Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “I thought it was funny how she invited him to church right after he told her he’d fixed his muffler.”

  Despite the ache in his chest, Robert chuckled. “Sounds like she was happy about the muffler.”

  “Nawh. It was a hurdle. She told him last week she wouldn’t go out with him unless he fixed his muffler. Church was another hurdle. And for a Baker, it’s a hurdle about ten feet high.”

  “Hmmm . . . interesting strategy.”

  “He’ll never set foot in a church.” John sighed. “He’s just like his father in that way.”

  “Then we need to keep them in prayer.”

  “Missy and Douglas too.”

  Robert had a chance of getting back in time for dinner if he left right now, but the Holy Spirit prompted him to stay and pray.

  “The Lord tells us in his word when two or more are gathered in his name, he’ll be there among us. We could pray for them right now.”

  John nodded.

  When the two men bowed their heads in prayer, their words were audible despite Douglas’s music blaring through the shop. After Robert finished, John added requests for people Robert had never heard him speak about: neighbors, friends . . .

  “And, Lord, if it is in your will, could you save Rick Baker? If you can change me, you can change Baker. Gary, too. And the guy at the gas station who’s having a hard time in his marriage; Lord, help him. I know Robert already prayed about this, but...” John sighed, “if it’s in your will, I pray for my kids, Missy and Douglas, to know you as their Lord and Savior. In your Son’s mighty name, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Robert whispered.

  “The most important thing in the world to me now is to see my kids saved.” John said as they walked out of the garage into the sunlight.

  Robert knew he’d feel the same way if he were in John’s shoes.

  “Missy said ‘amen’ last night at the table.” John glanced toward the front of the house. “After I said prayer, she said ‘Amen.’ Do you think it’s a sign that maybe she was praying? I mean really praying?”

  Should he tell John that his mother sensed Missy was someone that the Lord had already grabbed hold of? Would it get his hopes up too much?

  “I think Missy might have been praying too.”

  “She’s an awful lot like me.” He grinned. “I know better than to ask her.”

  Would Missy hear the Lord’s gentle rap upon the door of her heart? If she heard it, would she answer? Robert pondered and prayed about these things as he drove to his appointment in Woodland.

  Missy answered the kitchen phone. It was Daddy calling from the shop.

  “Put off dinner for awhile. Robert’s running a little late.”

  “Daddy, he told me to just dish him up a plate. Everything’s done.” The corn was ready to be taken off the stove. The chicken was warm in the oven. The coleslaw was in the fridge.

  “There’s no harm in waiting ten, fifteen minutes?” Daddy hung up on her.

  It was the mashed potatoes she was worried about. She set the lid on the pot, and slid it in the warm oven. Using tongs, she plucked the ears of corn out of the boiling water, transferred them to an ovenproof dish, and slid it in the oven as well.

  She set the table, added a dish of butter, salt and pepper shakers, and—on her own initiative, a bottle of ketchup. Fifteen minutes passed. Daddy and Douglas came in and washed their hands at the kitchen sink.

  “Where’d the flowers come from?” Douglas asked.

  “Dahlias,” Daddy said.

  “Robert brought them as a peace offering for last Thursday,” Missy said, matter of factly.

  “They look awful pretty there in the window,” Daddy said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Guess we’ll start without Bobby.”

  Daddy said prayer. After he said, Amen, Missy heard the sound of Robert’s V8 engine pull up the drive and then his footsteps in the gravel. The screen door quietly opened and closed before he entered the kitchen.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He washed his hands at the sink.

  “We waited for you,” Daddy said.

  “Thank you. Wow, Missy this is a feast.” Robert eyed the table as he sat down. Tonight she’d served everything family-style in bowls or platters.

  “Hurry, and let’s say grace.” Daddy held out his hands.

  Douglas rolled his eyes.

  Missy slid her left into Douglas’s and her right into Robert’s. There was a brief second when she tried to read his eyes. Was he back together with his old girlfriend? If so, wasn’t it a little odd that he’d brought Missy flowers tonight? Even if he was only apologizing, it was always easy for a girl to read a lot into flowers.

