmother with a ten-year-old daughter was not her idea of a romantic interest. Beside, that’s why she’d accepted this assignment—to forget romance. Right? Or did she come here to avoid being alone. She couldn’t remember.

  ****

  Denny headed toward his mother’s guest room. He cringed. He remembered the day she’d asked him to help her paint the room poinsettia. When he’d taken the cover off the can and understood why it was called poinsettia, he decided to intervene. After an hour, he’d convinced his mother to cover only one wall in the red and the others in beige. She had loved the look and now asked his advice when she wanted to redecorate. Of course, he had no clue about decorating. He just knew what he liked and what he didn’t. And he knew for certain if he had to sleep in a small room painted bright red, he’d probably go nuts.

  “Can I show Kelly to her room?” Chelsea’s voice sailed through the living room. Denny grinned and shook his head in wonder. His daughter had never warmed to any female that had a remote possibility of becoming a romantic interest. He couldn’t believe how easily she’d taken to Kelly. Then again, maybe she knew what he did—the odds of a relationship with a beautiful journalist from Denver were slim. She wouldn’t have to worry about this woman.

  He laid the suitcase on the folding rack his mother had opened at the foot of the bed.

  His daughter’s voice filtered into the room. “You’re gonna love this room. I helped my daddy paint it. Red is my favorite color. What’s yours?”

  Kelly’s attention to Chelsea seemed genuine as she allowed his daughter to pull her toward the room. “I would have to say that blue is my favorite color. Like the blue of a clear, cloudless day.”

  “Oh, that is a pretty color. I’ve seen those when we’ve taken Daddy’s boat out to see Gaston.” She dropped Kelly’s hand and raced toward him. “Daddy, will you take Kelly for a ride down the bayou, to the swamp tomorrow? She needs to see Gaston.”

  He grinned. What would she think of their unusual friend? “Honey, I have to work tomorrow. We can visit Gaston on Friday or Saturday when I’m off.”

  “Yay.” Chelsea clapped her hands.

  The joy dancing in his daughter’s eyes stopped him from questioning further what made her so determined to get Kelly out into the swamp.

  Kelly raised both hands. “Time out. Who is Gaston? And why do we have to go into the swamp to see him?”

  “Gaston is a sixteen-foot alligator that lives a few miles down the bayou.” Chelsea answered.

  Kelly’s furrowed brow and reluctant smile made Denny laugh. “It’s all right. Our boat is much bigger than the alligator.”

  “OK, I’m game. I think. But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time.” She tousled Chelsea’s hair. The action made his daughter giggle.

  Kelly shot him a questioning gaze. “Tracking an alligator. Sure didn’t see that as part of a Christmas tradition.”

  “Supper is ready. Come and eat.” His mother called from the kitchen.

  “Come on half-pint.” He hefted his daughter onto his back. “Let’s let Kelly wash up before dinner.” When he realized what he said, he added, “Not that she needs to.”

  Kelly’s smiling face allowed him a sigh of relief. He pointed to the other side of the room. “The bathroom’s through that door.”

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  He trotted toward the kitchen with Chelsea on his back.

  “Daddy?”

  “What, pumpkin?”

  She whispered into his ear. “Do you think Kelly’s pretty?”

  He turned and kissed her cheek. “Now what kind of question is that to ask your Daddy?”

  “I dunno. Just curious. I think she is.”

  “I suppose she is.” He sure hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from Chelsea, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He’d prayed that if the day ever came when he’d fall in love with another woman that his daughter would accept her, but even in his craziest dreams, he hadn’t thought his ten-year-old would encourage the matter.

  Trois

  Kelly scanned the array of food spread on the table. A feast. Was this in her honor? With each breath, the spicy aromas triggered her hunger. But even famished, she couldn’t sample each of the dishes. With one spoonful of everything, her plate would hold more than she ate in a day. This would be a long week if every meal proved to be a banquet like this. What would the Christmas table look like?

  “Denny, after you say de grace, make sure Kelly gets a little of everyt’ing. Be sure to pass her de field peas.” Eula pointed to the bowl next to Denny.

  Denny nodded then reached to his right for his grandmother’s hand and extended an open palm to Kelly. When she placed her hand in Denny’s, a familiar memory warmed her. One of sitting next to her father holding his hand when he’d ask for the blessing. She tried to remember a time in the four years they’d been together when Brent had said a blessing. Not one time came to mind. Why had she never considered it an issue?

  The gentle pressure and warmth of Denny’s hand reminded her of the comfort she felt when she held a cup of hot chocolate on cold winter days. But before the feeling could lead her to explore any possibility, she quenched the stirrings with basic reason. There was nothing here for her. Plain and simple. No use letting emotions carry her where she could not go.

