by Susan Sands
Jo chimed in, “The double-dutchers called themselves the jumping Beans.”
Maeve wasn’t to be outdone. It seemed the entire family loved to share their family jokes. “Judy Bean told me that the branch of the family with freckles call themselves the speckled butter Beans.”
“Okay, that’s just wrong.” Ben laughed and shook his head as he tied up a trash bag.
“Hey, did anybody hear from Mom and Anna?” Maeve asked of the group.
“I called them earlier, and they’d stopped for lunch at Batesville General Store,” Ben said.
“Of course they did,” Emma nodded. The establishment was a combination old-time convenience store and lunch grill that served home-cooked specials on the menu. It had been a tradition to stop either on the way up or back home for a family meal.
“I have dreams of that apple pie,” Ben sighed, eyes closed.
They all laughed, as they collectively remembered the pie he referenced so worshipfully. It had been lovingly paired with a generous scoop of homemade, vanilla ice cream. Someday they would all have to return to the cabin together. “We should go back and have some, and maybe check on Mom. What do you all think? Just for fun.”
“I haven’t been back there in ages,” Jo said.
“We could go for the day,” Maeve agreed.
“Wait, when are you all thinking of going?” Cammie tried to slow this train down. “I don’t think I can leave—”
“Tomorrow is Monday, and we know that next weekend is booked with a couple of events, so, let’s all give it some thought and talk tomorrow night at dinner. We’ll order pizza and discuss it. Should we bring the kids and husbands?” Maeve was making plans.
“If everyone can get away for pizza tomorrow, let’s just the five of us decide what we’re going to do. Then, we can bring everyone else in on things if we want to do husbands, kids, and dogs.” Jo said.
“Looks like we’re all done here. I’ve gotta go on home and put some time in with little Joe and his history project now. I’ll see everyone tomorrow. This is going to be so much fun. Won’t Mom be so surprised when all her children show up together at the cabin just like old times?” Emma’s enthusiasm was a reflection of everyone’s happiness at the idea of returning to their special childhood getaway.
“I think Mom might have gone there for some peace and quiet, don’t you think?” Cammie hated to throw cold water on such a fun idea, but their mother had obviously wanted to get away.
“She just needed a change of scenery, is all. Plus, we’ll only go for a day,” Maeve said.
The others all nodded. Well, it looked as if that was that. Deep down, Cammie loved the idea. It would be like running away and embracing the past—the past before all the angst. Except that her father wouldn’t be with them.
If everything else fell to pieces, they had each other. After all these years, she was just now realizing the vital role of family in her life, thanks in part to the jumping Beans, Jelly Bean, speckled butter Beans, white, black and red Beans, and not least of all, Papa Bean.
Tomorrow was the pie contest. Cammie had butterflies and hoped she’d be able to sleep tonight. It would be an early morning and long day. This was the kind of environment she thrived in and the anticipation of creating something wonderful sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her.
Oh, how she’d missed real cooking and baking. The kind that turned heads and won awards. The judges’ names had been kept under wraps, but this was a highly publicized contest, and drew some impressive names both in entrants and judging. Despite her own notoriety, she was determined to rise above and compete.
*
Cammie dreamt of pecans. Of winning the blue ribbon and the expression of horror on Sheila Sue’s face when Cammie accepted her prize. She’d had nightmares as well. That she’d gone on stage to accept the coveted trophy and been laughed back down to the pavement. Then there was the fear of an errant sliver of shell missed in the cleaning process which could ruin a perfectly crafted pecan confection. So many pitfalls to pie heaven.
Finally, at five in the morning, Cammie couldn’t lie in bed imagining the worst any longer. She showered for the day, dressed in her bakers’ attire, black flat-front chino pants, a white, well-fitted t-shirt, and a white cotton blouse buttoned over the t-shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below her elbows. They would be working in a large craft/market area, not well-climate controlled, and if she did get warm, she could shed the outer layer on top.
