Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  His latter comment probably canceled out his first. She continued toward her truck. The gravel crunched behind her as he jogged her direction. She set the toolbox down near her feet, wondering if he’d dare repeat any of it to her face.

  An old hick truck drove past, and then the road was completely theirs again.

  “Missy, I—” Halting in front of her, Robert gripped her shoulders.

  “You need to slow down a little, Jerry Boy, I’m not a Christian . . . yet.”

  “Did you hear what you just said?” He smiled.

  “Yes, I know.” She bit her lower lip. “I said yet.”

  In the grassy shoulder, two miles from where they’d first met, Robert pulled her close, and held her. His face felt smooth against her cheek and he smelled pleasant, like he’d splashed Brut cologne on earlier in the day.

  “I can’t believe your Bic filter lasted as long as it did.”

  “I’ve been praying a lot; about this car, about my job, about you . . .” His voice trailed off.

  She closed her eyes and remembered when he’d shown up at Bertha’s at nine in the evening to make sure she didn’t elope. He’d loved her then. She lingered in the moment and remembered every shiny detail.

  Robert loved her.

  CHAPTER 41

  Missy took a shower and changed into her new blue top and a pair of black slacks. With her hair in a beehive of hot rollers, she hurried into the kitchen and tied an apron around her waist before she opened three packages of Hungry-Man fried chicken and gravy dinners. She popped them into the preheated oven.

  In the window above the sink, Robert’s white station wagon came into view. He was here; her stomach did a cartwheel. Earlier in the day, Daddy told her he was going to talk to Robert about tires and how to change wiper blades. Robert was a young, able-bodied man who’d save himself plenty of money down the road by taking the time to learn now.

  She hurried to her room, carefully unwound each roller, fingered her hair as Charlene had shown her, and sprayed about a quarter of a can of hairspray over it. Looking in the mirror, she applied one light coat of mascara and blinked. No smudges. She unplugged the hot rollers and returned to the kitchen. She slid the Felida Community Church Cookbook into the middle compartment of her new, black purse, and glanced at the clock. In twelve minutes, she’d need to skedaddle.

  The phone rang. It was Bertha.

  “Remember Elderly Angels is at Marilee’s tonight,” Bertha said. “She’s short six eggs for the meringue which is part of tonight’s dessert. Someone said you raise chickens.”

  “We do. Tell her I’ll bring them.”

  “Just bring the eggs, not the chickens.” Bertha giggled. “How are you and Robert?”

  Missy smiled and glanced at the pretty dahlias on the window sill. “I’ve liked him a lot longer than I realized, Bertha.”

  “That’s what you said. He better not be talking about Las Vegas.”

  “No, not Robert.” He was one of the sweetest, most patient of men.

  “That’s good. Marilee throws beautiful weddings. She’s already done three of them.”

  At first, Missy bit her lower lip, but then after a little introspection, she found herself smiling. The idea didn’t make her want to run.

  “I like him an awful lot, Bertha.” Missy swallowed a large lump in her throat. “But I’m not a Christian yet. Robert shouldn’t be... You know what kind of a Christian he is. He shouldn’t even be thinking about...”

  “When you feel it’s the right time, Missy...” Bertha’s voice sounded like Daddy’s new Christian one. Her tone held a softness like she was talking to a flower. “Don’t hesitate. Just ask Jesus into your heart. He’ll take care of the rest.

  “Have a little faith, honey. I was Robert’s second grade Sunday school teacher. When he was seven-years-old he told me, ‘if you have an answer to prayer, you’re supposed to tell somebody. It’s a form of witnessing.’ I can’t tell you how many people I’ve told that to. People who’ve been an answer to prayer.”

  Missy’s throat burned so much she could barely breathe.

  The screen door bounced behind Daddy and then Douglas. “Thanks, Bertha, I gotta go.”

  “I’ll see you soon, honey.”

  The men must be hungry, as she hadn’t called the shop to tell them dinner was on. She set the table with forks, napkins and three glasses of milk.

  “You’ll have to wait a couple more minutes. Dinner’s still in the oven.”

