Hungry Spirits

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Hungry Spirits Page 18

by Alice Duncan


  “Good evening, Mr. Majesty.”

  “Gee, guys, when did you become so formal?” I asked, astonished at the Mister-and-Miss thing. We’d gone all through school together, for Pete’s sake. Neither of them answered.

  “Hey, Billy. How are you doing?” Sam asked my spouse.

  “Pretty good, all things considered.”

  I surveyed my husband as the rest of my family crowded into the living room, ready for a night of fun and fellowship—which worked out nicely, the season being one for thanksgiving and all.

  As far as I could tell, Billy didn’t look pretty good. He still looked pale and pasty and unhealthy, which he was. My heart gave one of its gigantic spasms. Oh, how I wished I could help him.

  Since I couldn’t, I decided to do my best for Lucy. “Say, Lucy, could you ride with Sam? Our car isn’t big enough for all of us.”

  “I think I can fit everyone in my Hudson,” Sam said, frowning. He would. As uncooperative as ever, Sam Rotondo.

  “Oh, it would be such a tight fit,” I said lightly. “Let’s take both machines.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Well. . . .”

  “Good,” I said. “Then it’s settled.”

  It took some maneuvering to get Billy into the automobile without his chair, but we managed. Sam helped him, then turned and said in a low voice, “What are you trying to do, Daisy? If you’re trying to set me up with—”

  Bother. I honestly didn’t think he’d catch on, since I’d never believed him to be a man of particularly keen perception. On the other hand, he was a detective, so perhaps I was wrong. “I’m not trying to do anything, Sam Rotondo, except get us all to the movies.”

  “I don’t even know that woman.”

  “For heaven’s sake, you’ve met her three or four times now!”

  “Cripes,” he muttered, and stomped over to his Hudson.

  I did notice, however, that he was courtesy itself to Lucille. He opened the door for her, smiled, and said something to whatever she’d said to him, and then he went to the driver’s side. He shot me one last severe glance before climbing into his car and slamming the door.

  So I got into our machine. Billy said, “It’ll never work, Daisy. I don’t think Lucille is Sam’s type.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, at least I tried.”

  Billy shook his head. Ma said something about not interfering in other people’s business. Vi said she hadn’t realized what a matchmaker I was. Pa only laughed.

  God bless my father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dinner at Mijares was wonderful. I had something called tamales, which were . . . well, I’m not sure what they were, but they were very tasty. I’m also not sure what everyone else ate, but they all seemed to enjoy whatever it was. I noticed Vi inspecting her meal closely, as if she were trying to discern what went into the various dishes, and it occurred to me that I needed to drop in at Grenville’s Books and see if I could find a book on Mexican cookery for her. I’d never seen one there, but as you must have guessed by this time, I didn’t look for cookbooks on a regular basis.

  I did suffer a start, though, when I saw Eugene Minneke busing tables. I almost said something to my dining companions, but recalled Sam’s interest in the ever-vanishing Gertrude in time to stop myself. I did offer Eugene a sweet smile from across the room, but he only scowled back. Hmm. What, if anything, did that unpleasant expression mean? Probably nothing, although I could discern no reason to be scowled at by the fellow. Shoot, I hadn’t yet even told his sister I wasn’t going to help them escape from Pasadena. That jolly task would be mine on Saturday. Oh, joy.

  Anyhow, I no longer felt the least bit guilty about not attempting to assist the Minneke siblings to run away from their responsibilities and/or the people who chased them. I’d begun to harbor severe doubts about Gertrude and her brother. Anyway, their problems were in no way mine, even when I considered assisting them in the most altruistic light possible. If I abetted them in their flight from Pasadena, I’d be helping them turn their backs on an obligation, not merely to the Salvation Army, but to my dear friends Johnny and Flossie Buckingham.

  So there. I had a mad urge to stick my tongue out at Eugene, but quelled it, thank God.

  However, I didn’t allow Eugene to spoil my evening. Dinner was delicious, and the flicker was funny, and we all had a very good time. Even Billy.

  I don’t think Sam was elated at having to drive Lucy home all by himself, but I figured he was a big boy and could handle the job. Heck, he dealt with criminals all the time, didn’t he? How difficult could it be to deal with a nice young lady for one tiny little evening?

