Preacher Wore A Gun

by Joyce Livingston

  Delana complied begrudgingly.

  He picked up the serving fork, and speared a leg. “I’m a dark meat man myself. How about you, Tassie? Which piece do you prefer?”

  He was relieved when she said she also liked the breast but liked a leg or the thigh almost as well. He feared, just to keep the peace, she was settling for a thigh when she would rather have had a portion of a breast.

  Tassie smiled then reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes. “I made gravy, too.”

  “Mmm, homemade gravy. My mom used to make gravy,” Mitch said. “I haven’t had homemade gravy since she passed away.”

  “I hope you like it. I made it the way my mom taught me.”

  He bit into the chicken leg. “Mmm, this is good. I like that crunchy coating.”

  Delana wrinkled up her nose. “What’s that? In that bowl?”

  Tassie pushed the bowl toward her. “At our house, for lack of a better name, we always called them chicken crumbs.”

  The girl turned her head away and made a face. “Yuk! That sounds awful.”

  Mitch took hold of the bowl and spooned out several of the largest crumbs then popped one into his mouth. “These are great! How did you make them?”

  “They’re pretty simple. After I flour the chicken and place it in the hot oil in the skillet, I take the leftover flour and add salt, pepper, and just enough water to make it like a thick paste. Then I drop it by scant teaspoonfuls into the skillet, filling all the empty spaces and let them cook and brown right along with the chicken.”

  Mitch passed the bowl to Tony. “You gotta try these, son. They’re amazing.”

  Tony hesitated then slowly slipped one into his mouth and began to chew.

  “So, whatcha think?”

  After a mischievous grin, Tony pulled the bowl closer and scooted four or five of the beautifully browned crumbs onto his plate. “They’re pretty good.”

  Mitch gestured toward the bowl. “How about you, Delana? Want to give them a try?”

  “Never! Those things are disgusting!”

  “I want one.”

  Mitch smiled at Babette. “Sure, honey. Here’s a nice big one for you. If you like it, you can have more.” After placing the golden crumb on her plate, he handed the bowl to Tassie. “If you want any of these you’d better get them now. I love these things.”

  She took two of the smaller ones. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Hey, those chicken crumbs are almost as good as the chicken! Promise every time you make fried chicken you’ll make crumbs.”

  Delana rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how many grams of fat and how many calories you’re consuming by eating those—things?”

  Mitch chuckled. “Surely you didn’t think about fat and calories when you grabbed that chicken breast off the plate.”

  “I pulled the skin off. I’m only eating the white meat and I’m not eating any of that fattening gravy.”

  He paused, then smiling, ladled a generous serving of gravy onto his mound of mashed potatoes. “Good, that means more for the rest of us!”

  “Go ahead. Eat that awful stuff and get fat. See if I care!”

  “Come on, Delana, I was only teasing. Maybe, since you’re really into this nutrition thing, you could help Tassie plan the meals.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Tassie responded with enthusiasm. “She could even help me with the shopping.”

  “No way! I have better things to do with my time than spend it with our servant!” Delana rose then wadded up her paper napkin, tossed it onto her plate, and hurried out of the room.

  Embarrassed by his daughter’s behavior, he turned toward Tassie with a shrug. “Sorry, I guess that didn’t go so well.”

  “You tried and at least you all gathered together for dinner. That’s a start.”

  Tony glanced around the kitchen. “Any dessert?”

  Tassie grinned. “How about Twinkies?”

  The boy wrinkled up his face. “I had those at school. Two packages.”

  Smiling, she pushed back her chair and walked toward the refrigerator. “Then how about a nice big wedge of butterscotch meringue pie?”

  Tony’s face lit up. “Are you kidding? That’s my favorite kind!”

  She pulled the door open and reached inside, pulling out a beautifully browned meringue pie. “Then you’re in luck! That’s the kind I baked. I was only kidding about the Twinkies.”

  Mitch frowned. “How did you know that was his favorite? I didn’t tell you.”

  She cut a liberal wedge, placed it on a clean plate, then set it down in front of Tony. “Lucky guess. I figured every boy likes butterscotch meringue pie.”

  Mitch eyed the luscious-looking pie as she cut another wedge, hoping it was for him. “You’re going to have all of us spoiled.”

  Using the spatula, she placed some pie on a plate and handed it to him. “That’s my intent. I love to cook and it’s fun to cook when people appreciate it.”

  Babette took a final bite of the small piece of chicken breast Delana had given her then pushed her plate toward Tassie. “I like pie.”

  Mitch watched with delight as his two children devoured their pie. Maybe Tassie’s good cooking would be the way for her to win the hearts of his children. “Their mother rarely cooked. She said it was a waste of time. When she was alive, most of our meals were either eaten at a restaurant or delivered to our home.” He smiled at her. Having such good home-cooked meals was one of the fringe benefits he hadn’t expected when he’d hired Tassie to care for his family. How lucky could they be?

  “A lot of women don’t like to cook, but my mom always loved it. I guess I inherited my love of cooking from her.”

