Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “It’ll be good to see you. I’ve really missed you.” Missy let a little longing note reach her voice. She missed Jean, whose family friendship had extended back to when Missy’s mother was alive.

  “I miss you too, Missy.”

  She hung up the phone, and turned to see Robert standing in the kitchen doorway. She hadn’t heard the screen door swing open, or bounce closed, so she was surprised to see him. Had he overhead? She bit her lower lip. Not that it mattered.

  His face was slightly sun burnt and his white T-shirt no longer looked fresh out of the wash.

  “I’m leaving and I wanted to tell you that at first I wasn’t thrilled about getting up so early on my day off, but I’m glad I went.”

  “Even though you didn’t get a bite?”

  “Even though I didn’t get a bite,” he paused to smile, “I have a whopper of a tale.”

  Coming from Robert, whopper almost sounded like slang.

  “The more you hang around my dad, the more you’ll realize most of his fishing stories don’t have all that much to do with fishing.”

  He laughed. Small lines appeared around his eyes and mouth.

  “Bye, Missy.” He patted the doorway molding.

  “See ya.” She tried to make light of the fluttering inside her rib cage. For heaven’s sake, it was only Jerry Boy.

  When he reached home, Robert’s parents were entertaining the Bowers, their longtime family friends. They’d lived in Spokane and were in town visiting their children and grandchildren as they often did throughout the year.

  Robert slipped off his tennis shoes in the garage and debated between taking a shower and speaking with his mom. When he entered the mudroom, the house smelled like roasted chicken. Hopefully it was Chicken Divan. The dish was fabulous.

  His parents’ friends, Ron and Betty Bower, sat at the table. The elderly couple greeted him with smiles, and Betty held out her arms for a hug.

  “How was fishing?” Ron asked, while Robert hugged Betty.

  “Slow. Our boat only landed one.” Over dinner, he’d tell them the whopper tale.

  “Your mom said that you went fishing with the same girl who’d fixed your car a while back,” Betty said, a twinkle in her eye.

  “It’s not like that. I’m courting her father, not her.”

  “Her father owns an auto repair shop,” Robert’s father said.

  “Oh, I see.” Betty nodded.

  “Mom, if you can spare a minute, I’d like to speak with you.” He nodded toward her office which she also used as a craft room.

  A slight frown flashed across her face before she started ahead of him down the hallway. Her talk with Peg and Bertha obviously hadn’t gone well. He closed the office door behind them.

  “So how’d your senior luncheon go?”

  Sighing, she untied her apron, folded it lengthwise, and laid it over the back of her desk chair.

  “Peg and I decided to take matters into our own hands.”

  Robert crossed his arms.

  “We decided not to tell Bertha. We feel it’s more important to get the Stuarts to church and teach Missy some cooking skills than it is to follow Bertha’s rules.”

  “What do you mean? I thought Missy had to be married?”

  “We’re not going to tell Bertha.”

  “Don’t you think someone will ask?” He scratched above his right eye. “I mean, Missy won’t be wearing a ring… she’s never even had a boyfriend.”

  His mother shrugged. “No one’s going to lie. We’re simply not going to tell Bertha.”

  “There’s bound to be questions, Mom.”

  “Then our prayer will be that God supplies the answers.” She patted his arm. “Before you run up and take a shower, why don’t you call Pauline?”

  He nodded. He’d put off calling her long enough. He searched the desk for Pauline’s grandparents’ number and then picked up the phone. Before he dialed, he paused to remember Missy seated in the boat beside him, dripping wet, and he found himself smiling. Despite the fact that her heart was bent on Gary, they’d spent a memorable day together.

  CHAPTER 15

  “You’ll need to make something quick. We need to get ready for church,” Daddy said as Missy rustled a frying pan out of the lower cabinet.

  “Church?” He was really following through with it? They hadn’t been to church since Uncle Howard’s funeral years ago.

  “Yes, church.” Daddy set his dress shoes on top of the kitchen table.

  On Sundays, they usually had scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and watched sports on television. A perfect, relaxing day.