  After Robert said a nice prayer, Missy passed him Grandma’s old Fiesta-orange bowl which hosted the coleslaw.

  “Looks like cabbage.” Robert gripped the bowl in one hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he scooped two level tablespoons onto his plate.

  “Missy . . .” Daddy’s eyes narrowed.

  “This is a Colonel Sanders meal, Daddy, to a T.” Missy bit the insides of her cheeks.

  “Where are the buttermilk biscuits?” Douglas asked.

  “Next time.” She shrugged.

  “Sure tastes good,” One bite into his drumstick, Daddy set an elbow on the table. “And that’s the best slaw I ever saw.”

  Robert took a teaspoon-sized bite of slaw. “This is good.” He grinned at her.

  Was he pulling her leg? She watched closely as he took another bite. He didn’t have to crane his neck or swallow like he was in pain. The slaw appeared to go down smoothly without any hint of a gag reflex. It was strange, but Robert appeared to like raw cabbage.

  Missy took a bite, closed her eyes and concentrated on the taste and texture. There was the perfect amount of tang and crunch. It really was good.

  Robert slathered butter on his ear of corn and sprinkled salt and a little pepper over it.

  “This meal’s perfect, Missy,” Douglas said. “Doesn’t need ketchup.”

  “The gravy reminds me of your mother’s.” Daddy grinned.

  Thank goodness she’d remembered to taste-test it toward the end and adjust the seasonings.

  “The chicken’s great, too, but—believe it or not—there was just something about your mama’s.”

  It didn’t surprise her.

  “How did your talk go on Saturday with your old girlfriend?” Daddy asked Robert.

  In the middle of her first bite of corn, Missy’s elbow slipped against the table, and she almost did a face plant in her plate. She sat back and patted at her mouth with her napkin and tried to appear normal as she waited for Robert’s response.

  “Oh, that’s who she was.” Douglas set both elbows on the table. “Gloria and I were in Ridgefield on Saturday when I saw your wagon. You were sitting out front of The Heron Café with a cute little brunette. We drove around the block two times. Wasn’t sure it was you until I saw your fish bumper sticker.”

  That’s why Robert had been so mysterious on Sunday.

  Missy stared at the front of Daddy’s chest and the embroidered lettering on his dark blue coveralls that read Big John.

  Robert and his old girlfriend had got back together. The news hit her like a farm truck carrying a load of white chickens. She felt a bit messy. Like there could be feathers all over the place if she wasn’t careful.

  “Sounds like your talk went well,” Daddy said.

  “Pauline’s one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever known, but we don’t share the same faith. She’s Jewish, and I’m Protestant.”

  “I thought you were Community Christian,” Missy said.

  “Protestant is a general term like four-door sedan,” Daddy said.

  “Oh.” Missy nodded and wondered if she should be embarrassed. And then she realized that Robert, of all people, had dated someone outside his beliefs.

  “Pauline’s been dating a fellow she met in Baker, Oregon. She’s been staying there with her grandparents this summer.”

  “
And she was breaking the news to you?” Daddy asked.

  “We broke up about eight months or more ago.”

  “I see. You were just getting together to talk about her new boyfriend.” Daddy nodded.

  “You mean her new fiancé.”

  “Oh.” Daddy suppressed a smile. “How’d you two meet?”

  “Not at church,” Douglas said.

  “Prior to Columbia, I worked at True Value in Hazel Dell. Pauline worked there also. That’s where we met.”

  “Being unequally yoked was difficult on Douglas and Missy’s mother,” Daddy said. “She’d want to go to church on Sundays, and I’d want to laze on the couch and watch sports on TV.”

  “It’s sad how programming goes up a notch on Sundays,” Robert said.

  Missy gazed at him. Robert’s old girlfriend was somebody else’s future bride. They were still friends. They still cared about each other. Because Robert was that kind of fellow.

  “I have to admit, I’m surprised you dated a non-Christian,” Daddy said.