  “I’ll help clear the table,” he told her when they had finished their pie and both Tony and Babette had gone to their rooms, “just as soon as I finish the rest of this delicious coffee.” He waved his hand toward the pie pan. “I’ll eat that last piece later—unless you want it.”

  “No, it’s all yours.”

  He emptied his cup, all the while gazing at her, then gathered the dishes from the table, rinsed them, and arranged them in the dishwasher while she put things in the refrigerator and wiped off the counter. In no time at all, the kitchen was spotless.

  “I don’t know what to think about Delana,” he told her as they made their way into the living room. “Nothing makes that girl happy. It’s like she goes through life looking for something to complain about.”

  He waited until Tassie sat down in one of the chairs then seated himself on the sofa.

  “You need to spend more one-on-one time with her, Mitch.”

  “I know but she never seems to have time for me.”

  “Maybe she thinks you don’t have time for her. You yourself said you’re never home. What about Tony? Have you ever made time for that boy? Like daughters, sons need their fathers.”

  “Are you saying I’m the one responsible for my children’s outlandish behavioral problems?”

  She shrugged. “You’re their father. Have you made any real effort to get to know them—or Babette? She had to have been a baby when your wife left. That little girl needs her daddy. Can you honestly say you’ve been there for her? Just making sure a reliable babysitter is with your children isn’t enough. They need you.”

  He leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the sofa and deeply exhaled. “What is this? Stack it on Mitchell Drummond night? Is everyone against me?”

  “I’m for you, Mitch, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you told me about your wife. Maybe more of the responsibility for their bad behavior belongs to you than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Me?” His anger rose to the boiling point. “You’ve got a lot of nerve blaming me. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone to provide for this family.”

  “I’m sure you have, but the one thing they need most you haven’t provided. A father who is always there for them! I know one thing for sure, when and if I ever marry, it w
on’t be to a detective. Not if his job always comes before me and any children we may have. I’d rather be married to a ditchdigger. At least he would have regular hours.”

  “Look, lady, you can’t march in here, spend a few days in my home, and tell me how to run my life. You’ve never even been married! What makes you an authority?”

  “I’m far from an authority, Mitch. I’m merely stating my observations as one who is genuinely concerned about you and your family. I hope you’ll take it that way. I’m simply trying to remind you that time is slipping by. Delana is nearly sixteen. Before long, she’ll be gone, either to college or out on her own, and Tony is but a few years behind her. Unless you establish a good relationship with them now, while they’re under your roof, you may never have one with them. A good relationship means having respect for one another. Just ask yourself, do your children have respect for you, or are you only the person who pays the bills, comes home occasionally when you’re not tied up on some case, and lets them get by with their inexcusable behavior?”

  He started to speak but stopped when she held up her hand to silence him, deciding to let her have her say before defending himself.

  “And do you respect them?” she went on. “Those children aren’t just disobedient leftovers from a failed marriage. They’re your flesh and blood. You say you love them, but do you really? Because, from my vantage point, if you loved them as you say you do, you’d be with them more, even if it meant cutting down on the hours you work. You yourself told me you could have asked one of the other men to cover that all-night stakeout for you but you didn’t, because you wanted to be there.”

  Mitch fumed as he listened to her accusatory words, but she was right. He had said that very thing. “You just don’t get it, Tassie,” he told her, gritting his teeth and trying to keep control. “Someone else could have taken my place, but no one can do my job like I can!”

  She rose and stood staring at him for a moment. “You are so right about that, Mitch. No one can do your job like you can—especially your job as a father. I rest my case.”

  He lifted his hands in the air in frustration. “Okay, you’re right. Everything you’ve said is true. I’ve known it all along. I just don’t like hearing it from someone else! Does that make you feel better?”

  “Not at all. My intent was not to hurt you, Mitch; it was to help you.” With a roll of her eyes, she moved away from him.

  “Listen to me. I sound just like my kids. Or maybe they sound just like me. I haven’t exactly been a shining example for them. Their behavior does have a lot to do with mine, doesn’t it?”

  Her expression softened. “You said it, I didn’t. Think my words over carefully. I’m going to bed.”

  He watched as she quickly moved into the kitchen then listened until he heard the outside door close. As his anger lessened and he calmed down, he began to rationally mull over the things she had said. Everything she had accused him of and everything she had said about him and his family was true. He had given his children everything he could except for the one thing they needed most. Himself.

  Deciding there was no better time to start than right now, he tamped down what little anger remained inside him, forced a smile, and headed upstairs to tell each of his children good night and remind them how much he loved them—and that he would always be there for them.

  Babette was already dressed in her Barbie jammies and sitting cross-legged in the center of her bed, the clothing and shoes she had worn that day scattered over the floor amid dolls and toys. Rather than scold her or leave them on the floor for Tassie to clean up, he picked them up and neatly stacked them on a chair. “So you liked Tassie’s butterscotch pie?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh, I liked the chicken, too, and those funny-looking things.”

  He frowned. “Oh! You mean the chicken crumbs. Yeah, those were pretty good.”

  “Would you read me a story?”

  Mitch gazed at his daughter for a moment before answering, Tassie’s words ringing in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read a story to Babette and he felt ashamed. “Sure, sweetie. Why don’t you pick out the book while I go tell your sister and brother good night, okay?”

