Family Fruitcake Frenzy

by Margaret Lashley

  “I didn’t do no such thang,” Mom said. “I want you to carry on my legacy.”

  “A legacy of cheating? No thanks!”

  Mom stopped and turned around, calling my bluff. I shrunk back from her, red-faced.

  “It ain’t cheatin’, Val. It’s sizin’ up the competition.”

  “Here she comes,” Uncle Jake yelled on the blow horn.

  We all turned our heads as a red Camaro pulled up along the side of the house and rolled halfway into the backyard. A beer-bellied redneck in an old Johnny Cash t-shirt and jeans flung open a door and hauled himself out. I squinted for a clearer look and my jaw went slack. Ricky sure had let himself go. Not a hint of jealousy or remorse came over me. The only thought I had was that I hoped he’d be good to my sister Annie.

  Ricky went around to the passenger side of the Camaro and opened the door. A slender old lady with great hair and a face like a lump of raw dough got out and stood up. Tabitha Barfield had arrived. She walked through the crowd, nodding like a politician and a beauty queen rolled into one. In one hand she carried a notepad that would soon seal our fate for another year.

  “I wonder why she’s so late,” Mom pondered, her eyes as narrow as slits.

  “She had a flat,” I said.

  “Flat my behind.”

  Mom and I had picked our way across the yard to where Annie, Dale and Tom were standing just as Ricky came up. He kissed Annie on the cheek, then turned to me and said, “Howdy, Val.”

  I nodded. “Howdy, Ricky.”

  I braced for the inevitable questions, but none came. Instead, Ricky turned to Mom and asked, “So, who you think is gonna win, Mrs. Short?”

  Mom smirked. “Why, me a course.”

  Ricky laughed the easy way I remembered from decades past. “How can you be so sure?”

  “She has her ways, don’t you Mom?” Annie said.

  Mom grinned and took her position as star of the show. “Now y’all, I can’t help it if your Aunt May don’t know the difference between condensed milk and Elmer’s glue.”

  Annie’s eyes widened. “You didn’t!”

  Mom plastered on her signature evil grin. “Now don’t go blamin’ me for nothin’. I wasn’t the one what put the glue in her cake. She did.”

  “And Aunt Pansy?” I asked.

  “Well, let’s just say Elmer’s can also be mistaken for half-n-half when you’re making icing.”

  “Diabolical!” Annie shook her head. Dale, Tom and Ricky laughed.

  “What about Darla?” I asked.

  “Ain’t never no need to do nothin’ there,” Mom said. “Look at her.”

  We all glanced over at Cousin Darla. She was prancing around in a loose-flowing, tie-dyed dress and an oversized, baggy sweater that still resembled whatever animal had given up its hair to make it.

  “She’s a dang old hippy vegan!” Mom spat.

  “So?” I asked. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Mom shook her head. “Goes against nature. ‘Specially ‘round here. Darla don’t never stand a chance. It’s Tammy what’s the wildcard. But I fixed her wagon good this year. Or more like it, I helped her fix her own wagon.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I seen that old boy with the funny nose peekin’ in the kitchen winder the other day, when I was showin’ you my secret recipe, Val. So, I put on a little show. It’s a free country. I can do what I want in my own house.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “The castor oil!” Mom said. “I knowed he was watchin, but he couldn’t hear what we was sayin’. So I pertended that’s what the secret to my recipe was. I made that big deal a showin’ you how I put it on the cake and all.”

  “But....”

  “Now, what that feller done with that information was none of my business.”

  “So, you’re saying Tammy sabotaged herself?”

  Mom grinned. “You can’t fix stupid. But you can usually count on stupid to fix itself.”

  “Let the Tastin’ Commence!” Uncle Jake’s voice boomed over the megaphone.

  We all watched in paralytic anticipation as Tabitha Barfield prepared to take a bite from each cake. First up was Aunt Pansy’s snowman. Tabitha tried her darnedest to cut through the dried-glue icing with a serrated knife, but couldn’t make a scratch. After several attempts, she gave up, turned the cake over and forked out a piece from the underside. She held it up to her mouth, grimaced, and took a nibble. Her face softened into thoughtfulness as she chewed. She put the cake down and wrote something on her notepad.

