Torn between flat-out terror and relief that he was bringing them to Honey, I followed along, sobbing ghostly tears. He narrowly missed banging their heads on the banister half a dozen times. By the time we’d reached the bottom, I was one simmering mass of ethereal rage, cursing him, cursing my sister, even cursing God for bringing me to this place where I couldn’t even take care of my babies.
When Jeremy didn’t go toward Bert and Honey’s bedroom and instead headed out the door with the babies, I thought I’d explode all over the porch. I flew back to Honey and Bert and screamed at them. Get up! Get up! I yelled. All they did was snore.
By the time I got back to Jeremy, he was halfway to the Blackshears’ house, crossing a pasture in the freezing cold, still carrying the weeping babies slung under each arm. Oh, no. He was headed for that blasted pond—he was going to drown my babies!
You have never seen a ghost go so nuts in all your life. I was like a whirling dervish, flying in and out of Jeremy, screaming at God, crying soundless, waterless tears.
Then Jeremy walked past the pond. That brought me up short. What in heaven’s name was the boy doing? He reached Hank and Casey’s house, then trudged up onto their porch. For half a minute, I thought maybe he was planning to rock the twins in the porch swing. But that was an idiotic idea—if he’d wanted to rock them, there was a rocking chair in their room.
Instead, he plopped them down on the porch on their backs. I gasped. All right, so he hadn’t hurt them, but darn, it was cold out here and all they had on was their matching sleep suits. Did he mean to leave them here alone, their little arms flailing at the chill? They’d be dead by morning. Bad as I wanted to hold my babies, I didn’t want it to happen like that. No, indeed.
But Jeremy didn’t leave. He opened the porch door and tried the door knob to the inner door. When it proved to be locked, he started kicking the door. And banging. And pressing the doorbell with his finger, over and over. I went from terror to relief, then back to terror in seconds. What if nobody was home?
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the porch light came on. Hank opened the door, his eyes still bleary with sleep. “Jeremy? What are you doing here? It’s nearly two in the morning!” Then he heard the crying and spotted the babies laid out on the porch like a pair of turtles knocked on their backs. “Oh, no, Jeremy, you can’t carry those babies out here like that. What’s got into you, son?”
“Got into you, son,” Jeremy repeated dutifully. He watched as Hank rushed out and picked up the babies, one in each arm.
Hank started back toward the door. “Come inside a minute, while I throw some clothes on and tell Casey what’s going on. Then we’ll call your Mom and Dad—”
Jeremy blocked the door before Hank could go back in. Then he pushed Hank, hard enough to make him stagger back a step.
I screamed. Hank just frowned. “Now stop that, Jeremy. You’re only making things worse. We’ve got to get these babies out of the cold.”
Jeremy grunted, an almost primeval sound, then pushed him toward the steps. With his hands full of babies, Hank could only protest and back down the stairs. But Jeremy kept pushing, just enough to move him, but not enough to make him lose his balance. Hank finally gave up.
“Okay, we’ll go over there now.” Hank grumbled the whole way. “Casey’s going to be frantic, wondering what’s going on. And couldn’t you even let me get a coat? Coldest night in Mossy Creek in a long time, and you’ve got to drag me out into it without a coat. It’s freezing out here.”
Not for Jeremy. Honey had told me that the boy once dove into Hank’s pond in the dead of winter. When they’d fished him out, he wasn’t even shivering.
But maybe he wasn’t completely immune to the cold, because now that he had Hank moving in the direction he wanted, he was walking so fast that even long-legged Hank was having trouble keeping up with him. As they approached the house, with the babies sobbing and Jeremy nearly running, Hank swore under his breath.
“Your mother is going to have your hide for leaving the door open on a night like this, son.” Hank marched up the stairs behind Jeremy, nearly running into him when the boy stopped short on the threshold.
That’s when Hank’s expression changed. To my shock, he handed the babies to Jeremy. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He hurried into the kitchen where I heard him pick up the phone.
At first, I was too preoccupied with hovering over my babies to notice what Hank was saying.
