THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  “Mama’s whole neighborhood turned out in great numbers at the train station, welcoming the Roosevelts back to Warm Springs. But most importantly they turned out faithfully to put a face to those who supported the New Deal Roosevelts.”

  “Someday soon,” Mama said, “the President would remember all his humble constituents. The President and Mrs. Roosevelt were especially kind and playful with the little children afflicted with the paralysis, even though it was rumored he may have gotten polio one summer from a child.”

  “From the kitchen, Mama could watch FDR take the mineral baths with them and the other polio victims. Mama always had fresh sweet tea or lemonade and fresh lemon shortbread cookies made just for FDR to refresh him after his therapy. She made something different for the rest of the folks, so her cookies for the President would be memorable. But being the colored kitchen Help, she never got to meet him on the hospital grounds. The idea of the Help meeting the President, well you understand. It just wasn’t allowed.”

  “One morning long before daybreak as she was putting on her apron, wondering if she was doing all the cooking or just peeling, chopping, cleaning, cookie baking and the like, her friend Pimzie, the night nurse ran into the kitchen, so excited she couldn’t breathe. Seeing and hearing Buford the cook snoring, sounding like the buzz saw at the local mill, sleeping on his potato and onion sacks, Pimzie pulled Mama into the walk-in cooler. Pimzie was so excited she was spinning Mama round and round in circles like they were little girls again.”

  “Today’s your lucky day little Mama,” Pimzie said. “Last night I admitted the President’s cook. He’s sicker than a dog. I’m keeping him that way for you! I told you, I pray too! My prayers have been answered because both ends of the man are working overtime! Hurray! He’s throwing up everything but a lung, and living in the bathroom, his head’s always in the toilet. Grady’s BBQ strikes again. Hallelujah! It’s given him the Ptomaine. I just helped it along. Remind me to pray for forgiveness.”

  “Pimzie was trying to get a rise outta my stunned Mama. Mama said she was ‘stunned stupid,’ her luck was changing, and yet she was completely innocent to it.”

  “Pimzie continued…”

  “I told Doctor Hubbard, I know of a reliable cook and not to worry about finding a replacement for FDR’s cook, because I had the situation covered. Dr. Hubbard hoped it was you who was going to cover for the cook. Doctor’s orders! FDR’s cook will be confined to bed for a few days because of dehydration! Hello? Why aren’t you excited?”

  “Me? Pimzie? I’m the replacement cook?”

  “Pimzie twirled Mama…”

  “Yes! You goose! Who else? Dr. Hubbard loves your cooking!”

  “And just like that, there was someone to feed the President and Mrs. Eleanor, my Mama! Mama’s childhood friend Pimzie, better known as Pamela Michelle Elizabeth Robins, knew Mama was a talented cook, doing all of the Institute’s cooking as usual. Buford the real cook, most days was recovering from a hangover or just plain A.W.O.L. But today of all days, Buford was there in the back of the kitchen on his shipping pallet, sleeping off his night of cheap whiskey, and honky-tonk carousing. So removing Mama’s apron, Pimzie pushed my stunned Mama out of the walk-in and into her new life.”

  “Pimzie whispered…”

  “I’ll take over. Get home! Cook FDR all his favorite foods. Deliver them up the mountain. With Dr. H‘s blessing! Take this! To think I nearly left it home!”

  Joseph shows the crowd his thimble.

  “Pimzie had shoved her good luck thimble in Mama’s pocket and pushed her toward the door. Pimzie began cracking eggs doubled fisted, two at a time, for the patient’s breakfast. Mama said she stood there frozen, like a deer in the headlights of a Model A.”

  “Mama asked again...”

  “But what if his cook gets better and wants to come back to work?”

  “Pimzie was running around the kitchen, catching up.”

  “Look at you, Mrs.What-if, What-if! You’re in shock! Already taken care of,” Pimzie winked…

  “Since Doctor Hubbard is busy with the President and his other wealthy patients, he trusts me to keep him informed as to when the cook could return to his duties. He needed a little extra to keep him asleep, until I could go off shift and present this golden opportunity to you, as this is your biggest and best prayer, ever answered. Juli-mae! Feed FDR not one Brussels’ sprout. They smell like dead mice to him, or Lima beans. He’ll hide them in his milk. He loves country food like fried chicken, peach tarts, corn bread, and fried okra and black-eyed peas and the Missus loves sweets, anything sweet. Your specialty!”