  “I’ve never delved into the Bible like I did the two—almost three—months that we were together. It was good for me.” Robert forked another small bite of coleslaw and eyed it with interest before taking a bite. A pained expression crossed his face before he tilted his head back like a goose, and managed to get it down.

  Robert didn’t have a girlfriend, only an ex. He’d brought Missy dahlias and apologized.

  “Stop being so polite, Robert,” she said. “You don’t have to eat the slaw. I won’t be offended.”

  “Are you sure?” He gazed at her for a moment, and the soft warm sparkle that had been missing for days was back. Robert’s old girlfriend was his ex.

  “I’m sure.”

  From where she sat, Missy had a nice view of Robert. His lean, tan forearms rippled with muscle. He’d met with Pauline because he still cared about her. Because he was that type of fellow. Caring and kind. And in his own way, Robert was very handsome. Someone kicked her left ankle beneath the table. She realized it must have been Douglas and she couldn’t help but smile. She’d been so captivated by Robert that she’d completely had her back to him.

  CHAPTER 40

  When she went to Hadley’s, the nicest department store in downtown Vancouver, Missy didn’t want it to be obvious that she was an auto mechanic. So after lunch, she changed into her old Gunny Sax dress, cream-colored heels, and nylons which now had a run down the right shin. She looked in the mirror. As soon as she got home, her old dress was going in the garbage.

  In Hadley’s Ladies’ department, Missy held up a soft green, short-sleeved polyester blouse, looked in the mirror, and tilted her head sideways.

  “Blue’s more your color, honey,” a middle-aged saleswoman said. From the cinnamon imparted in the air, Missy knew she was chewing Dentyne. “When you have eyes like yours,” the woman held up an azure-blue blouse in the same style, “every top you wear should be blue.”

  “Do you have time?” Missy looked her direction. “I have no fashion sense . . . yet.”

  “But you have motivation.” The woman smiled.

  Missy thought about Robert and nodded. She read the saleswoman’s name tag.

  “Pamela, I need new casual clothes, new church dresses—nothing with a knot in the back—shoes, nylons and maybe a nice little handbag.”

  From casual to church clothes, Pamela helped Missy select her new wardrobe. Lastly, she surprised her by holding up a salmon-colored sweater with pearl buttons.

  “Brings out the color in your cheeks. Everything we’ve picked out is conservative. You’ll never have to worry about being out-of-style again in these clothes.”

  Three large Hadley’s shopping bags later, Missy left the store. As she drove home, she saw the U-pick suncrest peaches sign alongside the road. Another sign taped below it read: last week left. She loved suncrest peaches. Large and round with deep red flesh, they were ideal for canning. She’d go picking this afternoon before Elderly Angels, and start canning early tomorrow morning.

  Up ahead in the distance, parked alongside the road with the hood propped up, sat a white Chevy station wagon. Missy leaned toward the windshield and wondered if it was a mirage. Her heart raced. Robert’s wagon had broken down two miles south of where they’d first met. Wearing gray slacks and a white shirt and looking as handsome as ever, Robert stood beside the front bumper with his thumb pointing up.

  The dummy! He hadn’t fixed his fuel filter.

  At the sight of her truck, he waved both hands.

  Maybe he’d called Daddy and found out she was heading this way. Maybe he was creatively dating. She doubted it.

  She parked in the grass behind his wagon and turned off the engine. “Crab,” she mumbled under her breath. He was going to see her again in this awful dress; even worse, she was going to be changing his fuel filter in a dress. Well, at least it wasn’t a hundred degrees out like the last time she’d worked on his wagon.

  “You look like you’ve been to church.” Robert took the toolbox from her.

  “I went shopping.”

  “Oh. You look awful nice for shopping.”

  “Dress shopping.”

  “Oh.” He led the way to the front of his vehicle. “Hope you don’t have ice cream in your truck this time.”

  “No. What are the symptoms?”

  “It starts okay and then when I give it gas, it sputters.”