Then his conversation filtered in through my fear. “It’s not too bad in the front of the house, Chief, but I’ve got to get to Honey and Bert. Just bring Doc Champion, okay? The gas smells pretty strong the further you get into the house. Thank God Jeremy left the door open.”
The truth hit me then. Why Honey and Bert hadn’t roused. And Bert had said something about the furnace . . . The furnace, of course! It must have a leak.
I began to quiver. Some guardian I was. I couldn’t even tell when there was a gas leak, when my babies were about to die. But Jeremy could, bless his heart.
Moments later, Hank came out of the house, carrying Honey, and laid her on the porch. He took a few big breaths, held the last one, then went back in and got Bert. By the time Hank had emerged with my brother-in-law slung over his shoulder, the firemen and paramedics had arrived. I recognized Mr. Bainbridge and Boo Bottoms. As the fire chief rushed inside, Boo stayed behind to work on reviving Bert since Hank had already started on Honey.
For the first time since my death, I paid no attention to my crying babies. I just kept watching the air over Honey and Bert, praying not to see a spirit. Because what would I do without them to watch over Amy and Anna? And what would Jeremy do without his mom and dad?
Jeremy. I looked over at my nephew. The babies were practically screaming in his ears, and he just stood there stoically, his face contorted in a frown, his arms holding the babies tight, but gently, oh so gently. He kept his eyes fixed on Honey, and in them I saw worry.
Suddenly, Honey coughed and sputtered a little and came awake. “What on earth—Hank, what are you—”
“You’re very lucky to be awake, let me tell you,” Hank told her, “and you can thank your boy for that. He saved your life.” Bert roused beside Honey, mumbling about his head hurting, and Hank broke into a grin as he added, “Jeremy saved both your lives.”
Chief Royden arrived now, lights flashing, and with him was Doc Champion. As Doc turned to checking out Honey and Bert, Hank retrieved one baby from Jeremy and Chief Royden took the other. Boo grabbed quilts from the house and wrapped the babies snugly. Mayor Walker drove up next. She asked questions of everyone, studied the situation quickly, then walked up to the chief. They looked at each other for a moment. There was sadness between them, even I could see that. She held out her arms, and he handed her the baby. Then he walked away without looking back.
With any worries about his parents soothed, Jeremy turned to stare at the flashing lights. I suddenly remembered Jeremy at four, a bundle of energy running from one lighted ride to another at the carnival, laughing the whole time. Now he was watching the lights flash red and blue, grinning like a circus clown. Like a kid.
And the light dawned on me, too. “You love Amy and Anna already, don’t you?” I told him softly. “You love them as much as I do.”
Honey had once confided to me that she didn’t think Jeremy understood the concept of love. But she was wrong. I knew that now.
“Take care of my babies,” I told him. Beyond him shone a different kind of light now, bright and white and beckoning me home.
I could swear he looked straight at me then. But I couldn’t be sure because the white light was filling my vision.
Then there was no time to apologize for all the bad things I’d thought about him, no time even for one last glance at my girls. Even though they were crying, it had no more power to hold me. The tether snap
ped, and next thing I knew, I was soaring up the tunnel toward the light, faster and faster, higher and higher.
But just as I spotted Cam waving to me from the distant end, I heard from behind me Jeremy’s monotone voice, faint but distinct, say, “My babies.” I wouldn’t have to worry about Amy and Anna ever again.
Night’s End: Ida
IT WAS NEARLY four a.m. when I made my way back to the farm. Honey and Bert and Jeremy and the babies were fine, thank God. Everyone in Mossy Creek was safe and sound for the night.
I wandered into Jeb’s study, feeling dazed. I built a fire on the hearth, poured a double bourbon into a monogrammed silver cup I’d given Jeb on our first anniversary, then sat in his leather armchair and stared out his dark, frosted window toward Rose Top, the vineyards, and the Sitting Tree.
“It’s been a long day, Jeb,” I whispered. “A strange day. A special day. Sad. Happy. Confusing. Enlightening. A lot of people’s lives changed today. Some, a little. Some, a lot. Mine included. For better or worse, nothing will ever be the same.”