  Before I climbed into bed, Billy said, “I don’t think your devious plot worked, Daisy. I got the feeling Sam was unimpressed with Lucy.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” I said upon a sigh. Maybe it was a yawn. “I did it as a favor to Lucy. She fancies Sam. Or thinks she does.”

  “Poor Lucy,” said Billy, snuggling under the blankets and getting as comfortable as it was possible for him to get.

  “Poor Lucy,” I agreed. “She was really hoping Sam was the fellow for her.”

  I was asleep as soon my head hit the pillow.

  * * * * *

  Thanksgiving Day turned out to be perfect. My sister Daphne and her two little girls (and her husband Daniel) drove all the way from Arcadia, and Walter and his wife Jeanette made the trip from Los Angeles, which took them a long time. They aimed to spend the night, since it would take them so long to get home again after dinner. As his family virtually no longer existed, Billy had adopted mine as his, and he seemed to enjoy himself with my siblings and Polly and Peggy, my sister’s girls, who were five and seven respectively. Fortunately for Daphne, Daniel’s family lived in the state of Washington, so there was no quibbling about at whose house holidays were celebrated.

  The dinner itself was, as you can well imagine, perfectly splendid. If there’s anything I like better than turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy and all the trimmings, I don’t know what it is. Well, except for the rest of the stuff Vi cooks. We were so very fortunate to have her living with us!

  Naturally, Sam Rotondo had been invited to dine at our house. He arrived with a big bouquet of flowers for Ma and Aunt Vi, which even I had to admit was a nice gesture on his part. He got along like a house on fire with Walter, who had flown airplanes during the war. They traded stories, and Billy joined in, and so did Pa, and they laughed and laughed. I don’t have any idea what they found to laugh at about that hideous conflict, but they were men, and men are an odd lot.

  I was in the kitchen with Ma, Daphne, Jeanette and Aunt Vi, madly whipping cream for the two pumpkin pies Vi had baked for dessert, when I heard a perfect uproar coming from the living room, where everyone had retired after eating too much turkey and so forth.

  “What on earth are they doing now?” asked Ma. She had an indulgent smile on her face, so I could tell she was glad the family was having an enjoyable holiday. I agreed. As far as I was concerned, laughter beat the other stuff hollow.

  “I don’t know,” said I truthfully.

  And then Walter, laughing as if he were about to bust, staggered into the kitchen, holding his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes. We all looked at him in alarm.

  “Tell me it isn’t true!” said he, still hooting with revelry.

  “Tell you what isn’t true?” I asked, although I was getting a glimmer. And I aimed to pound whoever had told on me.

  “Tell me you’re not teaching a cooking class!”

  He couldn’t contain his mirth and remain standing, so he flopped into one of the kitchen chairs, covered his face with his hands, and darned near howled with glee.

  Still beating the heavy cream, I frowned one of the biggest frowns of my life at my once-adored brother. “It’s not funny,” I grumbled. I’m sure he couldn’t hear me.

  “You! Good gravy, Daisy, I remember when you tried to make breakfast for me after I came back from the war!” Again, he
collapsed in merriment.

  “At least I tried,” I said with whatever remnants of dignity I could summon.

  “Stop it, Walter. You’re being terribly unkind.”

  I knew I liked Jeanette for a reason. I smiled at her to let her know I appreciated her support.

  Walter threw out an arm and drew his wife onto his lap. “You don’t know Daisy’s history with the art of cooking,” he said, after he gained a modicum of control over his hilarity.

  Darn it, I was tired of people laughing at me for teaching that stupid class! “So far,” I said, aiming a deadly glare at my brother, “the class has been quite successful. We haven’t ruined a single dish we’ve made. And I’m the teacher.” I felt like adding “So there” to my speech, but restrained myself.

  “That’s right, Walter. You’re being most unfair to Daisy. She’s trying very hard to make this class a success, both for herself and for her students, who are all ladies in need of a helping hand.”

  Have I mentioned how much I love my aunt Vi? Well, I do.

  I nodded.

