Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “I couldn’t do that to Daddy.” She looked at the Dear Daddy letter in his hand. “Now give that to me. I need it.”

  If she wasn’t eloping, why did she need this piece of dynamite?

  He lifted the pink paper above his head. Her eyes followed it like a dog eyeing a treat. Whatever it was, it was important.

  “Why in the world did Bertha think we were eloping?” he asked.

  “Bertha was in the middle of making jelly and hung up on me before I could get to that part.” Her steel-blue eyes locked with his for a second before returning to the letter. “Now, give it to me.”

  “Why didn’t you call her back?”

  “Her syrup was ready.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Once the syrup’s ready, you don’t have enough hands or time to be talking on the phone.”

  He should rip it. Slow her down a bit by making her write another one. Holding the paper high in both hands, he tore a half inch worth. She jumped for it like a Frisbee dog and grabbed his wrist. He held onto it tight while she pulled down, twisted herself around in front of him, and weaseled the letter out of his hands. In one quick motion, she slid it down in the front trenches of her jean pocket.

  What had happened caught them both off guard. His arms were all tangled up in front of her and she was way too near. Her hairspray smelled surprisingly pleasant.

  “I won, Jerry Boy. Let go.” Her voice brought about reason.

  “That was all your doing.” He raised his arms and stepped away from her.

  She jerked open her truck door, and hopped inside. Without a glance in his direction, she drove out of the Carltons’ gravel drive.

  The picture of Missy driving her old Dodge pickup past Bertha’s garden of sunflowers, with the dust from the road trailing like a wedding train behind her, deserved to be on the cover of an Ideals magazine. And it was one that tore at his heart.

  He kicked at the gravel and walked about in small circles. Missy and Gary were eloping. Only one course of action came to mind: He had to call Big John. He had to warn him. Unfortunately, he’d have to make the call from Bertha’s. Sighing, he headed toward the house.

  His mother answered the door.

  “Is everything okay? We saw you and Missy fighting.”

  “No.” He strode past her into the dining area. Like Siamese twins, Peg and Bertha peered at him from the kitchen.

  “Bertha, may I use your phone?”

  “Yes, of course. There’s one here in the kitchen.”

  “Do you have a phone in another room?” With an uplifted palm, he gestured toward the living room.

  She scrunched up her face. “Only in our bedroom, and Wilfred is asleep.”

  Robert shouldn’t probably tell John what he needed to with the Elderly Angels in the room. He sighed. But he needed to make the call.

  A small fan clipped to the open window above the sink imparted a slight breeze into the shoebox-sized kitchen. With his back to the ladies, he dialed John’s shop number first. This one he knew by heart. There was no answer. He found a Clark County phone book on the counter next to a mug of pens. He let the shop phone ring ten times while he thumbed through the White Pages. Running his finger down the page, he found John Stuart and dialed the house. After four rings John picked up. He’d probably been in the recliner watching Gunsmoke.

  “John, this is Robert. Sorry to be calling so late, but it’s important.”

  “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  “I followed a rumor that Missy is eloping tonight, and I’m here at Bertha Carlton’s. I just spoke with Missy regarding the rumor and she only slightly denied it. She wasn’t convincing. She’d even written you a note.”

  “Hell’s bells,” John whispered.

  Robert paused and wondered what that was supposed to mean.

  “When are they leaving?”

  “She said right now. She drove out a few minutes ago. I thought it was more important to call you than it was to follow her.”

  “Hmm . . .” John chuckled softly. “She might be pulling your leg.”

  “No.” Robert inhaled deeply. “She showed me the letter, and I swiped it from her. But it was very important to her that she got it back. Very.”

  “Well, if she’s meeting up with Gary, I find it pretty strange that he’s parked on my couch at this very moment.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll make sure she gets home before he leaves. And uh, I’ll have a talk with her. I’m pretty certain, Bobby Boy, that she’s pulling your leg.” Big John had a good chuckle.

  “I, uh . . . she’s pretty convincing. In her back pocket is a pink piece of paper that is pretty important. Ask her about it.”