And then I cried.
What a day.
The Mossy Creek Gazette
215 Main Street • Mossy Creek, Georgia
From the Desk of Katie Bell, Business Manager
Lady Victoria Salter Stanhope
The Cliffs, Seaward Road
St. Ives, Cornwall TR37PJ
United Kingdom
Dear Vick,
You see what I mean, now? It was no ordinary day, to say the least. We pretty much ran the gamut of emotions and events. Public. Private. Funny. Sad. Silly. Scary. It’s hard to say which happening has gotten the most debate and discussion since then, but Irene’s scooter protest, the Lymon family’s brush with danger, and Eula Mae Whit’s encounter with the bank robber certainly score high on my gossip meter.
Of course, there’s nothing else quite like the Ida/Amos news, so if I had to vote, I’d probably give that the blue ribbon for shock value. How did the story of their private kiss get out in public, you ask? All it took was Del Jackson confiding his misery to Marle Settles, Hope’s husband. Marle told Hope, and Hope told Ingrid, and then Hope and Ingrid took Ida down to Atlanta for a girls’ night out, and after a few cosmopolitan martinis at the bar of the Buckhead Ritz Carlton, Hope and Ingrid wheedled the story of the kiss out of Ida, who swore them to secrecy.
Which is where the story about the kiss would have stopped, except that one of the bartenders at the Ritz overheard it, and that bartender is the cousin of a state patrol officer assigned to the governor, and the bartender recognized Ida as the governor’s aunt (Ida gets a lot of TV time in Atlanta, always battling the governor in the news.) So the bartender told the state patrol officer about the secret romance between the mayor and the police chief of Mossy Creek, and the officer told the governor’s secretary, Gloria, (who’s dating the officer, even though she’s married, but that’s a story for another day,) and Gloria gleefully told the governor—Ham—and Ham didn’t miss two blinks calling his mother, Ardaleen, in Bigelow—Ida’s older sister—and telling her, and since Ardaleen is all too happy to cause Ida embarrassment, the story of the kiss was all over the county by the next day.
The kiss story didn’t just have “legs,” as we say in the gossip business, it had wheels, sirens, and its own lane on the highway.
Ida and Amos are both fit to be tied, meaning they’re mad as wet setting hens, they could eat lead and spit nails, they’re ill as sore-tailed cats . . . in plain English, they’re up the creek without a paddle.
Who knows what’ll happen next? I can promise you this much:
Things are about to get even more interesting in Mossy Creek.
Hurray!
Your shameless, gossip-loving friend,
Katie
All I Ever Need to Know about Life I Learned from Cooking with Bubba Rice
Starch is the glue that holds a family reunion together.
Measuring takes all the fun out of cooking.
Always write down Mama’s recipes so you can sell them later.
A pinch of this and a pinch of that will get your face slapped.
Barbeque is pork. Everything else is just grilled.
Never insult the people who handle your food.
Never be afraid to eat the last piece of cake.
Don’t plant a garden unless you have lots of friends who’ll take tomatoes.
If you need friends, plant a garden. Everyone wants fresh tomatoes.
A slow, promising simmer never hurt any relationship.
Recipes from Bubba Rice
Hello, friends, Creekites, and fellow diners!
I’m Win Allen, aka “Bubba Rice,” owner and head chef (well, okay, the only chef) of Bubba Rice Lunch and Catering. My diner is located just off the square, behind Mossy Creek Drugs and Sundries. Drop by for a meal any time you’re in town, and don’t forget to catch my TV show, Cooking With Bubba Rice, produced by Bert Lymon at WMOS Media, (“The Voice of the Creek”) on local cable access channel 22.
I’ve personally tested all the recipes that appear in the Mossy Creek Hometown Series, and I guarantee them with the Bubba Rice Seal of Approval. I take good food—and the philosophy behind good food—very seriously. When you visit the diner you’ll see my rules of cooking on the placemats and wall plaques. I’ve included some of them on the next page, for your reading enjoyment.