She then pulled back her hair into a tight pony tail and made certain no strands fell forward. Cammie slid a thin hair band over the front, just in case. It was likely they would be given hairnets as precaution, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
This was no ordinary pie bake-off. One didn’t bring in the pies already prepared and ready for judging. This particular contest was a day long festival unto itself, with games, food booths, and local craft makers set up, hoping to sell their wares during the event. The contestants would make the pies for all to see, set up at individual tables in makeshift stalls with individual ovens set up for the event. Cammie’s entry was the final one they’d accepted, according to the contest coordinator. In fact, she’d been a late entry, therefore lucky, as they’d had someone drop out at the last minute.
Not just anyone was accepted into the contest. One must have credentials for this esteemed bake-off. Not like in other counties, where every housewife and keeper of the family recipes could throw their pie into the fray. This particular contest had risen in pie bake-off status throughout the nation, well at least a tri-state area or more. Cammie should consider herself fortunate indeed, the woman had preened, that she’d been accepted as a contestant.
Cammie had just entered the area and was beginning setup in her workspace, when a familiar voice cut into her efforts, “Hey there. Aren’t you a busy little bee?”
Cammie didn’t have time for this. “Oh, hey, Jenna. How’s it going?” She looked up with a patient and pleasant expression she’d dubbed her ‘television face’. Having had much practice by necessity, Cammie had this expression down pat.
Jenna had her daughter, Lilah, by the hand, and they were decked out in what looked like pageant gear. Cammie hid her surprise at Lilah’s large hairstyle and glittery gown with the sash.
“We’re guests of honor during the pie judging since Lilah placed honorable mention in the pageant. Jazzy-Lou, the second runner-up couldn’t make it on account of her getting Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease at the tumble gym.” Sympathy oozed from Jenna like molasses.
“Oh, how—tragic. Sounds like an opportunity for Lilah.” Cammie turned and addressed the little girl, who appeared as if she’d rather be on a playground with friends rather than gunked up and smiling pretty. “Have fun, honey, and after the contest is over, stop and have a piece of pie.” Lilah grinned at Cammie. Had Jenna bleached Lilah’s tiny teeth?
“Oh, Cammie, we just saw a big hubbub out back. I mean, lots of cameras and a big black limousine. You’ll never believe who’s here to judge the contest—” Jenna broke off, then leaned in dramatically toward Cammie as if she was telling a huge secret, “Jessica Greene.”
Jenna was cheated out of witnessing Cammie’s response, because at that moment, Lilah broke away from her mother’s grasp and ran shrieking toward a woman dressed down the aisle in sparkling princess attire. Thank the Lord for Cinderella.
Cammie blinked, then blinked again. She swallowed, and thought she might actually vomit, so vile was the nausea that rose up and threatened. She sank down on the metal folding chair provided for approximately thirty seconds while struggling to process this information.
Deciding now was as good a time as any to make a quick escape to the ladies room, Cammie slipped away while Jenna was still distracted by Cinderella and company. She eased out the rear of the cooking booth making her getaway less obvious, and hopefully clean.
The restroom was surprisingly empty as she dashed cold water on her heated cheeks. Wearing makeup while
she cooked was an exercise in futility on a normal day, so she chose not to bother with anything other than a bit of waterproof mascara and lip-gloss. The televised shows had been another matter entirely. Makeup was an obstacle that steam, heated ovens, and perspiration from within the kitchen often obliterated. Appearing fresh and well groomed throughout an entire taping was a challenge, even with the aid of trained makeup artists.
How in the holy hell was she going to handle a face-to-face meeting with Jessica Greene? There were no lawyers here to intervene and advise them what they could and could not say to one another. Jess hadn’t ever looked her in the eye since the incident with her hair.
The executive producer had called her in the next day to let her know she would be paid through the terms of her contract, but she had to leave and not set foot near Jessica nor the set again. Also, she couldn’t speak about the event or malign the network or Jessica in any way. Jessica had no such restrictions to Cammie, it seemed.
