Finally, Mr. Peltier spoke. “Mr. Hailes,” he said, “I want you to know that I sincerely appreciate this extension of your family’s hospitality. I know that you all have labored long and hard to have me to come out here, but I am a bit apprehensive regarding the reason for your invitation. When we first met and had our interview at the bank I was quite offensive, and I apologize for my lack of consideration. Yet despite my callousness you retained your patience and even invited me to come out here for this visit today. My mind tells me that you either have the self-control of Job, or that you have some other plan or incentive to bring me.”
He persisted, “Sir you and your son are most unusual people, and I suspect that the former conclusion is less likely than the latter.”
“If that is the case,” he smiled, “then my mind is piqued to discover just what your largesse is all about and what you wish to divulge to me and of what mutual interest that your presentation might serve.”
Papa looked at Glen. Glen’s expression was impassive. Papa did not show any emotion in his response either. “Mr. Peltier, we want you to enjoy your stay with us today. We have made some improvements to our place and simply want you to have a good meal some gentle conversation and to take a ride with us over the farm and forest to see what we have done and what our capabilities are for the future. We are concerned with your impressions and recommendations and will gladly receive any advice and help that you may have to offer.”
Papa amended, “Would you like another little sample of our peach brandy?”
Peltier quickly affirmed.
With that cue Mama Hailes moved silently to the kitchen, inserted the biscuits into the oven and melted the bacon fat and a little butter in the cast iron skillet in preparation for frying the chicken. Earlier in the day she had washed the bird in chilled water gently massaging the flesh. She had then patted it dry and marinated it in buttermilk with a little vinegar in the cooler with the ice for several hours. Finally, she removed it and patted it dry again and allowed it to warm under a cover of cheesecloth. After it had reached room temperature she removed the hindquarters, and then separated the thighs from the drumsticks, and the breasts from the backbone. She salted and peppered the pieces, then dusted them in flour. The heavy black skillet was placed on the stovetop over the fire until it reached a high degree of heat, signified by a faint curl of thin blue smoke that rose from the surface of the grease. She placed the first pieces into the fiery oil and the pan bubbled up in noisy complaint.
However, it did not spatter a drop of oil or batter upon Miss Ellie’s apron or hands because the chicken had been first allowed to warm to the ambient temperature of the kitchen.
The frying meat cast forth a tantalizing mantle of cooking odors that Mr. Peltier immediately perceived and he thoughtfully said, “I haven’t smelled chicken frying like that since I left home in Louisiana. I don’t care what the rest of the day brings I am already happy and satisfied with my trip and visit.”
Miss Ellie continued to maintain her attention upon the stovetop, but a smile acknowledged his compliment of her efforts.
In the meantime, Papa poured another sample of the brandy, less this time, as he did not want the President to be incapable of completing the tour. He must return to his home upon his horse without confusion or injury. It was necessary that Mr. Peltier remain functional and safe throughout the execution of the plan, and of course the follow-through with his lines and performance in the final act at the Commercial Bank of Quitman, i.e., his signature upon the promissory note.
Papa suggested before the meal, “Mr. Peltier I am sure that you are weary and tired from your long hot ride out here. It will be a little while before we sit down to dinner, so why don’t you wash up at the sink then come on back into the bedroom, slip out of your clothes and take a nice little nap before we get everything finished at the table.”
Peltier’s hair was wet from the heat and his under clothes and shirt were soaked through clinging to his buttocks, crotch, back, and chest. He responded, “If you don’t mind I would greatly appreciate a bucket of cold water and a fresh wash rag to take with me back into the bedroom. I really need and would enjoy a nap, but I would feel more refreshed if I could sponge myself.”
Glen quickly pumped water from the well and partially filled a wooden bucket. He reached into the pantry and retrieved a large dishtowel and handed it to their guest. “I hope that you will enjoy your bath and feel better,” he added.
Thanks were said and Peltier retreated to the rear of the house, washed quickly, relieved himself into the slop jar at the foot of the bed and climbed into the great, soft comforting arms of Papa Hailes’ own Plas du Repose. He was asleep within moments.
