“Thank goodness he’s okay. Things could’ve been so much worse. . . .” She shook her head. “Hollis’s drinking really got him into a heap of trouble this time. As it is, they all came to an agreement. No one’s going to press charges for the shooting if Hollis agrees to work out some sort of deal to help Joe pay his back taxes and stay on his land.”
“That’s wonderful!” I enthused. I’d been worried about what type of trouble Hollis might face for shooting Joe.
Ida continued, “I still can’t believe Hollis was mixed up in taking that poor man’s land. You know, he feels real bad about all that now.”
I had an inkling that his “feeling real bad” had more to do with Ida telling him how to feel and what to do about it. But, knowing Ida, she’d give credit to her husband either way. “Well, it looks like everything’s going to be okay, after all.”
Ida smiled. “Sure is. But getting back to my original question . . . now what?” She looked at me with a pointed expression.
“Oh, you mean with me?”
“Yes, silly. With you.”
My eyes swept over the farm, from the orchards to the old barn and back again. “I’ll be staying on for a while to help Mama and Daddy here at the farm. Thanks to your girls, my first foray as an entrepreneur was as success. I’ll just need to convince Daddy that we can make a go of this sideline business. Thought maybe I might even look into opening a storefront somewhere down on the square. Just something small.” I was trying to sound nonchalant, but lately, all I could think about was the possibility of opening such a shop—rows and rows of tasty Harper Peach products, interspersed with other peachy items. Perhaps the tangy-smelling peach-scented candles or the handmade peach soap I’d spied at the Harvest Festival. Local vendors would probably jump at a chance to consign their products in my shop. And during harvest season, I could offer crates of fresh, juicy peaches in every variety for visitors to purchase by the bagful. . . .
“Won’t be easy, you know.” Ida’s voice cut through my daydream and brought my focus back to reality.
She was right. Dreaming of such a venture was one thing; convincing our Daddy of its legitimacy was another. I sighed. “You’re right. Nothing’s ever that easy with Daddy. He’ll probably never go for any of my ideas.”
She waved off my words. “Heck, I’ll help you with him. I was talking about living back here.” She bent down and shooed a fly away from the baby. “Sometimes this town’s hard on a person.”
Hearing a wisp of sadness in her tone, I cast a curious glance her way. The roundness of her shoulders and slight downturn of her lips hinted at the toll the past few weeks had taken on her. “How are things with you and Hollis?”
“Oh, ya know, I’m angry. Angry about a whole lot of things. But we’ve met with Reverend Jones a couple times this past week. Talking through our troubles. Hollis seems determined to make things up to me.”
We rocked in silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke again. “You know, you could have come to me, Nola.”
I stopped rocking and looked her way. “What do you mean?”
“All those years ago. When you got in trouble.”
I swallowed hard and looked away.
She went on, “I put it all together the other day at the hospital. When you were holding Junior, looking at Dane Hawkins that way.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t summon any words.
“I got to thinking about that summer before you left,” she continued. “I remembered how you slipped into that gawd-awful funk. It gave Mama fits.” She heaved a sigh. “Plus, I’d heard a rumor that you left the prom with some boy from the next county over. Then that day you got so sick at work with those horrible cramps, Mama was so worried she took you in to see Doc Harris. Well, I didn’t think much about it back then, but when Hawk showed up here, I noticed you got to actin’ all strange and everything. Then at the hospital the other day”—she shrugged—“I knew. I just knew.”
I unclenched my hands to swipe a tear from my cheek and sniffled. “You’re right,” I whispered.
She reached across the table and touched my arm. “Nola. Losing that baby wasn’t your fault. It just happens sometimes.”
“But I was so ashamed. I’d prayed for it to go away. And then when it did—”
“Hush, now. You know God answers prayers according to His will, not ours. And everything happens for a reason. You going away for all these years . . . all the good you did in so many places, why, honey, we’ve always been so proud of you. But what I’m trying to say is there was a reason for all that.” She pulled back her hand and started dabbing at her own face. “Just like there’s a reason for you being back here now.”
