Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (9 page)

21-ounce can cherry pie filling

2 cups yellow (or white) cake mix (about half a box)

1 stick margarine, cut into small pieces

1 cup chopped pecans

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter an 8 × 8-inch square baking dish. Dump the cherry pie filling into the dish. On top of the pie filling, sprinkle (don’t stir) the cake mix. Scatter the margarine over the mix. Then sprinkle the pecans over the top. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes until the top is brown. Serve with ice cream.

VARIATIONS: Use apple, blueberry, peach, strawberry, or pineapple pie filling instead of cherry pie filling. You also may sprinkle shredded coconut over the top along with the pecans.

Serves 4 to 6.

(This recipe is justly famous, Hazel Marie, and you know why—it’s Emma Sue’s signature dish for any occasion. She’s brought it to us often enough.)

“Hazel Marie will be thrilled to have this recipe, Emma Sue,” I said. “And I know her family will enjoy it.” I didn’t mention that Hazel Marie herself didn’t like dump cake.

“Well,” Emma Sue said, wiping the last of her tears away, “tell her she should use a square tinfoil pan if she’s taking it to somebody. That way she won’t have to worry about getting her Pyrex back. I figured that out after I realized I was spending a fortune on Pyrex dishes. Nobody ever returns them.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. But now I need a main dish recipe and, remember, it should be one that you won’t mind showing her how to make. And, by the way, what day would be good for you? Next week is all taken care of.”

We studied the calendar and she chose Tuesday of the following week. “I can do it then,” Emma Sue said. “I have a ten o’clock meeting that will run through lunch. I could go by Hazel Marie’s about one, before the Christmas pageant committee meets. We’ll have time to throw it together in between.”

“Well, Emma Sue, I don’t know about throwing something together. Hazel Marie needs
details
.”

“Oh, she won’t have any trouble with this,” Emma Sue said. “Really, throwing together is all you do. Here—read it and see.”

3 pounds lean stew meat, trimmed and cubed

Preheat the oven to 300°F. Put the meat in a large Dutch oven, then drain each of the following (saving juices) and add to the meat:

16-ounce can English peas

16-ounce can sliced carrots

16-ounce jar small onions

16-ounce can green beans

Then add:

16-ounce can whole tomatoes (plus juice)

10
³
/
₄
-ounce can beef consommé, undiluted

¹
/
₂
cup dried bread crumbs

¹
/
₂
cup dry red wine

¹
/
₃
cup flour

1 tablespoon brown sugar

2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

2 teaspoons salt

¹
/
₄
teaspoon black pepper

1 bay leaf

1–2 teaspoons Kitchen Bouquet, for color

Mix well, cover, and put in the oven for 2 to 3 hours, stirring occasionally and adding small amounts of drained juices if needed. Remove the bay leaf. Serve over wide egg noodles.

Serves 8.

(This recipe looks as if it will feed a crowd once or your family for two or three days.)

“Now, Julia,” Emma Sue said, “I know it calls for wine, but don’t let that upset you. I use cooking wine, which is nonalcoholic and perfectly fine for a Christian cook.”

If I stayed around Emma Sue for any length of time, she could send me around the bend. I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m not upset because I didn’t even notice. Besides, I doubt that a half a cup of wine that will cook down anyway would corrupt any cook—Christian or not.”

“Oh, Julia,” she said as tears sprang up in her eyes.

I had to quickly reverse myself, apologize, and thank her again and again. Then I got myself out of there before I said something worse.

When I got home, I expected to find Sam up early because he’d be spending the night in his own bed instead of staying with James. With Mr. Pickens back home, we would be reverting to our normal sleeping arrangements, and that thought was putting a spring in my step. Our bed had been awfully lonesome the last few nights.

As I passed through the kitchen on my way to him, Lillian stopped me with an announcement. “Lloyd, he say to tell you he gonna eat at his mama’s an’ spend the night, too.”

I turned to her. “Where’s he going to sleep? Every bed in the house is taken.”

“He say the couch’ll do him, an’ Mr. Sam, he say he already take a million naps on it so Lloyd won’t have no trouble gettin’ a good night’s sleep.” Lillian washed her hands at the sink as I started toward the living room. “Oh, an’ Lloyd say his mama’s cookin’ smell real good, so he stayin’ to try it.”

“Well, good. Let’s hope she gets it on the table the way it’s supposed to be. Did Mr. Pickens get home?”

“Yes’m—that’s another reason Lloyd stayin’.”

I smiled at that, my heart melting at the thought of how good a father Mr. Pickens was proving to be. Hazel Marie could’ve done a lot worse than to choose him. In fact, in the past she
had
done a lot worse.

“Go on home, Lillian,” I said. “Sam and I can put something together for dinner, or . . .” I stopped, recalling my conversation with Emma Sue. “Or we’ll go out for a change.”

Sam and I had a lovely evening in the clubhouse dining room, our catching-up conversation interrupted now and then to greet people we didn’t often see. Sam and I had each been members of the country club before we married, although neither of us played golf or tennis or, for that matter, lolled around in bathing suits at the swimming pool. Wesley Lloyd Springer, my unmissed first husband, used our membership to entertain bank customers and to make sure he was seen among the movers and shakers of the community. In his business, he’d said, it was essential that he appear socially involved, although I had been cautioned against using the membership too often.

Sam said he had joined so that he could play bingo every Tuesday night, which made me laugh at the thought of him hunched over trying to fill his card while all the widow ladies hovered around. The last thing Sam Murdoch would be interested in was bingo, much less a swarm of hovering widow ladies.

