Snoop to Nuts (3 page)

Millroy Jenkins, pastor at the Rushing to Calvary Independent Church, out almost to Highway 10 on the way to Houston, led the procession into the room, making a point of smiling kindly and diplomatically at each and every cook as he made his way to the far end of the long judging table to begin tasting the pecan entries.

Dressed casually in gray slacks, an open blue jacket, and a white shirt not buttoned at the collar, the pastor wasn’t as dour and serious as the other two judges, who followed closely behind.

Eloise Dorrance, with the Riverville Chamber of Commerce, had been a judge many times and knew to keep her well-coiffed head turned away from the eager contestants.

The last judge was Mike Longway, the dapper, middle-aged president of the Riverville Pecan Co-op. Mike, true to his nature, always added a flourish and an eye roll to his tastings. Mike did relish a rapt audience. After he tasted, he’d move on to write on his clipboard with his hands cupped around his marks, adding a bounce of his eyebrows, and then a grin toward all of the hand-wringing women watching.

As the tasting began, Millroy Jenkins put a plastic spoon to his mouth, smacked his lips, and threw dish and napkin away. He smiled at the contestant as he walked off to make notes on his judging form. Eloise followed close behind. She tasted, sniffed a time or two, wrote, and moved on. Mike Conway tasted, mugged as was expected of him, and attacked the next dish.

Miss Amelia stood tall, her pale eyes following the slow procession of the judges. Her hands were clutched in front of her, one wringing the other. From time to time, she turned to look around at the crowd, as if expecting to see someone, then she would turn back to smile nervously at me and Bethany and Mama, then back to the judges as they made their way toward her.

Next to where Miss Amelia and the rest of the Blanchards waited, the Reverend Jenkins tasted Ethelred’s Pecan Surprise Tomato Puff and smacked his lips. He smiled at the pale, almost fainting, woman, perspiration standing out on her high forehead, hands clutched at her breast. She tried to smile but ended by giving the man an unattractive grimace.

The pastor reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder for reassurance then moved on, throwing his plastic spoon and napkin in the small garbage can under the tasting station.

“Miss Amelia.” The Reverend Millroy Jenkins nodded at Meemaw. “Hear you’re the one to beat here.”

The pastor stuck a plastic spoon into Miss Amelia’s bowl then stuck the spoon in his mouth so that his lips closed right up to the spoon handle. He hesitated a minute, standing with the spoon sticking from between his lips, then pulled the spoon back out, still half loaded with the caviar.

He wiped his mouth with his paper napkin, cleared his throat, and gave Miss Amelia a halfhearted smile. He dipped his head toward the rest of the family, wadded the paper napkin in his hand, ran it slowly across his mouth again, then threw spoon and napkin away.

As the pastor walked on to Suzy Queen’s Blessed Pecan Dip, the other two judges stepped up. Eloise Dorrance dipped her spoon into Meemaw’s glass bowl and put it directly into her mouth.

For a moment her head came up and her eyes grew wide. I took the woman’s reaction for wonderment but soon saw she was grasping for a napkin, sending a shower of paper to the floor. She brought the napkin to her mouth and spit out the caviar.

I could feel my family stiffen around me.

Miss Amelia said nothing.

When Eloise had passed, Miss Emma, outraged, whispered, “What the heck’s wrong with Eloise?”

There was no time to answer before Mike Longway got to Miss Amelia’s bowl. Maybe picking up signals from the other judges, Mike seemed wary as he dipped his spoon in and drew it out with only a tiny taste of caviar on it. He dipped his tongue cautiously in the caviar, then drew it quickly away.

The spoon went into the garbage can and Mike moved on to Suzy Queen.

“What’s going on?” Justin, in his best overalls and plaid shirt, stepped up to ask in as low a voice as Justin ever used.

Miss Amelia shrugged and stood staring at the backs of the judges as they made their way to the far end of the table then moved to stand away from everyone, heads together, making their decisions.

Ten minutes went by. Twenty. There seemed to be a heated debate going on as Eloise shook her head again and again and Mike Longway looked up at the ceiling for help.