  Ma added some powdered sugar and a dash of vanilla to the cream, and I continued beating it. I’d rather have taken a baseball bat to my brother and beat him, so I was glad my hands were busy beating the cream.

  “Yes, Walter,” Ma said. “Daisy’s class has been very successful so far, and all the dishes she’s brought home have been more than tasty. They’ve been wonderful.”

  I love my mother, too.

  Jeanette, who was blushing rosily after such an overt display of affection from her husband, struggled to release herself from his grip. “Yes, Walter. You’re not being fair to Daisy. Even if she isn’t the world’s best cook, she’s trying awfully hard. Besides, she has so many other talents, you really shouldn’t tease her about cooking. Why, she sews like a master seamstress! Even you said that’s a beautiful gown she made for my birthday.”

  I gave her another huge smile and said, “That’s right, Walter, you rat.” I probably should have left out the rat part.

  Finally, his amusement spent, Walter released Jeanette, wiped his eyes, sucked in a huge breath and said, “Oh, my. I’m sorry, Daisy. But even you have to admit the notion of you teaching a cooking class is . . . funny.”

  “Huh,” said I. “I don’t think it’s the least bit funny. I didn’t think it was funny when Stacy Kincaid called and bullied me into doing it, and I don’t think it’s funny now.” In a burst of honesty, I added, “It’s a miracle that everything’s worked out all right so far.”

  Walter’s eyes went round. “Kincaid. Stacy Kincaid? The one you think is an evil changeling?”

  “That’s the one,” I said upon a weary sigh. My arms were strong from helping to support Billy when he walked and restraining the ever-ebullient Spike, but I was getting tired of whipping cream. Fortunately, it looked done to me, and Vi nodded to tell me I could quit. So I did.

  “I thought you didn’t even speak to each other.”

  I eyed my brother and decided he was going to behave from now on. “We didn’t used to. I still don’t like her, but she got religion and joined the Salvation Army. That’s the only reason she called. Well, that, and because Johnny probably told her to. Well, I know he did.”

  “How is Johnny?” asked Walter, who knew Johnny slightly.

  “He’s fine. He got married a few months ago to a lovely woman named Flossie.”

  My mother gave a refined sort of snort. She knew all about Flossie. Still, she didn’t hold Flossie’s background against her.

  “Did he? Well, that’s nice. I’m all for the married state.”

  The look that passed between my brother and his wife was embarrassing to behold. Still, I was happy for them both.

  Because I’m a nice aunt, I took the eggbeater to the door of the kitchen and hollered, “Who wants to lick the beaters?”

  It sounded like a herd of wild zebras stampeding toward the kitchen in answer to my query. Polly and Peggy stopped short in front of me, both beaming up, their faces cherubic. I handed over the eggbeater. “Share nicely, children.”

  They did.

  I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I cried the next morning when Walter and Jeanette left us to drive back to Los Angeles. I hated seeing my family go away after they’d come. And we wouldn’t see Walter and Jeanette again until Christmas Eve, which they planned to spend with us. They’d spend Christmas day at her sister’s place in Los Angeles. I guess that was fair, but I sure missed Walter when he was gone. Even if he did laugh at me for teaching that wretched class. Heck, everyone else did, too. Why should he be any different?

  There wasn’t time to miss him for long, however, because I had to teach a class that Saturday. Naturally, since she was to be married on the day after my class, Mrs. Kincaid called in her regular tizzy, asking me to please go to her house and read the tarot cards for her. So I did that before the class began.

  When I was shown to the drawing room by Featherstone, Mr. Pinkerton was holding her hand, and Harold hovered in the background. He winked at me and rolled his eyes, so I knew this was a large tizzy and not just a normal-sized one.

  I wafted gently toward Mrs. Kincaid. “Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Kincaid? All your problems will be over tomorrow, you know.”

  She lifted her eyes, which were glassy with tears, to me. “Will they, Daisy? Oh, will they really?”