  “I’ll check it out when she gets home. You take care and thanks for calling.” John sounded amused.

  Robert returned the receiver to the cradle and stared at the white rotary phone. Gary was there. John could be reading the situation all wrong.

  “Robert?” his mother said behind him.

  “Yeah?” He turned her direction.

  “The pink piece of paper... it didn’t happen to be this color pink?” Biting her lower lip, she held up a fluorescent-pink piece of paper exactly the same shade as Missy’s.

  “That’s it.” He nodded.

  “Robert.” His mother’s cheeks brightened. Taking a step toward him, she held out the paper.

  He took it and leaned back against the counter. In the quiet of Bertha’s Carlton’s crowded kitchen in front of three elderly angels, he read the top line: Fried Chicken and Gravy.

  Missy’s pink paper was a recipe. What in the world? He lowered the paper to his side.

  “Soon as I told the gals that we’d printed copies of the recipe, Missy got up from her chair and went and grabbed one.”

  “I sure like that girl,” Bertha said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “She reminds me so much of myself when I was young.”

  Robert stared at the three women. Missy wasn’t eloping. He recalled the smile that had teased her lips before she’d handed him the letter. It was a good thing he hadn’t followed her. If he’d read the contents of the paper in front of her, he would have been tempted to strangle her. And what kind of Christian example would that have been?

  Missy wasn’t eloping.

  “Missy may not be married now, ladies,” Bertha said. “But she very well could be on her way by the end of this Elderly Angels’ session.” With a giggle, Bertha turned around to face the sink.

  CHAPTER 35

  Missy’s truck headlights shone on Gary’s El Camino as she drove into her gravel driveway. Hopefully, he wasn’t still here because of her. She couldn’t handle any more chaos this evening. She parked in front of the double-car garage, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment. All in all, she’d really enjoyed her second time at Elderly Angels and spending time with other women.

  At the front of the house, Daddy quietly closed the screen door behind him. Outlined by moonlight, his large shadow moved across the face of the house toward her truck. She rolled down her window halfway as he approached.

  “We need to talk,” he whispered.

  Missy slid her keys in her front pocket, closed her truck door behind her, and sighed. Jerry Boy must have called, and Daddy believed him.

  She followed her father across the gravel drive and inside the office area. He flipped on the lights and plopped down in his chair behind the desk.

  “Robert called. He said that you have a mighty impor-tant piece of pink paper in your back pocket. I’d like to see it.”

  Jerry Boy had tattled, and now she was in the principal’s office. She stood in front of Daddy’s desk, retrieved the letter from her back pocket, and handed it to him.

  Daddy placed both of his brawny elbows on top of the desk and unfolded it. “One whole fryer,” Daddy said, “flour, Crisco...?” Furrowing his dark, bushy brows, his gaze traveled to the top of the page. “Fried Chicken and Gravy.

  “I suppose you think t
his is funny.” Daddy’s face matched the color of the paper as he suppressed a laugh.

  He obviously thought it was funny.

  “Jerry Boy got so bossy—big brother-type of annoying—that he deserved it. And if I really had been eloping, I can tell you this: nothing he said would have changed my mind, except for one thing.” She sighed. “I could never do that to you, Daddy.”

  “Was eloping even a possibility?” He glanced toward the closed office door.

  “No.”

  His chest inflated. “Did Gary ever bring it up?”

  She rubbed above her left eye. “Yes . . . I think it was a combination of Trudy Tibbits getting married, my big hair, and that cabbage-roll dinner. He doesn’t love me. Not really. Not like that.”

  “Maybe I should have another talk with him.”

  “No. It’s already behind us. We’re already almost back to normal.”

  “I don’t think so.” Daddy inhaled deeply. “Douglas has gone to bed and Gary’s still here.”

  Missy wondered why. “You told him two weeks, Daddy.”

  “I know.” He scratched the side of his neck. “But I didn’t know if I wanted to be that kind of a father.”

  “I want you to be.”

  “Why’s that?” Daddy’s brows gathered.

  “I want any guy who courts me to fear you. The problem with Gary is, he knows deep down you’re one big softie, especially now.”