  “Mama shook her head still feeling powerless…”

  “Well, Pimzie. There’s one problem. I don’t have two pennies to rub together. I just made a payment to Leta, and I know you’re broke, too.”

  “You will not let anything stand in the way of your answered prayer. ‘Where there is a will right here, there is a way,’ Missy. You may not look a gift horse in the mouth. Look what I found in the bottom of my purse. Pimzie gave Mama a silver dollar, the last of her money ‘til payday. Then threw an empty, flour sack at her. Now! Git to gettin!”

  “Mama hugged her so hard she’d about broken her ribs. Hope restored, Mama ran down the steps with her old flour sack to carry the groceries, and Pimzie stayed to cook for the hospital and had time to think up a story for Buford, why Mama herself was A.W.O.L. Mama rushed to every friend’s house on her way to the store, borrowing a penny here, a nickel there. Those that couldn’t give money gave herbs from their garden, eggs from their hen house. The little things that most people had, they gave. She knew whom not to ask. The ones she fed the most. The worst of it was, she had to keep the destination of the borrowings a secret from them. She’d make it up to them somehow. In no time, her entire neighborhood was invested in her mission. Mama could buy all the ingredients she lacked, like coconut, vanilla, and butter. She had enough money to buy three fresh hens for the pot and oxtail. Mama prayed as she ran home, arms aching from toting the sack stuffed with groceries she’d never eat. The bus driver ignored her pleas to stop. She had to get that meal fixed and delivered up Pine Mountain before noon.”

  “Along came Jasper, Daddy’s best friend. She had to let him in on the secret and give him gas money, so he’d agree to give her a ride up to Pine Mountain, if she cooked him a few meals. He agreed even though he tried to stretch it to a month. All she could think about was the President waking up with a powerful hunger, because the therapist had worked him hard the day before. His smile dragged a bit, after his long workout. Right now, the man would be wondering where his lunch was coming from, then forcing Mrs. Eleanor to make arrangements to get a new cook there, fast. Rumor was Mrs. Eleanor couldn’t boil an egg without burning it. Mama figured she had about four hours to get this all done and delivered. Finally in her kitchen, Mama sang her favorite hymns, “How Great Thou Art and Amazing Grace.” She raced around the kitchen organizing, cooking, thankful she was good at it. She’d gotten much practice being the main cook. When Buford didn’t show up, she’d have many mouths to feed and little time to get it all done. Mama kept her hands busy while the clock was eating up the precious minutes, closing in on the President’s noon dinnertime.”

  “At last with all her good work packed away, tidy and pretty in a huge laundry basket she could barely lift, she washed the sweat off her face, refreshed herself with rose water, brushed the flour off her shoes, tucked up her hair and put on her freshly pressed Sunday dress and a new apron never worn, since she received it for a wedding gift, because Hallelujah! The President’s and the Missus dinner was ready!”

  The room cheered and Joseph laughed.

  “Mama was sure she covered every course. She’d made homemade Parker House rolls, braised ox tail, three gingersnap baked chickens, legs removed, black eyed pea cakes, five Greens rice, sautéed collard greens, sweet slaw and sides of corn bread with cracklings, and two loaves of bread, rosemary-garlic, and cinnamon for sandwiches
and breakfast toast. And three Desserts, her own preserved peach turnovers, praline bread pudding, and a gingerbread caramel snack cake, plus two kinds of cookies for the President’s nightly snack, her special lemon shortbread and coconut macaroons for the Missus.”

  “Mama prayed, maybe FDR or the Missus would recognize her lemon shortbread and the macaroons. He’d asked for them, often enough. He’d carried the macaroons home to Mrs. Eleanor many a time. And for good measure, three sampling snacks of corn bread, and those chicken legs fried and tied up in wax paper, covered by her best and only cloth napkins. Her wicker laundry basket was covered with her wedding tablecloth. She tied the ribbons onto the handles she’d saved for her baby blankets. It looked so pretty and it was ready for delivery. Nothing else would fit. Mama rang her old triangle. Jasper who lived across the street brought the truck around, and had to part the unnoticed crowd to get to her door, brought forth by the heavenly smells.”