Of course, she’d been in shock and had no idea how The Southern Queen would lay blame on her in the media or make cutting jokes about her “blunder.” That was putting it mildly. It was more like character assassination, especially since it hadn’t been true.
As she made her way back to her pie booth, Sheila-Sue flagged her down as she passed, “Hey, Cammie, long time, no see.” The woman looked like a porcelain doll, with big blinkie eyes in human form, and considering she’d been Miss Gurtney, well, it was a little weird to be addressed like a peer.
But she’d make nice when it was offered around here these days. “Hi, Sheila-Sue. It’s good to see you again. Good luck today,” Cammie said.
“Oh, I’m good. I’ve got this pie recipe down, honey. Did you hear who’s judging?” Then, as if it just occurred to her what she’d said, her head swiveled like a dolly and she grinned, “Oh, that’s right, you and Miz Greene aren’t the best of friends. Ouch! I heard her talking about you on TV. I almost hadn’t put two and two together. Well, good luck anyway.” Her dolly eyes blinked and she turned her attention to her own pie preparations.
“Yeah, see you later.” Cammie had no idea if the woman was out of her mind, or a malicious bitch. Either way, she was stiff competition and bore watching.
Gathering all the courage and backbone she could muster, Cammie put her head down and marched to the cubicle, determined to focus on her main goal—beating the pants off these amateurs. Not stopping to reassess the unfair mental reference to her competitors, Cammie pushed forward. She couldn’t get bogged down worrying about the rest of it right now. She had to make some dang pecan pies.
The rules stated that the baker must use her own recipe, not referenced, copy written, or printed in any cookbook or online site. The paperwork included a sworn affidavit she’d had to sign and submit. Cammie planned to use a secret ingredient that, so far, hadn’t appeared anywhere that she’d read in a recipe for this particular type of pie. Luckily, they’d not had to surrender their recipes to the judges unless there was a question of thievery. It had happened before.
Because this was her own recipe, all tucked away on her hard drive, and she hoped to include it in her restaurant menu, Cammie had no intention of sharing it with anyone. People often preferred to keep recipes secret for various reasons, mostly so no cousin could show up at the family reunion with their own casserole and claim it, but certainly there were other motives.
Cammie had done quite a bit of pre-preparation to ensure things went smoothly. She’d chopped a load of fresh pecans, bagged them in pre-measured quantities along with all the other ingredients. She now turned the large ball of piecrust dough onto the floured surface straight from her cooler bag, careful to maintain a uniform thickness as she gently worked it into the right size and shape. Less was more when it came to pie crust. Not overworking the dough and keeping it cool really mattered.
She laid the pie pan upside down onto of the large circle and cut the crust with pastry scissors an inch larger around the pan’s perimeter. Removing the pan, she gently folded the crust in quarters, loosening the bottom with a thin spatula coated with flour, then lifted the rounded triangle to the inside of her pie pan. She repeated the process without incident. Cammie heard a few moans and groans here and there as some of the other bakers struggled with their piecrusts. The dough was notorious for sticking or developing holes during the folding and removing process.
The public was prohibited from watching preparations, due to the necessity for concentration during this process. She could only imagine a bunch of kiddos running around, bumping into the tables as the bakers tried to finesse their crusts.
Timing and a backup candy thermometer were vital, so having everything at the ready to make the filling while the crust baked was essential. They’d all been provided a two-burner electric cooker. Not very high-tech, but the only heat besides the oven necessary was enough to bring things to a boil so that the brown and white sugars could merge with the butter, etc. She would add the eggs and a couple other important ingredients after things cooled down a bit, but before the pies went into the oven.
As Cammie shut the oven door, after double-checking the temperature on the gauge, and the interior thermometer she’d placed inside as backup, she could cool her heels for the next half hour while she cleaned up her area. Scraping the flour into the large trashcan provided, she froze as a pair of gorgeous, red Western boots appeared in her line of vision. She’d seen the boots, or a variation of them, countless times and dreaded raising her eyes to their wearer’s face.