  Flint appeared in Daddy’s eyes. He knew she was referring to him being born again.

  “You owe Robert an apology.”

  “It’s late.” Missy shook her head. She didn’t want to. She was tired, and she wasn’t sorry.

  Daddy glanced at the clock. “It’s only nine fifty-five.”

  “No.” The only reason Robert had shown up at Bertha’s tonight was he was doing the rep-for-life thing. Getting thicker than thick with Daddy.

  “I told him I wasn’t eloping, and he didn’t believe me.”

  “Sounds like he didn’t believe you on account of this pink paper.” Daddy gave the recipe a little wave.

  “Well, he’s a dummy.”

  “All I know is when he called here, he was convinced that you were eloping.” Daddy glanced at the phone. “If you’re not going to call him, I will.”

  “I am not going to call him.”

  Daddy pulled his little brown telephone book out of his middle desk drawer and dialed the Schoenings’ number using the eraser end of a pencil.

  He cleared his voice. “I’m sorry to be calling so late. This is John Stuart. Is Robert home? Thank you.” He glanced at Missy.

  She inhaled deeply and sat down. Daddy better not hand her the receiver.

  “Hi, Robert.” He cleared his voice. “This is Big John. I wanted to let you know that Missy’s not eloping tonight or tomorrow night. The uh, mighty important pink piece of paper is a recipe for fried chicken and gravy.” Daddy chuckled. “That’s good. I’m glad you weren’t worrying this whole time.” Daddy met her gaze across the desk. “She’s going to make fried chicken tomorrow night for supper... and you’re invited.”

  If Jerry Boy did come over, she’d have to go grocery shopping and get a fryer, Crisco and . . . arsenic.

  “What about Saturday night? Oh, hmm...” Daddy nodded. “You’re meeting with an old girlfriend to talk. Hmmph.” Using the pencil, he began doodling on a folded newspaper.

  Missy tried to show no change in her expression. Jerry Boy had an old girlfriend. She wondered how old? Maybe they were getting back together. Maybe after being around Missy he’d realized what a gem this girl really was. Maybe that’s why she was an answer to prayer. Probably not—it had to be on account of the fuel filter.

  “How ‘bout going fishing with us on Saturday?” Daddy asked.

  What was he thinking? Bill Blanchard was going. Two reps in the boat would prove awfully uncomfortable.

  “That’s too bad. What about coming to dinner on Monday?” Daddy drew the tires on some kind of roadster. “Tuesday? Yes, Tuesday works for us too.” Pointing to the receiver, he looked at Missy.

  She shook her head. She had no intentions of speaking to Jerry Boy tonight, Sunday, Tuesday, or ever again for that matter.

  “Did you know Baker’s back and he took Martha? Yeah, it was tough. Funny how a little bird can grab your heart. Uh-huh. That’s good to hear. I’ll tell Missy. Thanks again, Robert.” Daddy hung up the phone.

  “He already knew about the paper?” Missy asked.

  “Yes, supposedly his mother showed him the recipe right after he called me. He said the three elderly women who overheard the conversation had a good laugh.”

  Bertha, Marilee, and Peg. Missy closed her eyes. How embarrassing. Ginsu Knives or not, she never wanted to attend another Elderly Angels.

  “He said Bertha, the gal in charge of Elderly Angels, really loves you and she doesn’t love everybody.”

  Missy looked at the concrete floor, and felt her ribcage expand with air. It was hard to hide her feelings from Daddy.

  “Now, she’s the heavy-set lady who looks like your grandmother?”

  She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. “So Robert’s not coming over for dinner tomorrow night or going fishing on Saturday, right?”

  “Right. Saturday, he’s helping his parents paint their home an orange sherbet color. He thinks their eyesight’s changing. And then Saturday night, he’s meeting with his old girlfriend to talk.” Daddy pursed his mouth, thoughtfully.

  “So, he’s coming for dinner on Tuesday.” Missy nodded.

  Just the other day she’d seen another recipe in the Felida Community Church Cookbook with cabbage in it. Maybe it would be their last supper with ole Jerry Boy. Maybe he’d finally get the drift that she was tired of him hanging around after shop hours.