  I looked over at Mom. Her eyes were squints of evil. Her pursed lips stuck out far enough for her to kiss someone through a picket fence. She grunted as Tabitha moved on to Cousin Darla’s carrot-raisin heap.

  Tabitha fought back a gag as she cut herself a piece of cake roughly the size of two molecules. She put the infinitesimal morsel on the tip of her tongue for one second, smiled weakly, then pretending to wipe her lips with a napkin. But we all saw it. She wiped her tongue instead. She made a quick entry in her notepad.

  Mom’s cake came next. Tabitha cut a slice and put a forkful in her mouth. She chewed, smiled and nodded at Mom. Suddenly, Tabitha frowned. The old woman opened her mouth and pulled something out. She shook her head and held the object up for the crowd to see. It was a piece of pecan shell!

  The crowd began to buzz like a hive of killer bees. It was anyone’s game now! Tabitha turned her back to the crowd and scribbled in her notepad.

  Mom shot me some majorly evil side eye.

  “What?” I asked, incredulous. “You think I did that?”

  Mom’s face softened and paled. “Dale, get me a chair,” she whispered, “I feel faint.”

  Next came Tammy’s cake. Tabitha cut a small slice and put a forkful to her lips, then stopped. She sniffed the cake. Her nose crinkled. The old woman put the forkful down and divided it in half with her fork. She started to lift the smaller piece, but changed her mind midstream. She lowered it and divided the small portion of cake yet again. Finally, Tabitha put the cake to her trembling lips. She closed her eyes, grimaced and shoved the cake in her mouth. She chewed twice, made a sour face and swallowed. Mom snickered as Tabitha wrote feverishly in her judge’s notebook.

  Aunt May’s log cake was up next. It truly was a beautiful entry. Tabitha smiled at Aunt May and gave her a thumb’s up. For fun, she tried to move the little saw up and down, but it wouldn’t budge. Her face turned from amused to appalled, and she looked squarely at Mom. Tabitha got out the serrated knife again, but no matter which way she turned the cake, the old woman couldn’t get a knife in it. She scribbled a quick entry in her notebook.

  My cake was the remaining contest entry. I held my breath as Tabitha cut into it. She raised a forkful to her nose and sniffed it tenuously. Her face softened with relief. She took a bite and chewed it for a second. Pride washed over me when she looked my way and smiled. But the feeling was short-lived, because right after that, Tabitha Barfield did something odd. She turned and gave Uncle Jake an ever-so-subtle wink.

  “She’s up to something,” I said aloud as Tabitha scribbled in her notebook.

  “I’m on it,” Annie said, and made a beeline for Miss Barfield.

  “I’m right behind you.”

  “YOUR MOM’S UP TO HER tricks again,” Tabitha Barfield said as we approached.

  “Maybe. But we’ve got nothing to do with it,” I said.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” she sneered.

  Annie eyed her up and down. “Tabitha, all I’m saying is this better be a fair fight.”

  “I have every intention of making it that,” Tabitha said haughtily.

  “You better,” Annie growled with the hardened face of a drill Sargent. “’Cause if you don’t, Tabitha, I’m gonna snatch you ball-headed and never fix you up a good wig again!”

  Tabitha’s eyes doubled and she shrunk back in horror. “You wouldn’t!”

  “You just go ahead and try me.”

&
nbsp; Tabitha’s face turned as pale and lumpy as Tom’s mashed potatoes.

  “So. We understand each other?” Annie asked.

  “Yes.” Tabitha said.

  Annie’s hard face snapped back to its usual sweet, Southern mode. “Well good. I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you at the beauty shop Wednesday, then.”

  Tabitha nodded and smiled wanly. “Yes.”

  “That’s a wig?” I asked as we walked back toward where the others were waiting.

  “Val, please!” Annie said. “Nobody’s got real hair that looks that good.”

  “So, the competition’s over?” Tom asked as we walked up.

  Annie and I laughed.

  “Oh no, Tommy boy,” Annie said. “It’s just begun.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “SO, WHAT’S NEXT?” TOM asked as he carried the cornbread stuffing outside to the buffet table.

  “Dinner and a show,” I answered.

  “What kind of show?”

  “A hillbilly mow-down.”

  “You mean hoedown?”

  “Nope.”

