BEULAH WOKE UP Sunday morning and sat on the side of the bed, discombobulated. In her fuzzy, pre-coffee brain, she tried to go over the disturbing events from Saturday in order to sort herself out.
Saturday had started out fine with Jake giving Rossella a tour of both farms. Beulah had enjoyed the quiet time in her house while they were gone. Then came the disastrous trip to the Country Diner.
With Betty and Joe Gibson along with Evelyn, they had arrived at the diner at the normal time. Once they had settled into their regular table, Rossella tried to order a glass of wine and when she was told no, she didn’t seem to understand they lived in a dry county.
“What this mean, dry county?” she asked. Evelyn tried to explain and finally ended with saying, “No wine here.” They all ordered the catfish, as usual, but Rossella ordered the spaghetti.
Another disaster. When the dish arrived, along with the green shaker of Parmesan cheese, she lifted the noodles with her fork high above the plate with a look of pure disgust on her face. Then she peered into it as if she were searching for a bug. Finally, she dropped the fork and pushed away the plate.
Beulah was just about to offer her a piece of catfish when Rossella scooted back her wooden chair, walked to the back of the diner and disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors. For once, even Betty Gibson was speechless. They sat there in silence, appetites gone, and waited. Elmore Letton, the diner owner, was known to be cantankerous, especially with criticism about the food.
They stared at each other and waited for the verbal explosion, breaking glass, or even a yelp from Elmore, but nothing happened. Finally, Joe started eating his fish again, and they all followed suit. Even though they ate, no one spoke, as they waited for Rossella to return while the rest of the diner bustled like normal.
After several minutes, Rossella walked through the swinging doors carrying a plate of spaghetti as if she were displaying the crown jewels, taking it to each table in the diner for each person to see, smell and admire. Then she sat and started eating, twirling the pasta around on her fork, instead of cutting it up like normal folks did.
If that weren’t enough, the strangest part followed. The waitress began taking orders right and left for spaghetti. Apparently Rossella had made a big batch while she was at it. Even Evelyn ordered a plate of Rossella’s pasta for them to try at their table; all the while Rossella sat like a queen at court and nodded her approval. Beulah took a small taste to be polite, but there was too much garlic and she would not give up another night of sleep.
Elmore came out just as they were about to pay their bill and even thanked them for bringing Rossella.
“Would you like to come and cook this Thursday?” he asked her. “I’ll make your spaghetti the special and we’ll advertise it on the radio,” he asked.
“Of course, I cook. Beulah bring me what time?” she asked.
***
Beulah had to fight to keep Rossella out of the kitchen on Saturday while she made her lunch preparations. And now, here she was on Sunday morning, having to miss her church in order to drive Rossella over to Rutherford for the Catholic mass. At least it was at ten, giving them enough time to get lunch on the table before the others got out of church.
Beulah sat on the edge of the bed while she worked her panty hose on. When the hose was knee high on both legs, she shimmied them up with some difficulty in going over her thighs. She hated panty hose, truth be told, but women of certain ages dared not go without them, at least at her size.
Panty hose had a tendency to put her in a bad mood anyway, but it didn’t take much these days after this small Italian tornado had taken over her house and tossed everything willy-nilly.
How can one small woman cause so much disruption?
Routine. That’s what Beulah liked and that’s what she didn’t have right now. Was her desire for routine why she had so few houseguests over the years? But surely every houseguest wasn’t like Rossella? Beulah stepped into her beige slip and dropped her Sunday dress down over her head, straightening it in front of the mirror.
Beulah had never even been in a Catholic church. What would her Sunday school class think of her not being there this morning? They would think she was sick and start passing around a sign-up sheet to bring her meals. Or worse, put her on the prayer chain, which would spread the untruth all over town in a matter of hours.
“Lord, help. I am not in any shape for church today, mine or somebody else’s. I ought to stay home in bed,” she said aloud to herself.