A half an hour passed and still no decision from the judges. The crowd grew restless.

Finally, Mrs. Williams went to the three to see if she could help.

I could see she was pressing the judges to get on with it so they could set up the Winners’ Supper before everybody left. Volunteer servers waited at the back of the building for the tables to be free. There were new tablecloths to be spread, flowers to be set, and stacks of dishes and cutlery to be put out. Volunteer cooks waited impatiently outside the building for the signal to snatch the barbecue off the grills.

Any one of the volunteers could have told these slow judges that a good supper was a matter of timing. Too long on the grill and the chicken and ribs could end up tasting like burned toast. Winning salads and side dishes couldn’t be taken out of coolers too soon or they’d be warm and gummy by the time people actually got to enjoy them.

I watched as Mrs. Williams, aware of all the preparation yet to be made, insisted on results. Finally she turned and bustled officiously to the center of the room, a wide smile on her face.

“Can I have everybody’s attention?” she called over the screech of the microphone, then tapped the microphone a few times, leaned into it, and asked for quiet.

“Our judges have made their decisions in this new event added just this year, Most Original Pecan Treat. The Chamber of Commerce, along with the Riverville Pecan Co-op, and the entire fair committee want to thank everybody who entered not only this event but all the others. You’ve made it an amazing year for Riverville and the Agricultural Fair, bringing all these wonderful dishes to be judged. In my mind everybody’s a winner, don’t you think?” She waited for the “Yes sirs” and “You betchas” and the applause to quiet. “So I’m gonna ask the Reverend Jenkins to come up here now and read off these final winners.”

The Reverend Jenkins moved to the microphone, bowing to Mrs. Williams and then to the large crowd of people looking up eagerly as they surged toward the stage.

The pastor cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable. His eyes shifted from one face to the other, then down to the card he clutched in his hand.

Meemaw was wringing her hands, then forcing herself to hold still.

“Er . . . ah . . .” he began. For a reverend used to preaching hellfire, he was surprisingly uncomfortable. He ran a hand over his perspiring red face. “Like Miz Williams said, I think everybody who entered here’s a winner. I tasted things I never tasted before in my life.”

“And still standing . . .” a man near the back of the crowd called out. There was the requisite laughter. The parson chuckled and went on. “I’m new to Riverville, as y’all know, and never imagined there was this much baking and cooking talent here.”

He smiled from one side of the room to the other, settling into himself, commanding attention, shedding his light around like a beacon. “Very tough choices here.”

I appreciated the man’s kind of “aw shucks” humbleness but couldn’t help wishing he’d get on with it. I was already thinking of home and checking the new irrigation setup out in my test garden. The day had been a hot one. That meant hot for my trees, too.

“I’m gonna start with the honorable mentions, if that’s okay will y’all.” The pastor beamed another smile around the room. “If I call yer name, would you make your way over to Mrs. Williams to get yer certificate?”

He nodded to where the woman stood at the foot of the stage steps waving honorable mention certificates in the air.

There was disappointment and murmurs of disagreement as five names were called, including Cecil Darling’s, and those five people made their embarrassed way through the crowd to get their loser’s certificate.

“Now, on to the white, red, and last but not least, the blue ribbon.” He glanced a last time around the crowd.

“Third place, in our Most Original Pecan Treat event, the last event in this year’s Riverville Agricultural Fair, along with a gift certificate for a free facial at the Stony River School of Beauty goes to . . .” He looked at his card as if he couldn’t quite make out the name and then called out, “Suzy Queen Grover for her Hot and Spicy Pecan Dip.”

Men from the Barking Coyote and the other waitresses hooted and hollered. There was whistling and stamping of feet, and people barked various howls as Suzy Queen, pulling down on the hem of her fuchsia dress, hurried over to pick up her white ribbon and gift card from Mrs. Williams.

Anticipation grew as Reverend Jenkins leaned back into the microphone.

