Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (5 page)

“Now, Julia,” LuAnne said, taking the book from me as I finished copying. “Here’s another easy one that she can put in the oven and let cook for hours. She can do it early in the afternoon and forget about it until suppertime.”

“That’s the kind she needs. Let me see it.”

“I’ll tell you what. Put me down for two days. I’ll do the pork chops Monday and this roast the next time. I have a manicure appointment on Tuesday, so let’s say Wednesday, if it’s not already taken.”

“It just happens to be free. I’ll put you down right now.” And I did, noting that I now had meals for the Pickens family for three days.

2- to 3-pound roast (eye round works well)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Put the meat in a Dutch oven and mix together the following:

One 10
³
/
₄
-ounce can cream of mushroom soup

¹
/
₂
soup can of water

¹
/
₂
envelope of Lipton’s dried onion soup

(you can also add 1 chopped onion, 1 chopped garlic clove, and 1 bay leaf, if desired)

Dash of Kitchen Bouquet for color

Pour the mixture over the roast, then cover and cook in the oven for 2
¹
/
₂
hours or so. Remove the bay leaf, if you’re using one, before serving. There will be no need to thicken the gravy—serve it over rice, noodles, or mashed potatoes. The roast will be tender and tasty, and if there’s any left over, it will make excellent sandwiches with lettuce and tomatoes. Or you may chop the leftover roast and add it to the leftover gravy to make a hash. Serve it over toasted English muffins.

Serves 6 to 8.

A variation: Instead of a roast, use ground-beef patties. Brown the patties quickly on both sides, then lower the heat to simmer. Mix together the mushroom soup, water, and dried onion soup, and pour over the patties. Cover and let simmer until the patties are cooked through.

(I’m not sure how easy this is, Hazel Marie, so watch her carefully and take notes when she fixes it.)

“Look, Julia,” LuAnne said, holding out another recipe. “Hazel Marie has to have this one. No one would believe she hadn’t slaved all day over it and it’s just as easy as can be. I tell you what—on my first day I’ll show her how to make barbecued pork chops and this cake. All she’ll need to make on her own will be baked potatoes and a salad.”

“Maybe we ought to stick to just a main dish,” I said. “I’m not sure she’s ready to do two things at once.”

“Oh, no, she can do this. It’s simple, I promise.”

1 box Duncan Hines yellow cake mix

4 eggs, beaten

³
/
₄
cup Wesson oil

³
/
₄
cup apricot nectar (found on the canned-juice shelves)

3 teaspoons lemon flavoring

8-ounce can crushed pineapple (juice and all)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Mix together all the ingredients and pour into a greased and floured tube pan. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes.

Serves 10 to 12.

Glaze:

2 cups confectioner’s sugar

Juice of 2 lemons

Mix together and pour over the cake (when done) while it’s still in the pan.

Save some for the top of the cake after taking it out of the pan.

Serves 8 to 10.

(LuAnne says she doesn’t serve this cake to company, but I know she does because she served it when the book club met at her house last May. It really is good.)

By the time LuAnne had left, I was feeling quite pleased with myself. With two cooks and three days lined up, my plan was working. And with LuAnne talking it up on the telephone—which I was sure she was doing at that very moment—I fully expected to have a number of volunteers to fill the rest of the weeks of James’s recovery period.

Pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen, I said, “Well, Lillian, that’s another one. LuAnne was not only willing, she was so eager that she signed up for two days.” I laughed. “My only problem may be slowing her down. I think she would’ve signed up for even more.”

“You got another problem you not even thought of. When you gonna tell Miss Hazel Marie ’bout all them people comin’ to her house an’ messin’ ’round in her kitchen?”

“Oh,” I said, stopping abruptly. “I guess I better mention it, hadn’t I? Though I can’t imagine she won’t be thrilled.” I walked to the sink and washed my hands. “Anyway, why don’t you go on home, Lillian? You worked late last night, and since it’s just me I can dip up my own supper. Lloyd’s not here, is he? He’s at his mother’s?”

“Yes’m, he stuck his head in while Miz Conover here an’ say he eatin’ over there an’ stayin’ the night to he’p with James.”

Murmuring under my breath, I said, “I hope to goodness this doesn’t go on too long.”

Lillian heard me, as she usually did. “We might have to take a broom to him, he get so used to havin’ people waitin’ on him.”

“I have to keep reminding myself that he really is hurt. It’s just that I worry so about Sam and Hazel Marie.” I finished drying my hands, then started helping my plate. “You go on, Lillian—I’ll clear up here. And first thing tomorrow, I’m going over to tell Hazel Marie that I’ve signed her up for some cooking lessons.”

Lillian got her coat and pocketbook from the pantry and started for the door. Looking back, she said, “You might better put it to her a little diff’rent than that.” Taking another step, she stopped again. “An’ I forget to tell you, but while you at Miz Allen’s house, that man call Miss Hazel Marie again, wantin’ to know where she at.”