The family retired to the kitchen. “Everything has been perfect thus far,” Papa said, his voice almost a whisper, “Let’s go to work.” Not another word was uttered as the three of them busied with the continued preparations for dinner.
As Jordan Peltier lay deeply and restfully asleep his subconscious mind became active, and an image suddenly appeared from its depths. He was standing in a corner of the room not far from the bed in which he slept. It was long, wide, and covered with an immaculately blanched pair of snow white bed sheets with several huge feather pillows. Callie was lying upon the bed; the pillows supported and elevated her back from the waist. She was in great distress, moaning in discomfort at rhythmic intervals and was crying out in a crescendo of primal pain. He realized immediately that her abdomen was distended with late full term pregnancy. Her lower body was covered with upper bed sheet, but her legs began thrashing about with the onset of each cycle of her labor. As he watched this drama unfold, her activity and movements suddenly began to accelerate much like a movie reel that displayed rapid forward motion.
He was gripped in horror yet watched with detached fascination as each frame of the drama appeared. The intensity increased in duration. The shortening respite of the intervals of rest between her contractions confirmed that the time of her delivery was imminent.
At the last moment her violent kicking threw back the cover sheet completely exposing her privates. The head appeared and its hair could be seen upon its pate and its shape was hauntingly familiar. With one final pushing, grunting and ultimate shriek the new baby burst forth projected entirely out upon the bed sheet from its vault of protection and sustenance. There was no parturient blood and the umbilical cord was absent. It lay there struggling for its first breath tossing back and forth upon the platform of this strange new world.
Finally, it took in a huge bolus of air, coughed and yelled out. It turned over from its abdominal position onto its back and looked straight up into Jordan Peltier’s eyes. To his amazement and shock a miniature replication of Jordan Peltier himself lay upon the sheet. As the newborn gazed back it smiled up at Jordan and silently mouthed, “Daddy.”
Jordan Peltier screamed out, opened his eyes then reflexively reached up and grabbed his pants from the bedpost threw them on and had reached the bedroom door in a blind effort to escape when Glen stood in the door frame and grasped him around his arms holding him until he was fully awake. Papa rushed in and shook him firmly, “What’s wrong, Jordan? Was there a snake or a big spider in the bed with you?”
“Worse than that,” Peltier, still shaken responded. “I was dreaming about last night and a girl at the dance.” Papa questioned, “What girl? What was her name?”
Peltier, now alert and cogent mused slowly more to himself than his hosts, “I can’t remember right now, but I’m sure I will.”
“Was it that bad?” Papa inquired.
“Worse than that.” Jordan replied again.
“It’s over now so go back and lie down for just a little longer. We’ll have dinner ready shortly,” Papa soothed.
Gratefully relieved that this had been but a nightmare, Jordan went back to the bedroom and was soon asleep once again.
As the chicken pieces turned to a crisp honey and mahogany brown they were removed from the oil and
placed on sheets of absorbent paper. After drying they were subsequently transferred to a large previously warmed platter and then put into the oven. These were held while the remainder of the entree and the accompanying side dishes were cooked. Finally, the entire meal was prepared. They were in no hurry as they wanted Mr. Peltier to have sufficient rest to be able to enjoy the meal, complete his tour of inspection, and return to Quitman before dark.
After nearly an hour everything was ready. Papa walked back to his bedroom and knocked gently upon the door. He spoke out softly but firmly, “Mr. Peltier, we’re ready to have dinner now. I hate to get you up, but I know you wouldn’t want the chicken to get cold.”
The word “chicken” had much the same effect as the sudden snap of a hypnotist’s finger summoning his subject from the stupor of a suggestive spell. Mr. Peltier emerged from his unconsciousness, abruptly swung his feet off the bed and placed them on the floor. He said, “Thanks. That little rest helped a lot. How long was I asleep?”