  “Yes, he’s coming for dinner on Tuesday, and you’re going to make this here . . .” Daddy tapped at the pink piece of paper, “fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and something bright on the plate like green peas.”

  Coleslaw had color. She’d seen slaws before with little bits of carrot, and purple and green cabbage.

  “Did you hear me, Missy?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  When Missy entered the living room on her way to bed, Gary was slumped on the couch, half asleep. He half opened one eye and peered at her. Instead of Daddy heading straight to bed, he eased his tired frame into the recliner.

  “Douglas helped me fix my muffler tonight,” Gary said.

  “Finally. How much did he charge you?” Daddy asked.

  “I left a twenty dollar bill on Missy’s desk for parts.”

  Gary curled his finger, motioning for Missy to draw closer. She shook her head, thankful that Daddy hadn’t seen.

  “We’re going to church this Sunday at eleven o’clock, Gary,” she said. “You’re welcome to come.”

  “Huh?” Daddy sounded half asleep.

  “Why?” Gary mouthed without sound. He shook his head, and frowned.

  Missy knew why. Church had become important to her. She liked what church had done for Daddy, and she liked the people she’d met there. And church was a way to slow Gary down. He’d never go.

  “Felida Community Church. Service starts at eleven o’clock,” Daddy said. “Bring your old man.”

  “Yeah right.” Gary chuckled.

  Gary’s kiss in the pit and proposal had been so disappointing. He’d skipped right over the poetry and flowers part. She wondered how Robert had courted his old girlfriend. Were they getting back together? For some reason her heart felt stretched like a balloon being filled with air.

  During her Friday morning coffee break, Missy came to a decision. Robert needed to stop hanging around. Her brain was getting confused. She’d always liked Gary. Yet now that she had him wrapped around her pinkie, every time she turned around, she was thinking about Robert. She scoured through her cookbook.

  “Whatcha looking for, doll?” Daddy asked.

  “Getting ideas for the
next couple dinners.” She shrugged, took a sip of coffee, and flipped to the next page.

  “Well, remember Tuesday’s fried chicken. Make those Salmon Cakes again and how ‘bout Jean’s fluffy green salad? Whatcha makin’ tonight?”

  “Preacher’s Casserole. It’s a good recipe when you have a hundred and one other things to do.”

  “Why do you think Gary stayed so late last night?” Daddy asked.

  Missy bit her bottom lip and glanced at her father’s baby blue eyes. Now that he knew that Gary had asked her to elope, should she tell him the rest of the truth?

  “I told Gary I wouldn’t go out with him until he fixed his muffler, Daddy. It was a way to slow him down.”

  Daddy took a long, slurpy sip of warm coffee. “Maybe I should have told him a month. Do you or don’t you have feelings for him?”

  “I did for years; but, then our courtship was so disappointing.” She shrugged, and felt strangely sad. Did she feel weepy because of Gary or the fact that Robert had a date with his old girlfriend?

  “Love’s supposed to be patient,” she said, remembering Peg’s Bible poem. “And Gary rushed me.”

  “I’m glad you invited him to church. Pastor Norris told me that anyone who belongs to Christ is a new person. If Jesus can change me, he can change Gary.”

  Missy sighed. The only reason she’d invited Gary was because she knew he wouldn’t go.

  “I’m done with the Ranchero.” Daddy rose from the table. “Only needs your finishing touches.”

  She followed Daddy back out to the shop. Using Windex and paper towels, she cleaned the mirrors and dash and wiped down the interior side of the windows. Why had Robert tracked her down at Bertha’s last night? Was there a chance? She tossed a wadded paper towel toward the garbage and told herself to stop thinking about him. She thought about Bertha instead. Maybe Bertha had more cabbage recipes or ideas. Missy returned to the house.

  In the front pages of her Felida Community Church Cookbook, she read a few of Bertha Carlton’s sentiments. Don’t let your days be so busy that you forget to thank the good Lord above. And, Jesus is coming—are you ready? On page five, she found Bertha’s telephone number.