  “It’s on account of that dumb cooking class, isn’t it? I’m not going to start wearing dresses and hanging out with old ladies just because you’re craving fried chicken.”

  “Watch your tone with me.” Daddy’s voice was firm. “I want you to learn to make fried chicken and gravy just like your mama’s. And church is what she would have wanted... for us.”

  Nothing shut her up quicker than Daddy talking about Mama. She popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

  “Your mama used to make her fried chicken in that big Dutch oven pan of hers.”

  “The heavy one?” It sat on the bottom shelf of the lazy Susan with a coating of dust.

  “Yes, that one.”

  A question plagued her—one she was afraid she’d voice—one that most likely would make Daddy’s temper flare. She cleared her throat.

  “If going to church was what Mama wanted... why have we waited ten years?”

  “Certain songs remind me of your mother.” His chest expanded. “And they usually sing them at church.”

  Daddy was at a point in his healing that he could talk about it, and maybe he could get through the church songs without tears.

  “I suppose going to church means I’ll have to wear a dress.”

  Daddy nodded. “You’d be the only girl wearing overalls. If you wear a dress, you’ll blend in more. Scrub your face ‘til it’s rosy; always looks pretty when it’s rosy.”

  “What about Douglas?”

  “Already had his Sunday mapped out—gone fishing.”

  When her father wasn’t looking, she shook her head. She wished Douglas would stop lying and just tell him the truth.

  After downing a piece of toast, she headed down the hallway to her room. She pulled the light cord in her closet and stared at her graduation dress. Within a month of meeting Robert Schoening, they were going to church.

  Something had to be done about him.

  Her only dress was a dark blue Gunny Sax brand, with orange and yellow flowers, a white lace collar, and a tie in the back that started right beneath the bodice. After yanking it over her head and zipping it up, she regarded her reflection in the floor-length mirror.

  She looked like a walking piece of pasture.

  She scrounged up an old pair of nylons that had a hole above the knee; luckily, the dress came below the knee. Next, she found the white dress shoes she’d worn to graduation and squished her feet inside. They felt tight; maybe her feet were swollen on account of the heat. They were irritatingly uncomfortable, but she had no other choice.

  Daddy sat at the kitchen table polishing and buffing his black leather dress shoes. The last time he’d worn his dark suit had been to her graduation.

  “You look dashing, Daddy.”

  He grinned. When he stood up, she realized that dashing was the wrong word. The dark suit made his broad shoulders and the girth of his chest appear even broader. Dominating was a better word to describe a man Daddy’s size in a dark, tailored suit.

  As they drove toward Felida, butterflies played badminton in Missy’s stomach. “We’re going to Robert’s church?”

  Daddy patted the wheel. “I’d be lying on Sunday if I said we weren’t. He told me it’s a fine church, and I’ve been thinking what we need is a fine church.”

  Daddy had never mentioned finding a fine church until Robert. There was no longer any doubt; Daddy wa
s matchmaking! Missy frowned and looked out the window. Why was he so dead set against Gary? Gary was big and strong and—she sighed—in love with Trudy Tibbits. They passed the Hampsons’ pear orchard and then acres and acres of green potato plants.

  “Unless you find yourself a good woman to take my place, I’m never gonna leave you, Daddy.”

  “I’ve been thinking church might be a fine place to find a fine woman.”

  Missy sat up taller. He wasn’t only tired of her cooking. Daddy’s reasons for attending church were multiplying.

  “Jerry Boy is not man enough for me.”

  “You think so?” Daddy patted the steering wheel. “Did you know he played football in high school, free safety, second team all league?”

  “There’s no spark. Zip. So don’t go getting hitched on account of me.”

  Daddy took a right onto a gravel driveway. In the middle of a sweeping, grassy field sat a crisp white, one-story church. In his Sunday best, Robert stood out front waiting for them.

  Missy walked through the gravel in her short pumps, and tugged at the sides of her floral dress. Despite the fact that she looked like a walking piece of pasture, Robert watched her the way she remembered Tom Wilson looking at his long-awaited sports coupe from across the garage. Right in front of Daddy, Robert Schoening appeared all dreamy, like a man does when he’s waiting at the end of a long aisle.