“Well, lookie here, it’s my little Cammie, baking pies at the county fair in Alabama.” Jessica Greene’s bleached blonde wig was now her signature, along with the red cowboy boots.
“Hi there, Jess. It’s good to see you.” Cammie decided to take the high road here since she wasn’t in a position to do anything else at the moment.
“Aren’t you sweet? I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking, honey. Good luck with your little pies.”
Um, no she hadn’t asked, thank you very much. Jess hadn’t made eye contact as she’d spoken at Cammie, then dismissed her as she turned away, leaving Cammie to stare at her retreating ample backside.
Thank goodness the judging would be anonymous. Their pies would be lined up with the bakers’ assigned numbers—the name correlation not available to the judges—taped facing inward on the bottom of the pans before the judges were brought in to taste them.
The pitfalls of such a cutthroat competition were accusations of personal bias. Past such drama had led to the board of directors employing security officers to protect the integrity of the contest. Cammie, for one, was extremely thankful for the overkill, just now.
Even Jessica Greene and her entourage wouldn’t be able to take this from her if she were the legitimate winner.
Cammie wondered if Jessica realized the lengths carried out to protect this contest. She hoped there wouldn’t be trouble on her account, but hadn’t liked the look in Jess’s eye. It was like she’d had an axe to grind with Cammie, the way she’d gone off on her so publically. While they’d worked together, Jessica had never overtly been horrible to Cammie, but there had been signs of insecurity and jealousy. She couldn’t imagine why someone with such status and fame in her realm would behave like that, but some of the most talented and beautiful people she’d ever known were eaten up with it.
A loud bell signaled that all contestants’ pies should be inside the ovens baking at this time. Cammie’s peace of mind was so totally shot that she dug her smartphone from her bag and cranked up some classical music. Pulling out a bottle of water and a food magazine, she settled on her folding chair to wait out the timer. It beat pacing and went a little ways to soothe her frazzled nerves.
*
Grey got unintentionally caught up in the hubbub while picking Samantha up from school. Wondering what the traffic tie-up was all about, he turned on the local radio station and was instantly informed by the enthusiastic female deejay that this last minute announcement of Je
ss Greene’s arrival in town was just the greatest thing ever, though it was causing a bit of chaos within the city limits and beyond.
Great. Not because he would sit for a while in a bumper-to-bumper mess, but that Cammie would likely find herself face-to-face with that awful eyebrowless woman again, during the pie contest. Grey wondered what the odds were of Jessica Greene showing up here almost unannounced with Cammie a contender for the prize. Something sticky other than pecan pie was most definitely afoot.
“Dad, what’s going on?” Samantha was wearing headphones and missed the radio announcement.
“Sounds like Jessica Greene is in town, judging the big pecan pie baking contest, and it’s causing some traffic backup.” He glanced over at her and smiled.
She wrinkled her nose, “Oh. Isn’t that the woman whose hair caught on fire or something?” Then, she giggled, remembering the clip.
“Did you know that was Lucy’s Aunt Cammie that threw the water and flour on her head to put out the fire?”
Sam gave him a dubious look, “Really? Why didn’t Lucy tell me that?”
“I don’t think the family is talking about it. It’s been a little embarrassing for Cammie because Ms. Greene hasn’t been very nice when she talks about her on television.”
“Was it Cammie’s fault?”
“I don’t think so. I believe she was trying to help her.”
“Then why would Ms. Greene be mean about it on TV?”
“When we’re embarrassed, it’s pretty normal to react badly, and not always toward the person who caused it—sometimes just whoever’s there in front of us at the time gives us somebody to yell at and blame things on.”
That got her attention, and Grey could tell she was thinking about what he’d just said, how unfair it seemed, and he realized this was a learning opportunity for Samantha. She’d lashed out at Cammie in the lunchroom during her humiliating moment; just as Cammie had tried to help. And even though Sam believed Cammie a root cause of her problems, he knew she hadn’t really believed her the reason for the spaghetti incident. She’d carried guilt around for her reaction to Cammie’s compassion because she had a conscience.