  “You all gather up some food and I’ll cook supper. We’ll have a party when I get back from delivering this food basket to those poor, sick folks.”

  “Lordy, Julia, can’t you tell them…?”

  “Jasper said far too loudly. Mama shot him a look. It could melt your bones.

  “Sure kept me in line.”

  Joseph shuddered and they laughed.

  “Julie whispered, “They ain’t gonna miss a thing they don’t know about.”

  Joseph paused and looked directly at his Presidents and saw they were drooling. He pointed at them, nodded, and sucked his own drool back in his mouth. The room howled.

  “Jasper wiped his mouth, as Mama rolled her eyes toward the whispering crowd. She counted on the First Family not getting hungry after one meal.”

  “Mama whispered…”

  “We’re late. I have a surprise for you in the Hoover when we get back, then she raised her voice…. from delivering this food to that sick family.”

  “The hungry crowd scattered, wondering what they were gonna bring back to Mama’s place. She felt for all the hungry people she was turning away. But maybe good things could come of this meal for everyone. She believed in the Roosevelts. Jasper opened the Hoover and saw three covered plates inside.”

  “Come now, Jasper! The sooner we go, the sooner you can eat.”

  “Jasper’s old truck complained and coughed its way up the hill to the Little White House. Just when you could barely see the guard house peeking from around the bend, Jasper quit on Mama just yards from victory, backing his old truck down the hill, refusing to let Mama out.”

  “What was I thinking, letting you talk me into this?”

  “Jasper asked, shaking his head.”

  “Don’t you dare mule on me now, Jasper!”

  “What people gonna say, if I get us shot by some crazed Klan white boys?”

  “Jasper said, watching for the guards to come running after them.”

  “Well now? You’re not gonna care much either way, since I’ll have killed you myself.”

  “Mama knew those mountain boys could shoot the eye out of a gnat. Mama was exasperated, but she understood his fear.”

  “Stop Jasper, please. I’ll cook for you a month. And not a day past thirty.”

  “With an offer too good to refuse, Jasper pulled over and parked out of sight.”

  “Don’t get yourself killed. You owe me a month of Sunday dinners.”

  “Don’t you be wishing me one lick of bad luck or I swear, as God is my witness Jasper Grimes, I’ll be cooking you nothing but mush for those 30 days. Now, listen here. If by some miracle they invite me in, tell the folks I’ll fix them supper tonight. You stay put now. You hear me? If Junior and I have to walk home down this mountain, our deal is off. Do you hear me?”

  “He nodded. Bribed with her wrapped snack, Mama toted that heavy basket up hill, feverishly bargaining with the Lord to keep the bottom of the basket in tact, ‘til she got it to the President’s empty dinner table. Mama said, with every step she took closer to that guard shack, the lump in her throat got bigger and that wicker basket creaked and groaned and got heavier and heavier. Finally, she was noticed. A biggin' white boy stepped out the guard shack pointing a rifle at her.”

  “I have food for the President from the hospital…”

  “Mama said and kept on coming.”

  “Did you hear me? This is food for the President, sent by his doctor? Sir? It’s food for the President! You know his cook is in the hospital!”

  “Mama wasn’t stopping. This huge white boy lifted his rifle and fired over her head. Mama ducked for a second then continued walking toward the guard, smiling as friendly as she knew how.”

  “Don’t you be shooting no woman! Sarge! Sarge?”

  “A timid, skinny white boy left behind in the guard shack cried out.”

  “Shut it, Bobby Rae. Trying to concentrate here. Hey gal? You got a death wish or something? What’s it going to take for you to hold up right there, a bullet between the eyes? I will shoot a woman, if I have to. What do you think you’re doing, showing your face up here? And what’s that in the basket? Stop right there, I said! You deaf and as well as dumb?”

  “Mama paused to get the Sarge to calm down.”

  “Now that’s more like it.”

  “Well, Mama had prayed for the guard to be a Northern boy who might be a bit kinder toward her and inclined to listen.”

  The crowd nervously laughed, agreeing.

  “But nothing was going to stop her. So she looked him right in the eye and kept coming. She was knowingly defying him and risking death. She figured if she talked quiet and low, like he was some frothing rabid dog, he might calm down and hear what she was saying.”