I was wiping my face double time, tears freely flowing, when I heard Ray’s car coming down the drive.
“They’re here!” my nieces called out in unison, running pell-mell for the driveway. “They’re here!”
Roscoe let out a few excited yelps and pranced around the porch, almost tripping me up as I hurried out to meet the car. Mama, the first one out, was immediately tackled by my nieces and smothered in kisses. “Nana, Nana!” Charlotte cried with excitement. “I sold all your peach preserves.”
I slapped my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut, until I heard my mother respond, “Oh, that’s nice, dear. Now, where’s that new grandbaby of mine?”
Thank goodness for little distractions.
Daddy lumbered out of the car next. I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home, Daddy!”
“Aw, darlin’, I sure missed all you.” He engulfed me in a giant bear hug, lifting my feet from the ground and twirling me the same way he did when I was a little girl. Then, putting me down, he turned his focus to the front porch, where Mama was already fussing over Junior. Savannah and Charlotte bounced around her legs, proudly showing off everything about their new baby brother, from his tiny fingers to the toes on his wrinkly pink feet. Ida looked on, beaming with joy.
Ray came up next to us and set down a couple pieces of luggage. Placing his hands on his hips, he nodded toward the porch. “Will you look at all that? Seems to me like a lot of fussing going on over there.”
Daddy’s grin spread from ear to ear. “Believe me, Bud. Now that there’s a new baby around, the womenfolk won’t pay a bit of attention to us. Why, we won’t get a hot meal around here for weeks.”
Ray playfully patted his belly. “I don’t think you’ll suffer too much, Pops.”
We chuckled and started for the porch. “How was your trip, Daddy?” I asked. “Did you have fun on your cruise?”
He paused midstep and looked at me. “It was fine, darlin’. Just fine. Those white beaches and that green water were something to see. But I got to tell ya, there’s really no place in the world I’d rather be than right here.” He swept his arms out in front of him. “Right here on my farm with my family.”
I wrapped my arm around his back and laid my head against his chest. “Me, either, Daddy. Me, either.”
Recipes
Scrumptious Peach Cobbler
(Courtesy of the Baptist Church Ladies’ Society)
8–10 fresh peaches
1 lemon—juiced
¼ cup white sugar
¼ cup brown sugar
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
2 teaspoons cornstarch
Cobbler Topping
2 cups all-purpose flour
½ cup white sugar
½ cup brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ sticks cold unsalted butter
½ cup hot water
2 tablespoons white sugar for sprinkling
Peach Mixture: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Peel and slice peaches (removing the pits) into thin wedg
es and place inside a large bowl. Add the juice of one lemon and toss to coat evenly. In a separate bowl, combine ¼ cup white sugar, ¼ brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and cornstarch. Add this mixture to the peaches and stir gently until peaches are coated. Place peach mixture into a 2 quart dish and bake for 10 minutes.
Cobbler: In a large bowl, combine flour, sugars, baking powder and salt. Cut cold butter into small pieces and mix into dry ingredients until slightly blended. The mixture should be crumbly. Add hot water, a little at a time, until a dough forms. Do not exceed ½ cup of hot water.
Remove peaches from the oven and drop spoonfuls of cobbler on top until the peaches are covered. Sprinkle the entire cobbler with extra sugar. Place the dish on a baking sheet in case it bubbles over while baking.
Bake for 30–40 minutes or until the crust is golden brown.
Ezra Sugar’s Peach Scones
3 peaches
1 ¾ cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup white sugar
½ teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons baking powder
5 tablespoons unsalted cold butter
½ cup milk
¼ cup sour cream
Egg wash
1 egg
1 tablespoon milk
2 tablespoons white sugar for sprinkling
Peel, remove pits and dice peaches into small pieces and set aside. Sift flour into a large bowl and add sugar, salt and baking powder. Mix well. Cut in cold butter until the dough mixture is crumbly. Do not overwork the dough.