  “…Father, we continue to pray for healing upon Mr. Poret. Give Carroll and Sherry peace as they wait for the outcome of his surgery. Give his doctors wisdom to administer the care he needs. And Father, thank You for bringing Kelly here safely. Bless her time with us. We ask this through the name of Your Son, Jesus. Amen.”

  Her emotions had so captured her while holding Denny’s hand, she’d been unable to focus on the blessing and had missed the first half of what he said. The last part had warmed her heart. How long since someone had prayed for her?

/>   A bowl of field peas materialized from her right. Denny held the bowl, his lopsided grin plastered across his face. “I believe you are to have these.”

  “Thank you.” She scooped the smallest spoonful possible. These field peas didn’t look like any she’d had before. They seemed to be in some type of brown gravy. After she filled her plate with a small portion, she passed the bowl to a smiling Chelsea.

  “These are my favorite.” She filled the ladle and doused her plate.

  When everyone had filled their plates, Kelly placed a forkful of the field peas into her mouth. The creamy sauce and soft peas ensnared her taste buds, making them beg for more. “These are wonderful.”

  “You never had any like that before, did you?” Eula’s face lit up.

  Kelly shook her head. “Can’t say that I have. I don’t usually like peas, but this sauce is so creamy.”

  Eula sat up a little taller in her chair then glanced over at her mother. Mameré Milla smiled. Eula clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “It’s the roux—”

  “Wait.” Kelly held up her hand. “What’s a roux?”

  Denny chuckled next to her then quickly covered his mouth with his napkin.

  She sunk in her chair. She’d revealed her lack of knowledge and hoped they’d extend her some degree of grace for her ignorance of their culture and food. But the only roo she’d ever heard of was the one attached at the end of the word kanga. She had a gut-sinking feeling that this assignment would be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. For the first time in her career, she hadn’t researched as much as she should have.

  Denny removed the napkin then turned to her. “Haven’t you ever watched any Cajun cooking shows?”

  Kelly shook her head. “No, I’m not a cook. So I’ve never been interested.”

  Eula’s eyes widened at the confession and Mameré Milla turned in surprise. “You don’t cook?”

  Kelly shook her head. “Do take-out mostly, or sandwiches. Sometimes frozen dinners.”

  Eula fidgeted in her seat as though she was sitting on a coiled spring ready to unleash and catapult her across the table. “May sha, we got to get you up to speed so you can do de articles right. For starters, a roux is seasonings, flour and oil browned together. It’s de starter for either gumbo, etouffée, or stew. If you’d like to watch me make one, I’m cooking a gumbo for Christmas.” Eula’s hand gestures resembled a choir director’s.

  “What is sha?” Kelly knew her forehead crinkled when Eula had said the word, but it was a new term for her.

  Denny laughed. “You’re OK. It’s a term of endearment. From the French Chér.” He pronounced it quite different than his mother had.

  Kelly smiled then turned her attention back toward Eula. “I’d like to watch you cook. Maybe we can add some authentic Cajun recipes to the article I’m writing.” Kelly wasn’t sure if she’d said the wrong thing again, but the look she got from everyone at the table told her she did.

  Chelsea leaned toward her. “Mawmaw doesn’t use recipes. She just throws it in the pot as it needs it. She’s been teaching me.”

  Kelly glanced toward Denny’s mother and grandmother. “You really don’t use recipes.”

  Eula shook her head. “Never have.”

  “How did you learn to cook?” Although Kelly had never had the desire to learn, she had a box of recipes her mother had painstakingly copied by hand onto index cards. As a young child, she’d watched her mother make countless meals using those recipes.

  Eula patted her mother’s hand. “My mama taught me. I would stand next to her while she cooked, and she’d explain everything she did. It’s how she learned, and how her mama learned, and so on.”

  Mameré Milla swallowed then cleared her throat. “I was Chelsea’s age when I learned to cook. Being the oldest of nine children, I was expected to help around the house. My mama would let me stand on an old wooden chair next to her while she cooked.”

  Kelly realized with amazing clarity the importance of this art to these women. Cooking here was more than just putting food on the table. It was an extension of self—sharing their traditions and culture. Cooking was to Eula and Camilla what writing was to her. She now knew the angle of her article. “Such a rich heritage.”

  “It is. But we don’t look at it as passing on a heritage. We see it as showing our love for de next generation. Jus’ something dat families do.” Eula turned her attention to her plate.

  Denny’s heart-gripping grin tugged at her senses. She couldn’t resist the urge to watch him eat. He savored each bite as he worked on a plate full of his mother’s food and listened to the conversation. He’d starve if he relied on me to cook. A glaring reason for her to dismiss any thought that they could have any kind of romantic relationship. Although, the thought of romance caused her to pause. Gripped her. Why would the thought even flash through her mind?