  “Sarge? So, you did hear me. You know I said it’s dinner for the President and Mrs. Roosevelt. You surely know his cook is sick in the hospital and not returning anytime soon. And… You know Grady’s has its off moments. His cook can’t keep a thing on his stomach. Now, I’m Julia Jefferson. I work there at the Spa. I made this basket of food so the President and Mrs. Eleanor wouldn’t go hungry today. I made extra so you two could taste it to see if it is fit for the President and the Missus to eat. I expect he’s hungry by now, having missed his usual big breakfast. It’s almost his dinnertime, isn’t it? Dr. Hubbard says he’s making fine progress and his delicate progress can’t be wasted by missing any more meals.”

  The room applauded.

  “Girl…?”

  “The crafty guard said.”

  “You’re a little too bold if you ask me, the likes of you, fixing food for the President of these United States. Now don’t that beat all!”

  “Mama said this guard took a new bead on her. Mama was sure he was aiming right between her eyes. But she kept on coming. And as she got closer, she prayed that when he looked into her eyes he’d realize this little bit of a Mama of mine just couldn’t be an enemy of the President, holding that big food basket.”

  “She said…”

  “I’ll just get that snack for you and your friend.”

  “Mama slowly set the basket down keeping a smile on her face and her eyes locked on the guard. Then that stubborn but determined biggin’ guard chambered another round.”

  “Hands up Gal. Now! Or I’ll lay you out where you stand. I’m not playing.”

  “Nothing to be frightened of here Sergeant, except fried chicken, corn bread, cakes, cookies, breads and such. Just getting you and your friend a crispy fried leg is all. And… I got some sweet corn bread that will fill up your empty corners, real nice.”

  “Just then, the Sarge’s stomach growled. Mama couldn’t help but giggle. Not to be deterred, Mama slowly pulled out those two snacks wrapped in her blue checked wedding napkins and held them out for the guard to take. Mama closed her eyes and bowed her head and prayed, waiting for him to take them. With her head bowed and feeling as humble as she could, Mama just then, noticed the smell of burnt toast in the air. She could feel the guard ease closer. She slowly looked up to see the barrel one foo
t away from her forehead. That devilish grin on his face said he wanted to shoot her in the worst way. Bean Pole Bobby Rae watched intently, leaning way out peeking through his fingers, but he didn’t dare leave his guard shack.”

  “The Sarge said...”

  “All right, Gal. I guess you’re no anarchist. Let’s see it. I heard they were just going to eat sandwiches until she burnt up all the bread. And you’re right. Mrs. R. doesn’t cook. She can’t even make toast. Imagine that. Burned up all the bread, trying to toast it under the broiler. I’ll bite. But if it tastes off in any way, I‘ll arrest you for trying to poison the President. A life sentence offense or worse and you heard of Judge Will’s reputation, I’m sure. Besides. He’s kin.”

  “He drew his finger across his throat to make his point. Mama said she wanted to run, realizing she’d never tasted the chicken herself. What if it had turned? But if she bolted, she knew she’d be dead before she took a step. So she stuck, not to give the guard a reason to panic.”

  “Yes, sir. Here’s one for your friend, so you can confer over it.”

  “Confer over it? Ha!”

  “The Sarge was so hungry, he nearly bit the bone in two.”

  “Hey, I want some! Don’t forget about me!”

  “Bobby Rae was now creeping closer, drawn by the smell of Mama’s chicken, thinking about his stomach, and not... his President.”

  The room exploded in laughter and all the ex-Presidents had a great belly laugh. Joseph laughed with them and waited for the room to settle.

  “The Sarge with the bead on Mama snapped at poor Bobby Rae…”

  “Get back to your post! You Ignoramus!”

  “Bobby Rae froze.”

  “Get back there! You ignoramus! I said… I’ll bring you your taste.”

  “Mama picked up her basket, inched forward, knowingly defying him. Mama knew he was itching to shoot her like most mountain boys. They just had to shoot something or die.”

  Most of the Southerners in the room nodded and laughed.

  “Tastes mighty good, Gal. You can cook! Here. I’ll take that, now. He reached for her basket. But Mama snatched it out of his grasp. She felt the weight inside shift. The bottom cracked, as she struggled with getting her hands further under the load.”