“Now, for second place. The red ribbon, and a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Morley Brothers Hardware”—he gave the expected pregnant pause—“goes to Mildred Firney for her Pecan Crescent and Apple Butter Rolls. Mildred?” He looked out at the crowd where a tiny woman in blue shorts and dotted green shirt held on to her startled face with both hands, so completely bowled over it took two of her friends to lead her across the room to claim her prizes. Mildred came to herself quick enough to hold the red ribbon high over her head as she made her way back through the appreciative crowd, talking to first one person and then another, luxuriating in her win.

The crowd grew quiet. This was the big one, the blue ribbon and a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate from Carya Street Movie Rentals.

I took Miss Amelia’s elbow and squeezed. Miss Emma turned her tired face to her mother and smiled. Bethany pulled Jeffrey over to stand by her.

“First place in the Most Original Pecan Treat goes to . . .” The pastor paused for effect.

He seemed to be looking straight at Miss Amelia, who was looking hard back at him. “Goes to . . .”

When he said, “Ethelred Tomroy, for her Pecan Surprise Tomato Puff,” the crowd gasped.

Angry words were shouted out. The name “Miss Amelia” went from woman to woman and man to man. The applause, when it came, was tepid as Ethelred Tomroy pushed her way to the front, telling folks to get out of her way, smiling wide and looking very pleased with herself as she assured everybody they’d heard right. She was the big winner at this year’s Ag Fair and unlikely to let anybody forget it for the whole next year to come.

The Winners’ Supper got under way with all the pomp and circumstance of any important supper. Ladies and men from Riverville’s churches and business community, all volunteers, pushed the long tables around into rows. Tablecloths were spread, and a bowl of Selma’s flowers sat at the center of each table. The buffet was put into place. Coffeepots were plugged in, and sweet tea containers set up. In ten minutes the cooks had the barbecue snatched from the grills, plated, and headed for the meat end of the buffet.

A funereal line formed in front of where Miss Amelia and I stood in the kitchen doorway after stowing dishes and dishtowels and Bethany’s decorations. One after another, women came up to hug Miss Amelia and say how shocked they were at the winning choice. “How on earth could those numbskull judges have passed over your wonderful Texas Caviar?” more than one asked. Person after person whispered what a shame it was. Nothing at all for Miss Amelia, the best cook in all of Riverville. All sentiments I angrily echoed.

“Seems something crooked is going on here,” Treenie Menendez, Miss Amelia’s right-hand woman back at the Nut House, stood on tiptoe near Miss Amelia’s ear to whisper. “That Ethelred Tomroy can’t hold a candle to you and everybody knows it.”

“What were they thinking?” Finula Prentiss, a waitress at the Barking Coyote who’d never been a particular friend to the Blanchards, came up to say while pushing a silky strap from her stretchy top back up her shoulder. Her tough little face was outraged. Something about Finula—you had to hand it to her, she got over being mad about nothing at all whenever it suited her. Maybe it was memory loss from too many bourbons at the Coyote, but then, maybe I’m just being mean because I don’t have men panting along behind me like a pack of thirsty dogs.

Other women from the Barking Coyote leaned around to nod and assure Miss Amelia that nobody else’s recipes but hers would be served up at the Barking Coyote on their special Saturday nights.

“Morton’s coming by for pecan pies later. Hope you’ve got a whole slew of ’em there at the Nut House,” Suzy Q stepped up to add.

One after another, people expressed their disgust, their outright shock, and leaned close to suggest a payoff or some other low and scurrilous plot.

Miss Amelia waved them all away, saying how it was time for her to get her comeuppance; give somebody else a chance. “Did you see how happy Ethelred was? I’ve got too many ribbons as it is. No more place in the store to hang ’em.”

The complaints fell to a dull murmur when Ethelred Tomroy walked in with the big blue ribbon stuck to the bodice of her dress. She made a show of taking a fresh second version of her winning dish from a cooler, forcing her way through to the microwave, then out to set her winner in the place of honor on the buffet table.

Miss Amelia and I set a winning Very Special Pecan Pie down among the desserts, along with a plate of her Luscious Pecan Sandies—both blue ribbon winners in other contests. We headed to the food table to post a note and ribbon near the ribs, saying they’d been made with her blue ribbon Pecan Round-em-up Grilling Glaze. Hawley Harvey’s wife, Eula, came over to put in her two cents about the judges, wondering how they could pass over anything Miss Amelia made. “Don’t see how that pastor can be so blind. That’s what Hawley just said to me. You ask me, I’d take that extra batch and make him taste it. Show the man what he’s missing. That’s what I’d do.” She shook her long blond hair—like nature never gave her—and flounced off, the ties on her sundress twitching behind her.