  She crouched down and grabbed a Phillips screwdriver out of her toolbox. “You’ve been starving your engine of fuel, you dummy.” She caught her breath. It was the first time she’d called him a dummy to his face, though she’d thought it plenty of times. “I told you it was a temporary fix, and you just drove it into the ground.” Before she leaned over the engine, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

  “I’ll get another Bic filter,” he whispered, heading to the cab.

  “Then you’re going to drive it to our shop. Daddy will fix it for you on credit if he has to.”

  “Next month’s check will be a huge improvement.”

  She leaned over the engine and unclamped the old Bic pen filter. It had yellowed, and it was a miracle it had worked this long. Instead of proper maintenance, Robert drove his vehicle on prayer.

  He rounded the front bumper, and handed her a Bic pen filter, already cut to the right dimensions.

  “This one’s only a temporary, two-mile fix. If you don’t get it fixed today, I’ll... I’ll never stop to help you again.”

  Robert lifted his chin. He was probably only four or five inches taller than her, but he was doing his best to look down on her.

  “Last night there were stars in your eyes and today there are bullets.”

  She suppressed a smile. “I have sixty quarts of peaches to pick and can.” She pointed at him. “And you and your wagon, Jerry Boy, are cutting into my canning time.”

  His posture relaxed. “Tonight after you get home from Elderly Angels,” he blinked softly, “we’re going for a walk.”

  “What kind of walk?”

  “Just you and me and the moon.”

  Her face warmed as she looked sideways at the engine.

  “I’m sorry about the filter, but you don’t need to lecture me. Starting out in commission sales has been tough. But the worst months are behind me. Thank God.”

  “Routine maintenance is important,” she said, her voice softer this time. “If you keep driving your car into the ground like this, before you know it you’ll need a ring job or a new tranny.”

  “I promise you, I’ll be taking better care of it soon.”

  He sounded mighty sure of himself. After she installed the new Bic filter, she dropped the hood.

  “You’re going to drive it straight to our place and have Daddy replace it with a new filter. Okay?”

  “Absolutely.” He slid behind the wheel. “Stick around for a second and make sure it starts.”

  Was the man second guessing her workmanship? She gathered her tools and wasn’t surprise
d when his engine started on the second try.

  “Do you have enough slop for company tonight?” he asked, looking at her in his side mirror.

  “It’s Elderly Angels night—TV dinners.” She picked up her toolbox.

  “Do you have enough?”

  “Yes.” She had ten of them in the freezer. Tomorrow when she started canning, her kitchen would be closed for days.

  For some reason, Robert killed the engine, got out of his car, and walked toward her. “I’m sorry about your dress.”

  She looked down. Lines of grease marred the floral print. “It’s going in the garbage anyway.”

  He shook his head. “I have fond memories of that dress.”

  “I can save it for you, Jerry Boy, but it would probably be small on you.”

  “My mom makes memory quilts.”

  It was official; he was the biggest mama’s boy ever.

  “What’s a memory quilt?” She furrowed her brows.

  “Pieces of fabric that hold special memories for a person.”

  “And why would you want a piece of this ugly, old dress?”

  “I didn’t say me. I said you . . . should save at least a couple blocks of it.” He scratched the side of his neck.

  “You’re the one with fond memories of it.”

  Robert’s eyes softened and he swallowed hard. Whatever he was going to say, he was making her feel mighty nervous in the meantime. She started for her truck.

  “I love you, Missy Stuart,” he said loudly after her. “The first time I realized it, you were wearing that dress.”

  Had he really said the unthinkable? She halted in the gravel and stared south. Far off in the distance the road curved, and all she could see was a hillside of fir trees.

  “I thought to myself crab . . . I can’t be in love with her. I almost felt sick to my stomach. No, I did feel sick to my stomach. You were so caustic and rude, but you were wearing that dress.”

  Was he just talking to himself now? Funny how he’d said it to her backside, like he was afraid to tell her to her face. It wasn’t the way she’d imagined it would be when she truly fell in love. A fellow saying I love you when she wasn’t even looking at him.