  Tom shot me a sideways glance. “Can this day get any worse?”

  “You heard my mother, Tom. She’s cooked everybody’s goose – and they know it. What’s good for the goose don’t always turn out so good for the gander.”

  “Geeze!” Tom said. “What do we do now?”

  “My advice? Keep your head low. And don’t eat the pearled onions.”

  Tom crinkled his nose. “I wasn’t planning on it. They’re disgusting.”

  I grinned. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

  I handed Tom a glass of iced tea. “Let’s sit back and enjoy the show.”

  I led Tom to the epicenter of the action – the seat across the table from my Mom. We’d barely settled in our seats when Tammy Jeeter came clomping up carrying two paper grocery sacks. One said Publix, the other IGA.

  “You can have all this,” Tammy hissed, and thrust the Publix bag at me. “I won’t be needing it anymore.” The bag toppled over. A bottle of spiced rum fell out and rolled in front of me.

  “What?” I asked, confused. “Wait...did you buy this –”

  “And as for you,” Tammy shrieked, “Aunt Lucille, well...screw you!” Tammy slammed the IGA bag down on the table. Bottles of castor oil inside clinked together pretty melodiously, considering the circumstances.

  “Thanks all the same, Tammy,” Mom grinned. “But as you probably figured out by now, I don’t have no use for no castor oil.”

  “Arrrgh!” Tammy ground her teeth as Mom laid it on thicker.

  “Tammy dear, just seein’ you looking so happy puts a smile on my face. Now where’s that boyfriend of yours? Dick, was it?”

  “Rich!” Tammy screeched. Rich!” Tammy stuck her nose in the air. “He had to leave. There was an emergency at the mayor’s place.”

  “The mayor’s office! That’s purty high-falutin!” Mom said. “He must be darn important, then.”

  “He is!” shouted Tammy. “He was called by the mayor himself. They needed him on account of some dire circumcisions.” Tammy’s upturned nose took a downward dive. “I mean...circumstances!”

  Mom burst out laughing. Tammy looked at me. “I feel sorry for you, Val. Having that monster for a momma!” She stomped off.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but Tom grabbed me by the arm. “Did you hear her? An emergency at the mayor’s?”

  “You don’t think –”

  “I better go make a call,” Tom said, “just to make sure.”

  I nodded. Tom got up and left. Mom eyed me with a holier-than-though look. I shook my head in wonder and disgust.

  “You know, Mom, I kind of get you wanting to lord it over Tammy. She can be a pain in the butt, for sure. But why did you try to ruin my cake, too? What have I ever done to you?”

  Mom scowled. “I done told you, Valiant. I didn’t. That stuff what was in the little bottle of yours? It wasn’t nothing to ruin your cake. It was the last of Justas’ moonshine. I wanted you to have it for your cake.”

  I wanted to speak, but that untamable wave of familial pride and shame crashed into my heart again. It clashed and thrashed in my mind like oil and water in a martini shaker, leaving me at a total loss for words.

  “I...I –”

  “Dale!” Mom hollered, interrupting my struggle.

  Dale stumbled up to the table carrying a little jug.

  “Dale, I told you not to get into that shed this morning!”

  Dale was too tipsy to comprehend Mom’s scolding. “Try a sip, Lucille.”

  “No!”

  “Come on,” Dale said, and thrust the jug at Mom. “I think you’re gonna like this one.”

  “Let me see that,” Mom said. She started to take a slug out of the jug, then stopped and looked me dead in the eye. “Mind you, Valiant, I never touch the stuff, being a good Southern Baptist. But this is for research.”

  Mom took a sip, swirled it around in her mouth and swallowed it. Her eyes wandered around as if she were searching the sky for something. She took another taste. This time her eyes lit up. “Well I’ll be a golly washer, Dale. I think you’ve gone and done it!”

  “Yeah? You for sure?” Dale asked, wide-eyed. “You ain’t teasin’ me now, Lucille. Is you?”

  Mom handed him the jug. “Nope. That’s it. That’s it perzactly.”

  “What are y’all talking about?” I asked as Dale took another slug.

  “Looks like Dale done finally done matched up Justas’ moonshine,” Mom said.

  Dale beamed with pride, but his feat didn’t win him favor with Mom for long.