  Kelly nodded and turned her attention to the small bowl of orangy-red sauce filled with greens and crawfish tails. To her they were crawdads and the only purpose she knew for their existence was to lure fish onto a hook. Not to eat.

  Eula leaned forward and waved her fork. “Kelly, I didn’t spice de etouffée as much as usual, but be cautious it still has a little kick to it.”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem. My dad used to cook really spicy food all the time.” She dipped her spoon into the sauce and rice mixture and purposely bypassed the tiny crawfish tail on her first expedition. “This smells really good.”

  With caution, she brought the food to her mouth and touched the sauce with the tip of her tongue. Not bad. A little spicy, but tolerable. She placed the spoonful in her mouth and allowed her taste buds to savor the new sensation.

  This is good. The spices were…whoa.

  She reached for her glass of water and gulped half its contents. Her vision blurred, and she fought with everything in her not to convulse into a debilitating coughing fit. She cleared her throat and downed the rest of her water. “I’m OK…really.”

  Chelsea’s giggles trickled from her left as the young girl passed the pitcher of water. To her right, Kelly caught a glimpse of Denny. He lowered his spoon and seemed ready to perform CPR if she needed.

  ****

  Denny swallowed the last bite of etouffée. His favorite dish, although tonight’s version didn’t have the kick he usually enjoyed. His mother had used a lighter touch for Kelly, which, judging from the coughing and gulping sounds coming from his left, was not enough. Poor Kelly. He tried not to make a big deal over it and cause her embarrassment.

  He glanced her way. She seemed to have recovered from her first bite of etouffée and slowly worked on the rest of her field peas.

  The cell phone at his side rang. “It’s Carroll. Excuse me.” He turned and stepped away from the table to talk to his brother.

  Denny ended his call then returned to his seat.

  “Mr. Poret’s doin’ better.” He turned to Kelly. “That’s Carroll’s father-in-law. He and Sherry hope to be here for the party and Christmas dinner. You’ll get to meet my brother and his wife. He sends his apologies again for the change of plans.”

  Kelly took a sip of her water and addressed Eula. “It’s not a problem for me. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  How could she think that her being here was a burden?

  “Don’t think that for a second.” His grandmother removed her glasses and gazed directly at Kelly. “We love having you here.”

  Moisture glistened in Kelly’s eyes. His heart went out to her. Was she lonely here? Was there someone back in Denver she missed? She’d said she didn’t have a boyfriend, but he couldn’t imagine with her personality and beauty that she would be alone. What about her family? Wouldn’t they miss her for Christmas?

  “Thank you, both.” She met his grandmother’s gaze then his mother’s. A gentle smile spread across her face and lit her eyes with warmth that touched Denny.

  Thank You, Lord. Thanks for my family.

  His mother lowered her
spoon and leaned forward. Denny sensed she itched to know all about Kelly.

  “So, Kelly, are your parents celebrating Christmas in Denver?”

  A flash crossed Kelly’s eyes and for an instant he saw the joy there replaced by something that he knew all too well. Pain.

  “My parents are gone. My mom died when I was ten and my father passed away this spring. I don’t have any other family.”

  “I-I-I’m sorry.” His mother shook her head, and he saw her discomfort as clearly as he’d seen the look in Kelly’s eyes. Not often was his mother at a loss for words, but Kelly’s admission had left his mother stammering.

  “Miss Kelly, I’m sorry.” His daughter patted Kelly’s arm. “I know how it feels. My mom died when I was five.”

  Through what he thought were well-veiled emotions, she smiled at Chelsea. “Oh, honey, thank you. It’s hard isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I miss her a lot.”

  Although able to stifle his own grief, his heart still shattered every time he saw the twisted etchings of pain on his daughter’s face.

  Spoons clanged against dishes, breaking through the pause in conversation. What could he say? He certainly wasn’t the picture of perfection in dealing with the loss of a loved one. Mameré Milla broke the silence. “Well, Miss Shepherd, we are honored that you chose to spend Christmas wit’ us and dat we can share our Christmas traditions wit’ you.” Her wrinkled face stretched into a brilliant smile. “It starts on the day before Christmas Eve when we decorate that golden cedar with nothin’ but lights and candy canes.” She pointed to a bare tree standing in the corner. The tips of the branches had a yellow tinge.

  His grandmother had the touch. If anyone could liven the mood, it was Mameré Milla.

  During the remainder of the meal, lively chatter and making plans for the upcoming annual Christmas Eve party filled the room.

  As the evening ended, Denny spotted Kelly trying to hide a yawn. He carried his plate to the sink, rinsed the remains, and placed it into the dishwasher. “Mama, as always, thank you for such a great meal. But it’s getting late. Some of us still have to go to work.” He narrowed his eyes and shot a fake glare toward his daughter. “Unlike some lucky little girl who gets two whole weeks off of school.”