In a separate bowl, combine milk and sour cream. Fold this mixture into the dry ingredients just until mixed. Add peaches.
Place the dough into the refrigerator and let chill for 15 minutes.
Remove cold dough and using floured hands, roll into 3 inch balls. Place balls on a lightly greased cooking sheet and flatten slightly.
In a small bowl, whisk together 1 egg and 1 tablespoon of milk. Brush this mixture over each scone and sprinkle with extra sugar. Bake in a 400 degree oven for 10–15 minutes or until edges are golden brown.
For an extra-peachy zing, serve with Harper’s Spiced Peach Preserves. Yummy!
Della Harper’s Blue Ribbon Peach Chutney
20–24 peaches—slightly underripe (firm to the touch)
2 lemons—juiced
2 cups of apple cider vinegar
3 cups light brown sugar
1 cup raisins
½ cup dried cranberries
1 onion—chopped
1 clove of garlic—finely chopped
1 teaspoon finely grated ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon mustard seeds
Blanch peaches for easy removal of skins by placing in boiling water for thirty seconds and then immediately rinsing with cold water. Peel, pit and chop peaches into small chunks and place into large stockpot. Add the juice of two lemons and the apple cider vinegar. Stir in remaining ingredients. Bring the mixture to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer for two hours or until chutney has reached desired thickness.
Ladle into sterilized pint jars leaving ¼–inch headspace. Wipe the rim with a clean paper towel. Center sterilized lid on the jar and screw on the band until firmly in place. Place jars into boiling water bath and process for ten minutes. Remove and let cool. After twenty-four hours, check each jar for proper sealing. Properly processed chutney can be stored in the cupboard for one year.
Yield: 5–7 (16-ounce) one-pint jars.
Sweet Georgia Peach Iced Tea
4 cups boiling water
3 family-sized tea bags or 9–12 regular-sized tea bags
5 ripe peaches—peeled, pitted and sliced
2 lemons—juiced
1 cup simple syrup*
5 cups ice
*Prepare simple syrup by placing 1 cup of sugar and 1 cup of water in a microwave-safe container. Microwave on high power for 2–3 minutes or until the sugar is dissolved.
Place 4 cups of boiling water in a large, heatproof pitcher and add tea bags. Let steep approximately 10 minutes before removing tea bags.
Place prepared peaches into a blender and blend until smooth. Run liquid through a strainer to remove pulp and any leftover peach pieces. Add the juice of two lemons and the simple syrup, and stir.
Pour peach mixture into tea and add 5 cups of ice. Serve with a slice of fresh peach as garnish.
Yields approximately one gallon of peach iced tea.
Harper’s Spiced Peach Preserves
4 cups fresh peaches (or 4 cups frozen peaches macerated in sugar*)
2 lemons—juiced
1 package powdered pectin
5 cups sugar
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon finely grated ginger
Blanch peaches for easy removal of skins by placing in boiling water for thirty seconds and then immediately rinsing with cold water. Peel, pit and chop peaches.
In a large pot, combine peaches, the juice of 2 lemons, pectin, allspice and grated ginger. Stirring continuously, bring mixture to a full rolling boil (one that cannot be stirred down) and add sugar. Bring mixture back up to a boil and cook for an additional minute. Remove from heat and skim foam from the surface.
Ladle into sterilized jelly jars leaving ¼–inch headspace. Wipe the rim with a clean paper towel. Center sterilized lid on the jar and screw on the band until firmly in place. Place jars into boiling water bath and process for 5 minutes. Remove and let cool. After twenty-four hours, check each jar for proper sealing. Properly processed preserves can be stored in the cupboard for one year.
Yield: 5–7 (8-ounce) half-pint jars.
*Frozen Peaches—If you’re too busy during peach season to make preserves, freeze your fresh peaches and make preserves anytime of year! The key is to macerate the frozen peaches in sugar as they thaw. This will prevent your preserves from becoming runny.