  “Bobby Boy’s sweeping the shop.” Daddy scrubbed his hands at the sink. “He said he’d clean up after he watched me change the oil on the Mazda. He didn’t even know where to place the drip pan. Imagine that.”

  It wasn’t too difficult for her to imagine.

  “I saw a funny bumper sticker the other day,” Daddy said. “It said, Just because you’re smarter than me doesn’t mean you are.”

  “What’s so funny about that?” Douglas asked, sitting down at the table.

  “I thought it was funny.”

  Robert eased the screen door closed and walked through the kitchen to the sink.

  “That sure is a pretty top on you, Missy,” Daddy said, sitting down in his usual chair.

  “You look nice, Missy,” Robert said.

  “She bought herself some new church clothes today,” Daddy said.

  “Don’t everyone say ‘hallelujah’ at the same time,” Missy said. “Timer’s going to ring in three minutes. I’ll let you guys take ‘em out.” She grabbed a dust rag and the bottle of Pledge from beneath the sink, and exited the kitchen on her way to Daddy’s room.

  She still had five minutes before she needed to leave for Elderly Angels. Ever since she’d seen Daddy’s dusty night-stand, she’d planned to clean his room.

  Years of dust coated the nightstand on Mama’s side of the bed. Missy glanced at the top drawer. Had anyone opened it in the last ten years?

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she slowly opened it. A handful of sticky-looking, red-and-white peppermint candies greeted her eye, and then a snapshot of Douglas. He must have been only three, holding a seashell as he sat on Daddy’s lap. Large, rugged rocks in the Pacific Ocean loomed in the background. A yellow-and-red cat’s eye that Missy had made with yarn and Popsicle sticks in third grade sat off to one side. She picked up a faded piece of yellow construction paper and unfolded it.

  To my Mother. It was a Mother’s Day card that she’d written with a blue crayon in second grade. “Your the best Mom in the hole werld. I love you, love your darling dawter, Missy.”

  A tear slid down her cheek as she recalled her mother reading the card, and smelling Missy’s fistful of light blue forget-me-nots. A decade of sweet memories infused her as she dwelled on the woman whom she’d loved so very much.

  She wanted to sob into Mama’s side of the bed—just sob and let it all go—but she had Elderly Angels tonight, and she needed to leave. This drawer of emotion would have to wait for another time. Pulling herself together, she grabbed her keys.

  CHAPTER 42

  “I sensed something between you and Missy the first time we met,” John said as he sat at his desk across from Robert.

  “Yes, antagonism.” Robert took a sip of orange soda and set the bottle on top of a nearby catalog.

  “Maybe.” John chuckled. “But it was never apathy.”

  “When I told Gary to take some time off, I didn’t know Missy would have a beau by the time he came back.” John leaned back in his chair.

  “How do you think he’s going to handle the news?” Robert tried to not let his imagination wander.

  “He’ll be fine. Doug’s been telling Gary little tidbits about Missy and you. And . . . he’s also been telling me tidbits about Gary. Supposedly Gary’s a bar hopper, and he met some blonde Florence Nightingale. I haven’t told Missy.”

  Feeling immensely relieved, Robert nodded.

  John glanced at the clock on the wall above the filing cabinet. “If we hurry, we won’t miss the start of Gun
smoke. What’d you want to talk about?”

  Time stilled as Robert looked across the desk at the man who he hoped would someday be his father-in-law. “I’d like your permission... to court your daughter.”

  “When I gave you the five dollar bill the other night, I was giving you my permission.” John chuckled.

  “I want your blessing. And I didn’t want you to have any questions or doubts about my character or my intent when it comes to your daughter.”

  “You’re an inspiring young man, Robert.”

  Robert smiled.

  “I couldn’t pick a finer, young man for her. You keep loving her the way you have—in your patient, steady way, she’ll come around.”

  There was the blessing.

  Robert let John’s words sink in and nurture his soul. He reached across the desk and shook John’s large, hardworking hand.

  CHAPTER 43

  There’s more in the drawer, Missy found herself thinking halfway through Marilee’s cooking demonstration. In her mother’s nightstand were books, pictures, maybe some poems from Daddy—little things Mama had treasured.