  “Been going here long?” Daddy gripped Robert’s left deltoid in one hand.

  “Since before I can remember. My folks are inside.”

  Robert turned toward her. Instead of meeting his gaze, she looked inside the open door at all the people and then up to the white steeple. Robert held out his arm.

  She shook her head.

  “Take it,” Daddy said.

  Frowning, she cupped her hand around Robert’s bicep. The side of his dark leisure suit brushed against her dress as they walked through the foyer and down the center aisle of the sanctuary. Most of the people were already seated and many turned to look at them. Four pews from the front, Robert nodded for her to sit down. She slid in on the padded, wooden bench. He sat down right beside her, leaving a wide area near the end of the pew for Daddy. Daddy shook his head and remained standing in the aisle.

  He leaned toward Robert. “If I sit here, no one behind me will be able to see. Any widows in the back row?” he whispered.

  “Mrs. Anderson. She’s uh . . . elderly.”

  Craning her neck, Missy watched Daddy stroll toward the rear pews. He’d left her all by herself seated next to Jerry Boy! A plump woman sat down on Robert’s right, filling the space that Daddy should have occupied. The organist, an elderly woman, began to play.

  Was it too late to stand up and follow Daddy?

  “Pretty day, pretty dress,” Robert whispered.

  Unfortunately, her taste in clothes matched his.

  “Don’t go getting any ideas, Jerry Boy,” she whispered, and stared straight ahead toward a large, wooden cross hung on the wall behind the pulpit area.

  “My folks are behind us, two rows. My mother slept in curlers and one curl flipped the wrong way. She’s very upset about it.”

  Missy turned slightly in the pew. Two rows behind them, sat an elderly couple. They both had completely gray heads of hair. She peered closer. One curl flipped out instead of under in the woman’s short hair.

  Mrs. Schoening held up one hand and fluttered her fingers then patted at the curl.

  Missy smiled, turned back around, and stared at the cross.

  Robert cleared his throat. “I was a surprise. Eight years after their sixth child was born, along came me.”

  “Should have guessed you were the baby.” Missy’s mouth twitched. A man in a three-piece polyester suit walked up front.

  “You are too.”

  The man opened a book, and raising his other hand, led everyone in singing. Robert pulled a hymnal out of the wooden rack in front of them, leaned his shoulder into hers, and flipped to Just a Closer Walk with Thee.

  Jerry Boy was sitting too close.

  After the singing, a short, middle-aged man walked up front. Without using the microphone, he bellowed: “There’s a corn feed tonight at the Carltons’ place at five o’clock.”

  “If your father doesn’t go, I’ll take you.” Robert kept his eyes on the man in front.

  Missy stared straight ahead at the cross. “No, thank you.” She wished she were at home in her bib overalls doing anything but sitting next to Jerry Boy.

  Against the hardwood pew, the knot in the back of her dress was bothersome. She thought about untying it, but if she did, it might cause the lace trimmed bodice to pucker in the front. She didn’t want Jerry Boy getting a glimpse of heaven forbid.

  A middle-aged man in a nice, brown suit gripped the pulpit and grinned. “Open your Bibles to Luke chapter twenty-one.” Robert flipped right to it. He crossed one knee over the other, and leaning softly into her shoulder, held the Bible between them.

  If she wasn’t wedged in by a tall, skinny teenage boy chewing gum, she’d have been able to scoot away from Robert, but they were jammed in the pew like pickles in a Mason jar. Despite the fact that Jerry Boy was sitting too close and sharing his Bible, and the preacher was pacing the stage, trying to keep their eyes busy, Missy’s mind wandered.

  This summer she was going to can at least sixty quarts of peaches and thirty quarts of pears and make blackberry freezer jam. She was good at preserving. What could she make for supper tonight? Hmm... there was still some leftover salmon.