  “All right, then. Now, Dale, when we gonna eat?” Mom demanded.

  “Soon as me and Jake get the turkey heated up.”

  “Well then, what are you waiting for? Hop to it!”

  TOM CAME BACK TO THE table after making his call. “Did I miss anything?” he asked.

  “Just them two,” Mom said, and pointed at her sisters.

  Aunt Pansy and Aunt May sat down the table from us, four empty seats to the left. From the looks of them, they were still chewing their cuds about what went wrong with their fruitcakes, and how it was that Mom had managed to best them yet again. I wondered how long it would take for them to figure out they’d been done in by Elsie the magic cow, whose plastic udders gave glue instead of milk.

  Mom raised her voice loud enough to ensure Aunt Pansy and Aunt May could hear. “In my family, Tom, we don’t hide crazy folk. We give ‘em a glass a tea and put ‘em on the porch.”

  If looks could have killed, Mom would have been vaporized by Aunt Pansy and Aunt May right then and there. “Yeah? Well, at least I ain’t no fart!” Aunt Pansy sneered.

  “Fart?” Tom asked, then winced in anticipation of the explanation. Mom pursed her lips and left the explaining to me.

  “Mom used to be a member of the Florida Association of Record Technicians. F-A-R-T.”

  Tom smirked, saw Mom’s face and blanked his face to dead sober.

  “I hope good Ol’ Saint Nick brings you a dose of good ol’ arse-nick,” Aunt May yelled.

  Mom’s face took on the smugness of a petty dictator. “Don’t mind her, Tom,” she said. “She’s just jealous. Her son Freddie ain’t got enough cents to pay attention, you know.”

  “Well, I never!” Aunt May screeched. She stood up and stomped off. Mom grinned like a redneck Cheshire cat.

  I rolled my eyes and turned to Tom. “What did the guys have to say?”

  Tom smiled politely at my mother, then said to me, “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Why don’t you two go do something useful,” Mom groused. “Go see how Dale’s doing with that dad-burn turkey. I’m hungry!”

  Tom grabbed my hand and pulled me from the table. After we’d cleared a few feet, he whispered, “Geeze! Your family sure knows how to hold a grudge. At least now I know you come by it honest.”

  I jerked my hand from Tom’s. “Are you sayin
g I’m like them?”

  “What? No. I mean, you’re a drop in the bucket compared to them, Val.”

  I opened my mouth before my brain had a chance to process the information. Luckily, the comeback forming in my mind was waylaid by Uncle Jake on the megaphone.

  “We have an announcement! Honorable Judge Tabitha Barfield has made a decision!”

  The crowd grew quiet. Everyone turned and stared as Tabitha took the megaphone. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” she said, careful to avoid eye contact. She looked down and read from her notebook. “After tallying up all the various points...

  A commotion to my left caught my eye. Dale, legally blind and now tipsy as a toad, stumbled across the yard between the buffet table and the shed. He headed right for Uncle Jake’s deep fryer. In his arms he toted a huge turkey. The plastic packaging was still on it, and it was covered in frost. Dale dropped the frozen bird into the boiling oil.

  ...the winner of this year’s Family Fruitcake Frenzy is –”

  KABOOM!

  The deep fryer exploded, jettisoning the frozen turkey with a deep, hollow, “thwumping” sound akin to a huge firework going off. Like an organic IBM missile, the flaming turkey shot right through the open door of the shed. A second later, another explosion shook the ground, and tiny pieces of Mary Ann and the shed’s tin roof rained down on us like yard sale manna from heaven.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” DALE wheezed as we picked him up off the lawn.

  “Apparently, frozen turkeys and deep fryers don’t mix,” Tom said.

  I brushed Dale off. Besides a few twigs in his hair and shortness of breath, he was unharmed. By some miracle, his flannel shirt, thick glasses, baseball cap and oven mitts had provided him with adequate protection.

  “Lord! Dale!” Mom cried as she ran up to us, her face wracked with fear. “He ain’t dead is he?”

  “He’s all right,” I said. “Just got the wind knocked out of him.”

  Mom patted Dale’s face. “You old fool,” she said. Then she looked up at Tom and me and her demeanor changed back to normal, as if she’d flipped a switch in her heart. “He could’a killed us all! What happened?”