“A little over an hour in all,” Papa replied. “I thought that Glen was the only one who could snore like that,” he amended with a laugh. “I’ll get out and go back to the kitchen while you get dressed. Don’t tarry as this is going to be a meal that you won’t soon forget.” With that he softly closed the door. Mr. Peltier quickly washed himself again and put on his clothes, opened the bedroom door and took the few steps into the kitchen.
The table was rectangular and could easily accommodate six diners but the extra pair of heavy oak armchairs remained along the windowed exterior wall. The treasured Irish lace tablecloth and napkins had been reverently washed and placed upon the dining table, a most unusual display, because these decorations had always been carefully preserved for only the most significant occasions such as birthdays, christenings, and major holidays, including Armistice day, the Fourth of July, and of course Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Papa was already seated at the head of the table and the chair at the opposite end remained unoccupied because Mama Hailes was still busily completing the preparations, placing the turnip greens and their tuberous roots, corn, yams, the potato salad, and biscuits upon the table. The condiments, including a large slab of freshly churned butter, ribbon cane syrup, wild blackberry jam and fig preserves, and green tomato chow-chow had already been placed in their most convenient and appealing locations. Pepper sauce placed near the greens had been made from fiery little red and green pequins and raging hot Scotch Bonnets from the garden. Their flavor and bite had been captured with salt and a bit of sugar then steeped in clear vinegar as a final counter-balance to the heat and sweetness of the tastes of the former ingredients. A small amount of well water had been added to prevent the power of the mixture from overcoming the blandness of the greens and the smokiness of the bacon and back fat that had been added to the pot in order to enrich the taste of the turnips. Mama Hailes’ pride, her scarce and expensive, treasured tea leaves had been boiled together with the pure water of the well, clear and uncontaminated, unpolluted. Almost reverently she poured it into a large ceramic pot normally used for bathing that had been filled to near the top with pieces of block ice that Uncle Glen had slivered. She added a quarter of a cup of granulated sugar, stirred and dissolved it into this refreshing brew. There were no lemons or other citrus fruits, so she added a scant diluted teaspoon of the vinegar along with a tiny bit of lemon extract. The effect, though not exact, was surprisingly near her goal of a faintly acidic taste.
Finally, the fried chicken had been carefully placed upon a warmed platter and garnished with fresh cut field greens. The pieces were both pleasing to the eye and were devastating to the nose and the taste buds.
Papa intoned, “We must now say the blessing and give thanks for this day and for our being here together.” All heads bowed and Papa began the prayer, “We give thanks unto thee, our lord, for your joining us together this Sabbath day both in good health and with gratitude for the many blessings that are bestowed upon us by your loving kindness. Please bless this food to our sustenance, forgive us of our many sins, and maintain our faith in the hope of eternal life. Amen,” Papa concluded.
Mr. Peltier said, “That was a beautiful blessing Mr. Hailes. It has added enrichment to my coming here to be with you.”
In his mind, Papa whispered a final amendment to his prayer, “Please forgive me of my deceit, Lord.” He fervently hoped that his God would understand.
After a few moments of proprietary silence they resumed their light conversation. “What is your pleasure, Mr. Peltier?” Mama inquired. “Do you like white or dark meat?”
“Just to be sure that I don’t miss anything, Mrs. Hailes, I believe I’ll try a piece of each. Then I’ll know how to respond the next time you ask. I certainly hope that you will ask me again, and frequently!” Each of his hosts laughed genuinely at this witty reply. He felt that they were beginning to like him and he was becoming more comfortable himself. Mama passed the platter of chicken and he selected a piece of each and placed them upon his dinner plate.
Jordan took his napkin from the place setting and put it upon his lap. He took a deep draught from his iced tea glass and began the meal filling his plate with the vegetables. He then sliced a portion of butter and placed it next to the two biscuits that he had selected. He shook the pepper sauce bottle and removed the cap. He sprinkled several drops out upon the turnip greens then generously applied salt and pepper and tried the fig preserves upon his sliced and buttered biscuit.