Happy Cooking!
Win Allen, aka Bubba Rice
Bubba’s Pecan Crusted Dijon Tuna
OK, you’ve all heard Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck if…” jokes, right?
Well, this one goes like this, “If you think that tuna only comes in a can, you might be a redneck.” A good piece of yellow fin tuna can be cooked in just about any way that you can cook a rib eye or a filet mignon.
Ingredients:
2 - 12 ounce yellow fin tuna steaks about 1-1/2 inches thick.
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/3 cup corn meal
A pinch of cayenne pepper
Dijon or Creole mustard
2 tbsp peanut oil
Put the pecans, corn meal and cayenne pepper in a food processor and pulse until coarse. Small pieces of pecans are good. Dust is bad. Don’t overdo it. Brush both sides of the tuna steaks with the mustard, then dredge in the pecan/corn meal mix. Evenly coat both sides, and don’t forget the edges. Pour the peanut oil into a non-stick skillet over medium/high heat. Sear the tuna, 3 minutes per side. With a 1-1/2 inch tuna steak, this will result in a medium steak. If you’re of a mind that fish must be cooked well done, reread the first couple of lines and then finish it off for another 3-4 minutes in a 375 degree oven.
Serves 2
Roasted Asparagus with Red Pepper & Scallions
OK, I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with some bit of humor or life wisdom, and there just isn’t anything humorous about asparagus. It’s really good, it’s just not funny. But, pecan crusted Dijon tuna and wasabi mashed potatoes go REALLY well with this dish.
Ingredients:
1 bundle of fresh asparagus
1 bundle of fresh scallions or green onions
1/2 cup of diced red bell pepper
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste
Trim the asparagus and the scallions and dice the red pepper. Place the asparagus spears in a baking dish. Add the scallions on top of the asparagus, then sprinkle the diced red pepper evenly over the top. Drizzle the olive oil evenly over the dish. Add salt and pepper and place in a 375 degree oven for 15—20 minutes.
Serves 4
Wasabi Mashed Potatoes
Yes, I’m really giving you a mashed potato recipe. For those of you who aren’t sushi fans, wasabi paste is that little dollop of green dynamite o
n the corner of the dish that you mix with soy sauce to “liven” things up. And, no, I haven’t lost my mind. This is really good, but you may want to serve it to your less adventurous friends in a dimly lit room, because it does have a slight green tinge to it and every good Southerner knows, “mashed taters ain’t green!”
Ingredients:
4 large red potatoes
4 tbsp butter
1/2 cup milk
1 tbsp wasabi paste
Salt & pepper to taste
Peel and slice the potatoes and bring to a boil over medium/high heat. Cook until fork tender, then drain well. Add the butter, salt & pepper and milk and mash until smooth with your handy dandy potato masher. Add the wasabi paste and blend in well with a hand held mixer (Yes, I’m using a mixer on mashed potatoes. You’ll never get the wasabi blended in evenly with a handy dandy potato masher).
Serves 2
Reading Guide: Book 1
Mossy Creek
1. Amos Royden, Police Chief of Mossy Creek, is an extraordinary man. Knowledgeable of the law, he tempers justice with common sense. Discuss both the favorable and unfavorable aspects of his application of the law. Could such a police chief really exist today?
2. The town of Mossy Creek is fictional, but could be similar to many small towns across America. Is it more likely that these small towns would flourish in the South? Could some metropolitan areas, such as the boroughs of New York, have a similar atmosphere?
3. Mossy Creekites are proud of their heritage. They love the intimacy of living in a small town. Is it possible that the ethnic neighborhoods of larger towns possess that same feeling? How are the folks who live in those ethnic neighborhoods similar to Mossy Creekites? How are they different?
4. Miss Ida Hamilton, mayor of Mossy Creek, is a feisty, independent woman. She has a small bronze plaque, given to her by her husband, that says: Tradition, Courage. Love. Can you find evidence in the story “Ida Shoots the Sign” of these qualities in Ida? Is she like other women of this century?
A Day in Mossy Creek Page 23