I looked up in surprise. “I hope you didn’t tell him. No telling who he is.”

“No’m. I jus’ say she not here, like the first time, an’ he hang up.”

“Well,” I said, taking a serving spoon from a drawer, “he certainly is persistent. Some people don’t know when to quit, do they?”

Lillian opened the back door, then hesitated. “You think I oughta call an’ tell her somebody lookin’ for her?”

“Goodness, no—she has her hands full without adding a phone solicitor. It couldn’t have been important or he’d have left his name and number. You go on home and get some rest. We’ll tell her tomorrow.”

The next morning, after both Lloyd and Sam had had breakfast—cooked by Lillian at our house since neither was a fan of cold cereal—and Lloyd had left for school while Sam headed upstairs to bed, I rang the doorbell at Hazel Marie’s.

Lord, it sounded like bedlam inside. Both little girls were crying—actually, one was screaming—James was clanging his bell, and the telephone was ringing. Hazel Marie came to the door with a harried look on her face. She was still in her robe, her hair uncombed and flat on one side.

“Oh, Miss Julia,” she moaned. I thought she was going to cry, but I couldn’t determine whether it was because she was relieved to see me or because I was just another demand on her time.

“I’m here to help, Hazel Marie. What can I do?”

“Oh, if you would, please see what James wants. Let the phone go—I don’t have time to talk to anybody. The babies need changing and I have to get them down for a nap. They’ve been up since four-thirty.” She pushed the hair out of her face, looking distractedly around as if she didn’t know what to do first. “And of course J.D. is gone.”

“All right,” I said. “Go see about the babies, then get yourself dressed. Take your time. I’ll handle James.”

She gave me a grateful smile, then rushed to pick up the babies. Struggling with one in each arm, she climbed the stairs while I marveled at her strength. Together they must’ve weighed about as much as she did.

“James,” I said as I walked into the room where he lay sprawled out in bed, the covers rumpled and strewn around, “put that bell down. When you need something, ring it once and once only. If somebody doesn’t come immediately, it’s because they’re doing something else.”

His eyes got big and his mouth hung open as he saw me—not the one he’d expected at all. I took the bell and put it out of his reach.

“Now, what do you need?” I stood by the bed, my arms crossed, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, ah, I guess I need this tray moved.” He pointed with his left hand to the breakfast tray on a table beside his bed. “An’ maybe a little bit of toast an’ some more coffee. I drink lots of coffee in the mornin’. It gets me goin’.”

I looked over the bowl of Cheerios, pitcher of milk, and coffee cup. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. What’s the matter with this cereal?”

“I’m used to havin’ me a big hot breakfast. Like grits an’ things. That ole cold cereal don’t set so good.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, James, but you’ll have to get used to it. You know Hazel Marie doesn’t have time to cook a big breakfast. It’s all she can do to manage those two babies. You should be thankful for what you get. I doubt she’s had a bite of anything herself.” I moved the tray and the table out of the way. “Now, I want you out of that bed. The sheets need changing and you need to be up.”

“Oh, no, Miss Julia. I can’t do that. I can’t put no weight on my ankle, an’ it hurt too much to move my arm. I better stay in bed some more.”

“Staying in bed isn’t good for you. You’ll get a clot in your leg, and then where would you be? Now, swing your feet off that bed and sit there on the side while I move this chair.” With a lot of pushing and shoving, I moved a large upholstered chair from the corner of the room to the bedside.

“Now, stand up, James. Hold on to me and balance on your good foot. That’s the way.” I held on to his arm while he moaned, but he did what I told him to do. “Lean on me and take one hop to the chair. Now swivel around and sit down.”

He did it, but you would’ve thought I was putting him through torture. James was not a silent sufferer by any stretch of the imagination.

I stripped the bed, then went to the linen closet for fresh sheets. When I had the bed remade, he turned his face up to me with a mournful look. “Can I get back in now?”

“No, you can’t. I’ll bring an ottoman so you can elevate your foot. Then I’ll make you some toast and more hot coffee. I think you’ll find it easier to eat sitting up than lying in bed.”

By the time I had his foot situated, my back was letting me know that I’d done enough lifting and pushing and rearranging. I brought James a plate of buttered toast and a large mug of hot coffee, putting it near to hand and telling him to leave his dishes on the table beside him when he finished.

“I’m going to clean up the kitchen, but I’ll be back in a little while. I can figure out how long it’ll take you to eat, so you don’t need to be ringing that bell when you’re through.”

“Can’t reach it nohow,” he muttered pitifully.

“We’re not going to forget you, James. Don’t worry about that. It’s just that there’s a time and a place for everything, and sometimes we have to get in line and take our turn.”

By the time I had the kitchen cleaned and a few toys picked up, Hazel Marie came downstairs, dressed—if you can call it that—in a pink loose-fitting running suit that had nothing but comfort to recommend it. She had brushed her hair and put it in a ponytail, but her face was only partially made up. In spite of having been so lavish with the use of cosmetics before the babies came, Hazel Marie had obviously begun to slack off. Why, there was even an inch of dark roots showing in her part, indicating that visits to Velma had not been high on her priority list.