  Her feet throbbed. She wondered if her feet would stink if she slid off her heels. Probably! Sometimes Daddy and Douglas would moan in olfactory pain when she took off her boots in the living room. If she slid off her shoes right now, maybe she’d never have to worry about Jerry Boy leaning softly toward her ever again.

  She probably shouldn’t. Daddy would recognize the odor, and he’d probably punish her by making her come to church again.

  The ceiling fan overhead did nothing to cut through the thick, claustrophobic air. A man, two people to her left, snored ever so softly. Combined with the heat of too many bodies pressed into one pew, Missy felt certain she’d soon join him. She knew she was slipping when she felt her neck roll back to that comfortable position where the cranium meets the shoulders. Someone, probably Robert tapped her right knee. She jerked up with a start and stared at the preacher.

  The never-ending sermon finally ended. Robert closed his Bible and shook the hand of an elderly man seated in the pew in front of them. All Missy wanted to do was find Daddy and get to the truck. Caught up in a throng of people, she skirted down the center aisle away from Robert.

  In the foyer, Daddy mingled with several of the church people, all of them clamoring to shake his hand. His laugh boomed above the crowd. Everyone appeared to know they were visitors, and it was hard to miss a man like Daddy. He stood head and shoulders above the majority. One by one, her father shook hands with nearly every adult in the building.

  Robert reached the foyer and spotted her. She searched for someone to talk to, someone to turn to, but the women around her busily talked among themselves.

  “Meet my folks, Missy.” Robert nodded toward his parents. They were holding hands as they exited the sanctuary. Without asking, he cupped her elbow.

  “Why?” she asked as he gently prodded her forward.

  “Because.” He turned to look at her. Through the front windows, little rays of sunshine made their way to his eyes, and a soft faint curve made its way to his lips. It was rather sweet. Missy realized it was a look of love from a man other than her father and her brother. And for a moment she allowed herself to marvel at the comparison. But it was Jerry Boy who was looking at her that way.

  Heaven forbid!

  Years ago, Gary had looked at her the night they’d been smelting on the Lewis River. It was dark, and there hadn’t been enough moonlight to tell if there was a soft look in his eyes or not. She’d always wondered. Daddy was probably wro
ng about Gary wanting to ask her out; he was forever in love with Trudy Tibbits.

  “This is Missy.” Robert dropped her elbow.

  “You’re the girl who fixed Robert’s car?” Lean, with bright eyes and gray brows, his father smiled and shook her hand.

  “Yes.” Missy nodded.

  “You’re an answer to prayer.”

  His mother nodded and waited for her husband to let go of Missy’s hand and she took it into her own softly wrinkled one. Above her string of pearls, Mrs. Schoening’s brown eyes sparkled.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Missy. Robert has talked about you often.”

  Missy’s eyes widened. She could just imagine the things he’d had to share.

  “Our Elderly Angels group meets this Thursday at six o’clock at Bertha Carlton’s home. I’ll call to remind you and give directions.”

  Missy knew she didn’t belong here. She’d worn the dress for Daddy, but she didn’t belong here. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And just the soft way that Mrs. Schoening spoke... Missy was in the wrong pasture.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Schoening; that’s right at suppertime, and I always make supper.”

  “I can help out, if it comes to that,” Robert said.

  Was he offering to make supper in her place? Missy’s face grew warm. What if he fixed something great? Daddy would really be sold on him then; and there would be no getting rid of ole Jerry Boy. Mrs. Schoening stepped between them and steered Missy away from the men.

  “Thursday evenings are always enjoyable.” She patted Missy’s arm. “We share recipes and have a leisurely meal and female fellowship.”

  Mrs. Schoening smelled like lilacs, and whatever she’d just said sounded like a foreign language. Female fellowship?

  “There will be several other young ladies your age.”

  Missy found herself searching the foyer for Daddy, but only saw Robert. Mrs. Schoening waited for her response, her eyes warm and kind.

  Didn’t she see that Missy was a fish out of water? A mechanic’s daughter in a dress, an imposter wearing heels and pretending to think only pleasant thoughts. She didn’t belong here in Saintsville. Oh, how she longed to say Crab!