  I thought about Stacy and decided to backpedal a bit. Since Mr. Pinkerton had risen and offered me his seat next to his bride-to-be, I floated gracefully down onto the sofa and took her hand, which was still warm from having been held by him. “You know, Mrs. Kincaid, that everyone has little troubles now and then. That’s the nature of life itself. If we didn’t have the rough patches, we’d be hard pressed to enjoy the smooth times. But tomorrow you’ll be marrying a wonderful gentleman who loves you dearly.” I prayed that was so. Mr. Pinkerton was nodding hard, so I guess it was. “And you have a loving son and a daughter who. . . .” Oh, dear. Whatever could I say about Stacy? “Who has seen the error of her ways and straightened up.” I prayed for that one, too.

  Harold rolled his eyes again, but I didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

  “Oh, Daisy, you always make me feel so much better,” Mrs. Kincaid said, hiccupping slightly in her distress. Or maybe it was relief.

  Sometimes I wondered about Mrs. Kincaid. Surely the woman must understand that she was better off than most of the citizens of the world. But you’d sure never know it if you just judged by her hysterics. After I finished reading the cards for her, I then decided to wonder about Mr. Pinkerton. Did the man know what he was getting himself into? Well, of course, he did. He’d known the woman for years. Decades, probably. Besides, just because I wouldn’t want to marry a woman who was prone to hysterics and who had an evil daughter, didn’t mean everyone wouldn’t. If you know what I mean.

  At any rate, I barely got out of there in time to dash to the Salvation Army and conduct my class. I was grateful that Gertrude didn’t waylay me on my way to fellowship hall, although she did look upon me with an expression not unlike Spike when he thinks I’m going to give him a bone after supper. Well, I’d deal with her after class.

  All my students were in their places, eager looks on their faces—except for Gertrude, whose expression I’ve already described. Flossie smiled warmly at me. Gee, I was lucky in my friends. They made up for a lot of the other, less pleasant things in my life.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” I said, hurrying to the front of the room and panting slightly. “I’m sorry to be so rushed. I had a job to do before coming here.” I beamed at them to let them know it didn’t matter, and that they were more important than any old job.

  They beamed back.

  “We’re making a simple recipe today, ladies, because we’ve all probably had too much food lately, and we’re going to lighten things up a bit.”

  That might have been a mistake. For all I knew, these poor dears, who, I deduced, had no family connections nearby, had spent a lonel
y miserable Thanksgiving alone. I glanced at Flossie.

  She must have read my mind, because she said brightly, “That’s right, Mrs. Majesty. We had a lovely Thanksgiving Day here at the church. All the church ladies brought covered dishes, and Johnny and I cooked two turkeys.”

  I eyed her speculatively. It seemed to me that she was becoming more comfortable in her role as the captain’s wife. She should be able to teach the next class, should there be one. Thank God. Life wasn’t all bad, I reckoned. “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Buckingham. I’m so glad you all had a festive holiday.” I sighed, remembering my family and the lovely time I’d had with them.

  Then I shook myself out of my reminiscent mood. “Anyhow, as I said, we’re preparing a simple dish today, ladies. It’s on page thirty-one of your booklets. Arme Ritter.” I probably massacred the pronunciation, but Vi had helped me with it.

  They all turned to the proper page.

  “As you can tell, this is not at all unlike regular old French toast, but it has a twist, in that we’re going to put some cinnamon into the egg batter. As the recipe tells you, you can put some preserves on the eggy pieces of bread after you fry them in hot fat, and they’re most tasty.” I knew this for a fact, because Vi had prepared same for breakfast that very morning, so I’d not be unprepared for this afternoon’s class.

  Class that day didn’t take very long, and we packed up fairly early. Flossie came up to me as I was packing my leftover arme ritters into paper bags. “They don’t stay crisp very long,” I said, eyeing the soggy lumps in my bag.

  She laughed. “I know. Mine are already soft. But Johnny never minds that sort of thing. He’s so good to me, Daisy.”

  Her dreamy expression warmed my heart. “I’m so glad, Flossie!” Impulsively, I gave her a little hug.

  “And we owe it all to you,” she said, hugging me back.

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m happy I was able to help a little bit.”

  “You helped more than a little bit,” she declared firmly. “I’ve never been so happy in my life, Daisy. What with the holidays coming and all . . . well, I just can’t thank you enough.”

 

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