“Eula’s right,” I said. “Shame you can’t put your caviar out anyway. Best thing I ever tried in my life, no matter what that clergyman says.”

Meemaw leaned low to whisper so only I could hear her. “Not this batch, Lindy. I tasted it. The pastor was right. Terrible. Won’t kill anybody but sure turn them off Texas Caviar for a while.”

My mouth fell open. “Do you think it was sabotage? Why . . . who’d do a thing like that?”

We both turned to where Ethelred was sticking out her chest for a fellow churchgoer to admire her ribbon.

Miss Amelia made a face. “Can’t win all the time, Lindy. I sure hope the pastor gets to try my real recipe sometime. Poor man, what must he think about me if I didn’t even get an honorable mention? And no wonder. Tasted like old shoes, you ask me.”

“Hmmp,” was all I said, thinking the pastor wasn’t worth the effort to impress. My bigger concern was who would want to hurt Meemaw? Why, that was downright playing dirty.

Mama came back from closing up the Nut House booth and was ready to get on home. Bethany stopped by to let everybody know she and Jeffrey were going over to The Squirrel for dinner. “Jeffrey knows fine continental dining, you know. He’s been to Europe and Canada.”

“I’m very sorry your . . . eh . . . whatever that dish was . . . didn’t win,” Jeffrey leaned in to say, then smirked and threw an arm possessively across Bethany’s shoulders.

Miss Amelia opened her mouth to snap off an answer, but as I watched, she looked down at her pretty, smiling granddaughter, and shut her mouth.

“You don’t need to stay, you know.” Meemaw turned, red-faced, to me. “I can still hold my head up by myself.”

She pointed to her purse standing on a counter, stuffed with silky blue ribbons embossed with first place. “I’d like to help out here awhile then get over to the Nut House and hang up the ribbons so people don’t forget how many I won. You want to help?”

What I really wanted was to get home to my trees, but I nodded anyway, figuring this wasn’t the time to leave Meemaw alone.

With a new look going over her face, Miss Amelia went to one of our coolers and pulled out a fairly large bowl.

“You know what? I’m giving that pastor one more try at my caviar.”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to do that . . .”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, holding her head high out of pure Texas courage, carrying that new bowl of caviar, and pushing her way through the crowd toward the pastor.

I leaned out, watching as Miss Amelia sidled up to the Reverend Millroy Jenkins and proffered her bowl. She leaned down, whispering something in the pastor’s ear. He skewed his neck around to look up at her, a huge smile on his pleasant face. He nodded.

Miss Amelia handed him a spoonful of her caviar. I would have said he put that spoon in his mouth a little tentatively, but soon he was spooning more on to his plate. Miss Amelia said something that made the pastor laugh, then walked back to the kitchen, covered her bowl, and put it down into the ranch cooler.

“There.” Miss Amelia nodded at me and took a deep breath. “That takes care of that.”

“You didn’t offer any to Dora or Selma. They’re sitting right beside him. Seems kind of rude.”

Miss Amelia wrapped a big white apron around her middle. “You let me run my own life, missy, and I’ll do the same for you. Now, while the others are eating, why don’t you and me start clearing up some of this mess?”

She pointed to the dirty pans and bowls and serving pieces that would keep us busy for the next hour. I groaned. Not my idea of the way to spend a hot Texas evening. If only I had the courage to bid Meemaw adios and leave her to handle her own commitments.

When the kitchen was as clean as we could get it, before the next onslaught of dishes came through the swinging doors, I removed my apron and was about to pull off my rubber gloves when noise erupted in the outer room where the supper was going on.

It wasn’t the sound of loud congratulations or the expected speeches getting under way. The noise was of voices yelling, chairs scraping over cement, a call for help, and then an echoing thunk as a body hit the floor.