  Babette let out a childish giggle of delight then leaped off the bed and began running her little finger along the spines of the books Tassie had organized on the shelf in her nightstand. “Hurry, Daddy.”

  He assured her he would then moved on to Tony’s room and was shocked when he found the boy propped up against his headboard, hovering over a big thick book.

  Tony gave him a startled look as he entered. “Ah—hey, Dad. You—ah—know anything about history?”

  Both pleased and surprised to see Tony actually studying, Mitch pulled a stool up next to the bed and sat down. “I used to love history, why? Do you have a question about something?”

  “Yeah, kinda. Did George Washington really cut down a cherry tree and then confess he did it or did someone dream up that story to make him look good?”

  “Do you doubt he did it?”

  “Yeah, I saw this thing on YouTube—a video a guy had made showing some other dude cutting down the tree and then blaming it on Washington, and when George denied he had done it his father whipped him really bad. That guy said a lot of the stuff we read in history books isn’t true.”

  Mitch couldn’t help but smile. “YouTube, huh? I don’t think I’d take the word of some stranger on YouTube for what George Washington did or didn’t do. I’d rather believe the history books. George Washington was a great president. We, as citizens of this country, owe him a debt of gratitude.” Mitch wanted to shout with joy when his son looked up at him with eyes of admiration; usually they were filled with contempt.

  “Thanks, Dad. I knew you’d know the answer.”

  “No problem. Maybe we can talk about this some more tomorrow night but right now you and I have something else to discuss. Tassie was reluctant to talk about it when I asked her how her day went, but she finally admitted you behaved in an extremely ungentlemanly manner toward her. Did you?”

  “Yeah, sorta, I guess. But she’s always messing around with my stuff. Nobody touches my stuff and gets by with it.”

  Mitch did an exaggerated glance about the room. “You mean the stuff that used to cover the furniture and floor in here? The stuff I no longer see because Tassie went to all the trouble to put it away for you? Something you should have done yourself? That the stuff you mean?”

  Tony crinkled up his face. “Yeah, but that stuff was mine. She’s got no business snooping around in here.”

  “She wasn’t snooping. What she did took work, hard work, work you should have done yourself. Besides, you don’t have anything in your room you wouldn’t want found, do you?”

  Tony growled, “No, of course not.”

  “Good, I’d hoped not, but I am interested in hearing whatever you said to her. It seems she was hurt and offended by it. I’d like to hear those comments from you.”

  The boy shrugged. “Aw, Dad, it wasn’t such a big deal. She’s making too much of it.”

  “If the things you said were as common as you imply, then I’m sure you’ll have no trouble telling me what they were.”

  His head lowered, Tony pursed his lips tightly together.

  “Tony, I have no intention of going out of this room until you tell me, and don’t leave anything out. I want to hear every word.”

  “All I said was she was a nosy old witch and had no business being in our home, that you would never have hired her if you hadn’t been desperate.”

  “That’s all you said?”

  “Yeah—well maybe a little bit more.”

  “How could you say something like that to someone who was trying to help you? No wonder she was hurt! She had every right to be. I—I don’t know what to do with you, Tony. Because of you children’s outrageous behavior, Tassie decided to quit after being here only two days!”

  “Quit? She’s leaving?”

  The weird smi
le of satisfaction that broke across his son’s face ripped at Mitch’s heart. It was as if Tony was proud of his part in getting Tassie to quit.

  “Wouldn’t you quit? If someone treated you as badly as you’ve treated her?”

  “I—I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Well, fortunately, for some unknown reason, she changed her mind and decided to stay. She’s not leaving after all.” Unless she got so upset with me and the way I talked to her tonight that she changed her mind again.

  His intention when he had come into this room had been to tear down fences, but he had to stand up for Tassie. He couldn’t let Tony’s words of criticism go unheeded. He had been ignoring things too long. “Well, you’d better get to bed. Want me to put that book on your desk for you?”

  “No. I want to finish this chapter first.”

  Hoping to show an interest in his son and his schoolwork, Mitch leaned over, intending to simply see what period of history his son was studying, but what he found folded into the page was a nude picture torn from a girly magazine.

  “Tony!” he railed at his son, yanking the picture from the book and ripping it to shreds.

  “It’s not mine, Dad. It belongs to a friend. I was just keeping it for him.”

  “Surely you don’t think I’m dumb enough to believe that old line.” Deciding he’d had about all the confrontation he could take for one night and not sure if he should lecture the boy, take away his allowance, or punish him in some other way, he simply stared at Tony for a moment then walked toward the door before turning back to the boy. “I’m disgusted by this, Tony, and believe me, this incident is going to be dealt with as soon as I decide how to punish you. There is no place for porn in this house. If you have any more of it hidden away, I suggest you get rid of it immediately because from now on your room is subject to search at anytime. If it is here—I’ll find it and you’ll wish you’d never heard of that filthy stuff. What you see and read in those magazines is nothing but trash and not at all like real life. Understand?”

  His eyes as wide as saucers, Tony nodded.

  “Nodding isn’t good enough. I want to hear you say it.”

  “Okay, yes, I understand.”