Papa, Glen, and Mama waited without moving as Jordan took his fork and sampled first the greens then a bite of chicken thigh then progressed around the rest of the side dishes groaning in satisfaction. They looked at each other, nodded their approval then turned their attention to their own special Sunday repast.
Mr. Peltier had not experienced such memorable gustatory enjoyment since the days of his childhood and the wonderful cooking, “De Provence,” of his own mother and grandmother. The tastes of this meal though were more simple and direct. They were without the reduction of the meats and the addition of the herbs and spices that were indigenous to the basic French kitchen and carried through to the palate a sense of honesty and good basic human nourishment.
He finally consumed everything upon the plate except the chicken bones. With much satisfaction he placed his fork then his knife upon his plate signifying the completion of the meal.
Mama Hailes had finished also, and she got up, took her dishes into the kitchen, then returned and removed Mr. Peltier’s plate. She offered more tea, but Jordan declined. She took his glass and as she turned back toward the kitchen she said, “I’ll bring out the coffee along with the peach cobbler.”
Before he could speak she said, “I know that you are quite satisfied, but I’ll bring out a tiny piece of the cobbler to clean your palate, and the coffee will revive you for the remainder of the day’s activities.”
He could not argue. He smiled and said, “I will certainly look forward to your dessert, and the coffee will be helpful.”
Mama sliced a small portion and placed it upon a tiny saucer then served the dish with a double tablespoonful of clotted cream. He was surprised by the sweet, tart flavor of the cobbler and the complement of the cream. After his hasty dispatch of the first serving he could not resist my grandmother’s offer of a second portion. He ate quietly, and no one disturbed his preoccupation and enjoyment.
After consuming the generous second helping of the cobbler, Jordan leaned back in his chair and placed his napkin upon the empty plate savoring yet another cup of Miss Ellie’s coffee.
Papa Hailes interrupted his reverie of contentment and suggested, “Now that you have finished your dinner you need a bit of time to rest and to properly digest your meal and to recharge yourself for a busy, active, and physically challenging afternoon inspecting our place. You can still go back to bed and revive yourself before we begin the tour.”
Jordan laughed, “The last nap I took in your bed, Mr. Hailes, I had the worst nightmare that I h
ave ever known. I much appreciate your offer but one scare of a lifetime is certainly sufficient. I am rested and I’m thoroughly satisfied with a most memorable meal, and now I am ready to exorcise my total curiosity of your place and where all this adventure will take us.”
Papa quickly exclaimed, “Come on, the show is about to begin!”
Jordan Peltier, felt some satisfaction that his impression of the reasons for his invitation were confirmed. He was moved, however, by the planning, execution, and final expression of their efforts that had resulted in the pleasure of his visit. His respect for them had begun to grow.
Glen had already replaced Chicago’s bridle and saddle. Chicago was rested, watered, and had enjoyed some of the best ears of corn that he had ever tasted. Glen walked him briskly for a short stretch then led him to Jordan and delivered the reins.
Jordan climbed upon his mount, wheeled him about and followed Papa and Glen into the barn. The Hailes’ horses were ready. They boarded and without a word Glen moved the vehicle through the barn door out into the sunshine of the surrounding feedlot through the gate and into the forest.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE NEW WORLD VINEYARD
The silence augmented the moment.
Nothing. There was virtually no sound. Jordan quickly noticed the rather narrow but carefully cleaned and manicured horse path that conducted them to this salient moment of their day.
“What did you want me to see?” Jordan inquired baffled by their work and attention to detail that seemed to lead to nowhere.
Neither Papa nor Glen answered him but carefully plodded deeper into the forest. They did not look back at Jordan nor speak to each other. Finally, Papa drew the reins and stopped. Before Jordan could ask, Papa quietly spoke, “Look up.”
Glen was already climbing down from his seat, removed his ladder to its full length then carried it to a huge oak tree nearby and placed its feet upon the ground. He firmly anchored the base into the ground then swung up and ascended to near the top.
Asylum Heights Page 6