A Dove for Eddy
Page 13
Chapter 13
Early the next morning, Eddy returned to the kitchen. She stood on the stepladder and retrieved, The Joy of Cooking from the top of the cabinets. As she blew the dust off the cover, she inhaled a snout full of particles causing her to sneeze repeatedly. Finally, she caught her breath, and wiped the moisture from her eyes and nose with a tissue. “Whew, I hope that dust didn’t have any of those pneumonia germs,” she said. She washed her hands, and then flipped through the book’s pages to find the recipe for potato pancakes. She read aloud, “Finely grate 2 cups mature potatoes.” She balked. “What in the world is a mature potato?” Unable to decide if the potatoes were mature or not, she finally grated some withered ones from the bottom of the bin. She gathered the remaining ingredients and followed the instructions step by step while the oil heated in the skillet. She found herself whistling one of her favorite songs, Happy Trails that Roy and Dale Evans had made so popular in the 1950’s.Soon the aroma of potato pancakes, mingled with bacon and coffee filled the kitchen. The cat looked up at her as if questioning the goings on, “I can have friends over it I want to, Miss Princess,” Eddy said. “And mind your own business.” She flipped the pancakes in the pan and shouted, “Come and eat, Porter,” at about the same time that Joe arrived at the back door.
Joe grinned like a puppy getting his belly rubbed. “Well, look at you! Cooking for us this morning?” He removed his hat and pulled a chair up at the table.
“This here isn’t a pig sty,” Eddy said, as she pointed to the bathroom. “I expect you’ll be washing your hands before you sit down at my table.”
Joe held his hands up, as if he were surrendering to the police. “Yes, ma’am, I will sure enough wash my hands.” He exited the table to wash his hands and almost bumped into Porter as he rounded the corner.
“And that goes for you too, young man,” Eddy said. “Wash your hands.” Porter and Joe shared the smile of accomplices. “Joe, I told that boy that I’d tell him about the Babe,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Yep, good ole Babe Ruth, he could sure enough hit them out of the park,” she said. “There hasn’t been a ball player any better than Babe Ruth.” She dropped some pancakes from the frying pan onto Porter’s plate.
“Now, wait a minute here, Eddy,” Joe said. “What about Lou Gehrig?”
Eddy slopped a big scoop of applesauce on Porter’s pancake. “No doubt he could play some ball, but nothing like the Babe. Sixty home runs in 1927 and he was a leftie.”
“You don’t say,” Joe said.
“Yep, not many people know about that,” she answered. “But nobody beat his record till. . .What’s his name?”
“I think it was Roger Maris hitting sixty-one in 1961,” Joe answered as he reached for the bacon.
Eddy placed one pancake and a small scoop of applesauce on her plate. “Porter, in the 1932 World Series, the Babe hit the ball about 500 feet into the stands. He knocked it out of the park. It was the longest home run ever hit at Wrigley Field.”
“Now that’s some ball,” Joe said. “I wish I had seen it with my own eyes.”
“Me too,” Porter said.
Eddy filled the glasses with orange juice. “Did you know Porter used to play ball?”
“No, I didn’t,” Joe said. “Do you think you’d like to play on a team?”
Porter grinned and nodded his head.
“Well then, it seems that we now have two requests to make of your parents,” Joe said as he joined hands with Porter and Eddy. “Now let’s say grace before this food gets cold. Lord, we thank you for this meal and for your provision. Amen.”
Eddy looked up at Joe and smiled. “Those Yankees had the best players in the league. Did I ever tell you that I have a ball signed by Mickey Mantle?”
“We have to see that! Don’t we, Porter?” Joe rubbed his hands together briskly and laughed. “Like you said, Eddy, there sure are some things about you that I didn’t know. Who would have thought we had so much in common?” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. He carefully pulled out a cellophane-covered card, “Do you know what I have here?” He painstakingly unfolded the cellophane, as if the Hope diamond was encased in its wrapping. “Take a look at this!” He waved the card in the air. “I have a baseball card signed by the great Mickey Mantle himself.”