  “While the rice is steaming, I wanted to show you how I roast vegetables,” Marilee said. The twelve ladies gathered around the island. Mrs. Schoening looked like she was conducting an orchestra as she used wooden spoons to toss broccoli and cauliflower florets. Next, she drizzled olive oil over the vegetables. Using a pepper mill, she ground fresh pepper and kosher salt over the top before tossing the mixture again.

  Missy wrote down each step in one of the blank pages in the back of her cookbook.

  “I put it all in the pan, like so.” Marilee spread the veggies into a jelly roll pan. “Lastly, I sprinkle grated parmesan cheese on top. The oven is preheated to 425 degrees, and I’ll start checking it for tenderness after ten minutes.”

  “Are there other veggies you prepare this way?” Bertha asked.

  “Asparagus is one of our favorites. You can also add red pepper, zucchini—whatever your heart desires. Sometimes I toss walnut halves in the mix.”

  Back home the men were having TV dinners, and Missy would soon be eating like a . . . Schoening. She closed her eyes and remembered the pinnacle moment of the day when Robert told her he loved her.

  While the vegetables roasted, the ladies adjourned to the living room for their weekly Bible study with Peg. Missy knew the routine.

  In Marilee’s living room, the burgundy drapes matched the burgundy pillows on the camel-colored couch and loveseat. A teal Persian rug with burgundy accents ran the length of the furniture grouping. Missy sat down beside Lisa on the loveseat.

  “Ladies, tonight our focus will again be on loving our husbands.” Peg clasped her hands beneath her bountiful bosom.

  Here we go again. Was everyone married but her? Even if they were, couldn’t Peg just add and our future husbands? No, that probably didn’t sound right either.

  “When I first accepted the Lord, I was fifteen,” Peg said. “I’d already smoked my first cigarette, kissed my first fellow, and stolen my mother’s red lipstick. I thought I was something.”

  Missy scanned the room and waited for someone else to say it. Peg was a sinner. Strangely enough, nobody did, at least out loud.

  “Shirley Shuck, yes, that was her name, she’s now Shirley Danielson and lives in Bryant, North Dakota. She saw the road I was on. She saw my heart; and because she was my best friend, I pretty much told her everything.

  “Shirley had her family praying for me, and she had certain teachers at the school praying for me. Next, Shirley invited me to her church. I knew one or two cute boys from school went to her church, so I said I’d go.”

  Missy couldn’t believe how honest Peg was being. Though it was fascinating, she felt a tad embarrassed for her.

  “I wasn’t saved the first or the second time I went to Shirley’s church. But I became curious about this Jesus who my parents had never told me about. I began to question the things I was doing, but I still hadn’t made the big decision. And then there came the night, I needed God, and he was there.

  “In March of 1937, after the Pioneer boys’ basketball team beat Fort Vancouver, I gave my life to Jesus. I was one of five people in a Buick Oldsmobile that rainy evening when my boyfriend lost control of the car and we went over an embankment. I broke this arm.” Peg patted her left. “Two others were seriously injured. No one died, thank heaven, but... two people were saved. While we waited for the ambulance to arrive, I prayed out loud. I gave my life to Jesus, and so did another teenager in the car.”

  Missy’s throat burned so hot she could barely swallow. She, along with many of the other ladies, dabbed at their eyes.

  “Was Jack one of the young men in the car?” Lisa asked.

  “No, I met Jack after high school. But two of those men are now our brothers in Christ.”

  Bertha paused in the kitchen doorway. “Everything’s ready.”

  “Oh, I haven’t got to the part about how to love your husband,” Peg said.

  “Hurry up and finish.” Bertha remained in the doorway.

  “I think it’s so important for believers to keep a journal of their walk with Jesus. When there are low spots, our journals and the Bible, of course, will help us to remember the moments of joy.”

  Peg clasped her hands. “I also think it’s good for us as wives to journal and write down positive memories about our husbands. Low spots are inevitable, but our written memories will help us to remember the joy.”