While we ate I told him all about Brother Vern’s embarrassing appearance, as well as about Hazel Marie’s cooking lesson, reiterating my admiration for Ida Lee. And he told me of his nights alone with James and, taking my hand across the table, how he was looking forward to being in his own bed. My face glowing, I glanced around to see if anyone had heard him.

“James should be able to manage the stairs to his place in a day or so,” he went on, sliding his hand back as an unobtrusive waiter offered coffee. “That ankle is still swollen but not as badly as it was, and I think there’s an old walking stick stuck back in a closet somewhere over there. I’ll look for it tomorrow and let him try walking around a bit.”

“Just don’t let him fall and break something else. But I’ll tell you this, Sam—James will be more than ready to be back in his own apartment. He’s still not getting along too well with Brother Vern.”

“Well, who does?” Sam laughed. Then turning serious, he said, “But when James is able to go back, you know what that’ll do, don’t you? It’ll free up a nice private room and bath downstairs for Brother Vern, and he may settle in for a long stay.”

“Oh,” I said, rolling my eyes, “I’m hoping Mr. Pickens will nip that idea in the bud. But you know how easily swayed Hazel Marie is—Vernon Puckett will play on her compassion, make her feel sorry for him, and she won’t be able to turn him out. She may end up having to choose between her uncle and her husband.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I tell you, Sam, it’s a recipe for trouble any way you look at it. We may have to resort to making things so uncomfortable for Brother Vern that he’ll
want
to leave.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. He put his napkin beside his plate, raised his eyebrows to be sure I was ready, and stood. As he moved my chair, he said, “I expect they can handle the situation. We can sit this one out.”

Well, we’ll see,
I thought as we walked toward the lobby.

None of the Pickens family was in church the next morning, not even Lloyd, and I missed having him beside me. I occupied myself during the service—except when interrupted by having to stand and mouth a hymn—by imagining the turmoil in that household with James and two babies needing immediate attention and Mr. Pickens and Lloyd trying to cook breakfast and Brother Vern either listening to a Sunday sermon on the radio or trying to preach one himself to anybody who’d listen. With that picture running in the background of my mind, I realized that Pastor Ledbetter was preaching a fairly satisfactory sermon himself for a change. For weeks we had been subjected to hearing all the details of the tour to the Holy Land that a church group had taken back in the summer. I was tired of hearing about it, and so was Sam, since he’d experienced the tour firsthand. It was almost a relief to hear a biblical expository sermon, even though his subject concerned the need to dig down deep to keep the church solvent, which, according to him, was merely our reasonable sacrifice.

Just as we’d settled ourselves in the new library with the Sunday papers, anticipating a leisurely afternoon, the phone rang for Sam.

After hanging up, he turned to me. “Pickens found that old walking cane and wants to see if James can get around with it. Old man Puckett says he’s too weak to help, so Pickens wants me to come over. Want to go?”

“Yes, I’ll go with you, although to tell the truth, I may be better off not knowing what’s going on over there. I must say, though, that out of sight, out of mind is not working real well.”

We walked the four blocks, even though I regretted every step. October was beginning to show its colors in more ways than one, and we were thoroughly chilled by the time we got there. Mr. Pickens answered our knock, greeting us with a tight look on his face.

“Come in,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand. “Glad to see you,” And to me, “Hazel Marie’s in the kitchen making coffee.” Which I took to mean she probably needed help.

I walked back through the hall, glancing into the living room as I passed. Brother Vern was stretched out in Mr. Pickens’s favorite chair, his feet crossed on an ottoman, while Lloyd, who waved at me, was on the floor with the babies. They were rolling around on a quilt with all kinds of rattles and spinning toys spread around them.

“Hazel Marie?” I said as I entered the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“Oh, Miss Julia,” she said, relief in her voice as if I were a lifeboat in a storm. “I’m so glad to see you, but I don’t think anybody can help. Things’re going from bad to worse. Uncle Vern expects so much from all of us, and J.D. is holding his temper but it’s an awful strain on him, and the babies aren’t sleeping because they’re teething, and James and Uncle Vern are at each other’s throats. I don’t know how we’re going to get through it all.”

“Well, first things first,” I said, guiding her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Do you have the coffee on?”

She nodded and I sat down beside her. “How did your dinner go last night?”

Her face immediately brightened. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe how good it was! It all came out just like Ida Lee said it would, except the noodles got all mushed together. I think I cooked them too long, but they tasted all right. I’m going to send Ida Lee some flowers in the morning. J.D. was amazed—he loved it. All the men had two helpings and Uncle Vern would’ve had three if there’d been enough. Even James said he had to hurry and get well or he’d lose his job in the kitchen.” Then she sighed. “I just hope I can do as well the next time.”

“You will, but see, that was one thing that went fine, so don’t let yourself get down. If Sam and your husband can get James walking on his own, why then everything will start looking up.”

“I don’t know, Miss Julia.” She sighed again and began twisting a napkin around and around. “Uncle Vern keeps at me to move James out. He’ll ask whether James has any family we could send him to, or he’ll say that James is taking advantage of me and he’s really not that bad off. He told me this morning that he has a few things in storage—some books and copies of his sermons that he needs to get out. He drove over this morning to check on them and came back hinting that the room where James is would be perfect for him.”

“Why, that sounds like he intends to move in for the duration.”

She nodded. “He does, but for the duration of what, I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you for what. For as long as your husband will put up with him. You have to let Mr. Pickens handle him, Hazel Marie. With your sweet nature, Brother Vern will run all over you. You must just stay out of it so that when Mr. Pickens has had enough, you don’t start feeling sorry for your uncle. Your responsibility lies with your husband and children. They should be first and foremost, regardless of what Brother Vern wants.”

“I know,” she agreed, wiping her eyes. “But I do feel sorry for him.” She sniffed. “Occasionally, I mean. Not all the time.”