Here’s how: Place 4 cups of frozen peaches in a large bowl and cover with 2 cups of sugar (reserved from the initial 5 cups). Make sure the peaches are completely coated and allow them to thaw at room temperature. The sugar will absorb excess liquid from the thawing peaches. Proceed with the rest of the recipe as directed, remembering to add only 3 cups of sugar after fruit mixture has reached a full rolling boil.
Turn the page for a preview of Susan Furlong’s next Georgia Peach Mystery . . .
Rest in Peach
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!
Any woman who’s had the privilege of growing up below the Mason-Dixon Line understands the history and tradition of a debutante ball. My mother was no exception. From the time I could walk, she started grooming me for my debut to polite society. I can still remember her little bits of advice to this day—tips she called her Debutante Rules. Of course, some of them were a little off-beat; but they did encourage me to become the best woman I could be. You see, my mama’s advice taught me that being a debutante is less about the long white gloves, the pageantry, and the curtsey, and more about a code of conduct that develops inner beauty, a sense of neighborly charity, and unshakable strength in character that sees us women through the good times and the bad. Later, as I traveled the world, I came to learn these rules of hers transcended borders, cultures, and economic status. In essence my mama’s Debutante Rules taught me that no matter where you’re from or who your people are, becoming the best person you can be is key to a happy life.
Debutante Rule #032: Like a magnolia tree, a debutante’s outward beauty reflects her strong inner roots . . . and that’s why we never leave the house without our makeup on.
Frances Simms’s beady eyes were enough to make my skin crawl on any given day, but at that particular moment the presence of the incessantly determined owner and editor of our town’s one and only newspaper was en
ough to frazzle my last nerve.
“Can’t this wait, Frances? I’m right in the middle of something.” I turned my focus back to my project. Truth was, I could have used a break, my arm was about to fall off from all the scrubbing I’d been doing in my soon-to-be new storefront. Still, I’d suffer through more scrubbing any day if it meant I could avoid dealing with the bothersome woman. And today, of all days, I didn’t need her pestering presence.
Frances persisted. “Wait? I’m on a deadline. Especially if you want the ad to run in Tuesday’s issue.” The Cays Mill Reporter, the area’s source of breaking news—or rather, reputation-breaking gossip—faithfully hit the hot Georgia pavement every Tuesday and Saturday. Since I was a new business owner, Frances was hoping to sign me on as a contributing advertiser. For a mere twenty-four ninety-nine a month, I could reserve a one by one inch square on the paper’s back page, sure to bring in hordes of eager, peach-lovin’ customers to my soon-to-open shop, Peachy Keen.
“This offer isn’t going to be on the table forever,” she continued. “I’m giving you a ten percent discount off my normal rate, you know.”
“Oh, don’t go getting all bent out of shape, Frances,” my friend, Ginny, spoke up. Having a slow moment at the diner next door, which she owned with her husband Sam, Ginny had popped over to check my renovation progress. “This is only Saturday,” she went on. “Besides, Peachy Keen doesn’t officially open for another few weeks.”
Over the past nine months since my return to Cays Mill, what started as a little sideline business to help supplement my family’s failing peach farm, had grown into a successful venture. From that first jar of peach preserves sold at the local Peach Harvest Festival to a booming online business, Harper’s Peach Products had been selling like crazy. Unable to keep up with the demand, I had struck a deal with Ginny and Sam: For a reasonable percentage of profits, I’d get full use of their industrial-sized, fully-licensed kitchen after the diner closed each day, plus a couple hours daily of Ginny’s time and expertise in cooking. Since the diner was only open for breakfast and lunch, we could easily be in the kitchen and cooking by late afternoon, allowing Ginny enough time to be home for supper with her family. Then, Ginny offered to rent me their small storage area, right next to the diner, for a storefront—a perfect location—which now stored much of my stock until we could open. The deal worked for both of us: I needed the extra manpower and Ginny needed the extra money. Especially with one child in college and her youngest, Emily, finishing her senior year in high school.
Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) Page 27