I peered closer. No eye shadow, either! Things were going downhill fast, which was just one more thing to worry about.

“Well, they’re down,” she said, blowing out her breath. “Whew, with J.D. gone, it’s awful around here with everybody wanting something at the same time. Thank you for coming, Miss Julia—I was about to lose my mind.”

“I’m happy to do it. Sit down now, and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Have you had anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, as she sat at the kitchen table. I put two slices of bread in the toaster for her. Then she sat up abruptly. “How’s James? He’s awfully quiet. I’d better see about him.”

“Stay right where you are. He’s fine. He’s sitting in a chair. I changed his sheets—the whole room was getting a little rank. I’ll look in on him in a little while, but I need to talk to you for a minute.”

So I did, telling her my plan, although, as I’d told Lillian, presentation is everything. I put it to her not as a way to teach her to cook, but as a way to have meals on her table—along with the recipes that would allow her to replicate the dishes whenever she wanted.

Hazel Marie put her arms on the table and her head down on them, crying. My heart almost seized up at the thought that I’d hurt her feelings. “We don’t have to do this, Hazel Marie. Not at all. If you don’t like the idea, they can just bring a dish like they’d do anyway.”

“Oh, no,” she said, sitting up, with her hands covering her face. “I think it’s wonderful. It’s just . . . I can’t believe anybody would do that for me.”

“Everybody’s eager to do it. Well, the ones I’ve talked to are, but I’m sure everybody else will be, too. They love you, Hazel Marie, and this is one way they can show it. And everybody knows how interested you are in cooking, so it’ll be a real pleasure for them to demonstrate their special recipes.”

She wiped away the tears and smiled. I patted her hand and said, “It’d be nice if we could find somebody who’s responsible to watch the babies while you’re cooking. Mildred and I can do it this Saturday, but be thinking of someone we can get. Now,” I went on, “let’s you and me go get James and take him into your family room. We’ll get him comfortable in the recliner and turn on the television for him. That’ll cut down on the bell ringing for a while.”

About halfway down the hall, with Hazel Marie on one side of James and me on the other with his arms across our shoulders—I got the one with the cast which was about to drive me to the floor—and him moaning with each hop, I began to think that moving him had not been one of my better ideas.

I steadied myself with a hand against the wall while he rested on one foot like a stork. Maybe a flamingo, one of those thin-legged birds. “Come on, James, take little hops. We’re almost there.”

“But ev’ry hop jolts me bad,” he said, leaning crookedly because I was taller than Hazel Marie. “I may have to go back to bed.”

Hazel Marie looked up at him. “It’s closer to go on than to go back, James. Just a little farther.”

We finally got him to the recliner where he sank down with a deep sigh. Grateful to be free of the burden, we showed him how to manipulate the chair to a comfortable position, with his feet elevated.

“Now you’re all set,” I said as I turned on the television.

“’Cept for the remote,” he said, reaching out for it.

I gave it to him, then followed Hazel Marie out of the room, conveniently forgetting that the bell was still in the bedroom.

“Go sit down, Hazel Marie,” I told her. “Catch your breath for a while. I’ll go up and make the beds and straighten a little.”

She protested, but I remained firm because she was about wiped out. Going quietly from room to room upstairs so as not to wake the babies, I gave everything a lick and a promise to do better next time.

When I got back downstairs, all was quiet except for a game show on television. I walked in to see about James, asking if he needed anything.

“I’m feelin’ like it ’bout time for lunch,” he said, barely taking his eyes off the set. Then his head jerked around. “You smell something burnin’?”

“Oh, Lord!” I said, whirling out of the room. “She’s in the kitchen.”

And sure enough, smoke was drifting out of the kitchen as I ran through the dining room. The smoke alarm began shrieking loud enough to wake the dead and both babies upstairs. Hazel Marie had the back door open while she flailed away with a broom, batting the alarm to make it stop.

“What happened?” I asked as soon as she knocked the alarm off the wall and quiet descended—except for the wailing from the cribs upstairs. “Where’s the fire?”

She leaned against the wall and pointed to the sink, where a skillet still hissed as water ran over it. “I was fixing James a grilled cheese sandwich, and the pan just started smoking. I guess it got too hot.”

I guess it did,
I thought, looking at the shriveled, blackened, water-soaked sandwich in the skillet. “No harm done, Hazel Marie. You go on and see to the babies. I’ll fix lunch.”

After Hazel Marie’s attempt, I felt quite competent making two nicely grilled cheese sandwiches, one for her and one for James. Putting one sandwich, along with a glass of milk, on a tray, I took them in to James.

His mouth turned down at the sight of the milk. “A Co-Cola’d go a whole lot better with that,” he said.

“You need the calcium,” I said, mainly because I hadn’t been able to find any soft drinks. “Good for the bones, you know.”