  Did anyone else hear it? Missy looked at the faces of the other women present. Shifting from side to side, some of them glanced toward the kitchen. There was something about the word joy. It wasn’t a word Missy’s family used at home. It was a word she hadn’t heard in years, but if she dwelled on the word long enough, she knew. Joy was precious like a rare gem—something you’d tuck in your pocket when you found it for fear it might be taken from you.

  “Don’t lose the joy, ladies,” Peg concluded.

  Lisa nudged her and rose from the couch. “Marilee’s an excellent cook. You probably already know that.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  The Chicken Divan—a broccoli, chicken, and cheese casserole, had a creamy sauce with a hint of curry. Served with steamed rice and roasted vegetables, the dinner was one that would have made Daddy cry. And to think she’d soon have the recipes. Missy smiled.

  For the dessert course, Marilee demonstrated how to make a meringue topping for the chocolate pies she’d made earlier in the day. Why anyone would go through all the steps of making such a complicated dessert when you could pick one up already made at Ziegler’s was beyond Missy.

  Marilee beat the egg whites until they stood straight up when she turned over her handheld beater. Next, she spooned the meringue over the chocolate pies, and then slid the two pies under the preheated broiler.

  “Meringues are like toddlers; they need babysitting,” Marilee said, standing near the oven. “This is not a moment to go fold a load of clothes.”

  After one bite of Marilee’s beautiful pie, Missy closed her eyes and savored the flavor. She would never purchase a pie from a store ever again. Fresh or frozen.

  “Ladies, the recipes for tonight’s dinner are on the counter, here.” Marilee patted a nearby pile on the island. “I had them printed on the same bright pink paper again.”

  “Now, we don’t want anyone fighting over them in the driveway like you did last week,” Bertha said. “There’re plenty of copies to go around.”

  Missy’s cheeks felt warm.

  Lisa nudged her. “What’s she talking about?”

  “It must be a private joke.” Missy smiled.

  CHAPTER 44

  Robert’s wagon was still in the driveway when Missy reached home. She set her purse on the counter and entered the living room. Douglas, Daddy, and Robert were all staying up late watching the Rockford Files. As soon as she plopped in the recliner, the show went to commercial.

  “How were the TV dinners?” Missy as
ked.

  “Good,” Daddy said. “But Salisbury steak’s the best.”

  “I like the chicken,” Douglas said.

  “How was Elderly Angels?” Daddy asked.

  “Amazing.”

  Robert cleared his throat. “Missy, would you like to take a walk?”

  All day, she’d looked forward to being alone with Robert, but now she felt apprehensive and shy. She tried to think through the situation. If she took a walk with him, would he kiss her? She wasn’t a Christian. Would he be sorry if he kissed her?

  “Go take a walk with Robert, if nothing else to tell him you’re not interested,” Daddy said, without taking his eyes off the TV.

  “I agree,” Douglas said.

  The gravel driveway was cast in moonlight. With Robert’s shoulder touching her own, they walked past the chicken coop down to where the road became more littered with the broken-down vehicles that Daddy planned to fix someday.

  “There’s a great view of the moon.” Robert took her hand like it was as easy as buttering bread, and then he slowed, and she stopped beside him. In the moonlight, Robert raised her hand that he’d been holding and kissed it as he looked at her. She waited for him to say something pretty, something beautiful, something she’d jot down later to dwell on. But Robert remained quiet, and looked at her like she was something awful special he’d been waiting for a lot longer than the time they’d known each other.

  “What’d you think of my parent’s new house color?”

  The orange sherbet with the dark green trim color didn’t look very good together. What was a nice way to word it?

  “We’re painting the trim on Saturday. It’ll be a bright white.”

  “Oh, that’ll look so much better.”

  “We’re going to spray paint the shutters white also.”

  “Much better.”

  “Right now my Dad can’t stand it. He wants to stay in a hotel.”

  She giggled and glanced back at the house. Rockford Files was probably half over. Maybe Daddy would stay up and chaperone. She looked back to Robert’s moonlit eyes and knew that Bertha Carlton gave good advice. They shouldn’t be alone.