But, she reckoned, a body ought to go to church the most when they were in the worst shape. When she opened her bedroom door, she saw Rossella’s door was already open and the bed made. Beulah grabbed her pocketbook and walked down the steps. As she turned into the dining room, she stopped short at the sight of Rossella, standing on a chair, and hanging cream-colored flat ribbons over string that went from the chandelier to picture frames.
“What in tarnation?” she said aloud.
“I make you homemade tagliatelle,” she announced, and smiled. Rossella placed another noodle over the string and stepped down from the chair. “It must dry now,” she said. “Then I make you dish.”
Beulah’s mouth hung open and she stared at the crisscross of string with dough ribbons hanging like flags across the dining room.
Lord give me strength, she prayed silently. Managing a half-hearted smile for Rossella’s benefit, she said, “It’s time to go.”
***
Beulah had no idea where to sit inside Rutherford’s only Catholic church. She had her regular pew in the Baptist church. Was it the same for Catholics?
Rossella took charge and selected a pew for them. They sat and Beulah eyed the kneeling bench and hoped it wasn’t necessary. Sure enough, Rossella went right down on it before church even started. There was no way she was going to put her recently operated-on knee down on that bench, no matter how much velvet padding there was on it. The Lord knew she was kneeling inside and she could pray just as well while sitting on the pew.
Rossella cut her eyes at Beulah and pointed to the bench. Beulah shook her head “no” and pointed to the scar on her knee visible through the suntan shade of her panty hose. Rossella squinted at the scar and then cocked her head to the side, ever so slightly, grudging agreement.
The service started and they were up and standing, and then sitting. Standing, sitting, kneeling and then standing again. When they launched into the Lord’s Prayer, Beulah spoke the words with gusto, happy to have something familiar to her. Suddenly, the whole congregation stopped before the prayer was finished while Beulah rushed headlong on her own. Several of the congregants turned to look at her, and Rossella cut her another disapproving glance.
When Communion time came, the elements were not passed as they were in the Baptist church. Instead, the parishioners filed out of the pews and down the aisle to partake at the altar. Beulah was deciding if she should step out or not when Rossella turned and wagged a finger at her, so she stayed put. When Rossella returned and everyone had taken Communion, there was more sitting, standing and kneeling. At the end, there was kissing. It was the most activity-filled service she had ever attended.
Brother Gilliam could stand to incorporate a little more activity in Somerville Baptist. She imagined it might help reduce his girth.
***
Back at the house, she set about cutting up the chicken and dipping it in the egg and buttermilk mixture. Rossella followed her into the kitchen, and out of the corner of her eye, Beulah saw her rooting around in the refrigerator as if she were hunting ingredients.
“Rossella, I cook for you today, okay?” Beulah heard herself speaking in the way Rossella did in a shortened version of English and was glad no one was around to hear her.
“Okay, yes. I cook for you tomorrow?” Rossella said, holding her finger up in front of Beulah’s face, as if waiting for her to give her promise.
“Fine,” Beulah said. She would agree to anything to get that woman out of her kitchen today. True to her word, Rossella disappeared until everyone began arriving for lunch. Evelyn came first, and then Jake and Lindy, arriving in different cars but at the same time since they went to Scott’s church. Scott and Mary Beth weren’t coming this week and Beulah thought they were likely to be around less and less with the wedding coming up soon and making their own Sunday traditions.
Woody filed in, dressed in a suit, and with his wiry hair combed back off his face, exposing his freckled white forehead.
“Fried chicken,” Jake said. “Annie’s going to be sorry she missed this.”
“I’ll get the coleslaw out,” Evelyn offered.
“We’ll have to eat in here today,” Beulah said. Usually they ate in the dining room if there were more than six people, but with Rossella’s pasta drying on strings that option was out.
“What happened here?” Woody said, pointing to the dining room.
“Rossella made spaghetti and they have to dry,” Beulah said, keeping her opinion on the matter to herself.
“No spaghetti,” Rossella wiggled her index finger at Beulah. “Eez tagliatelle, no spaghetti. Tomorrow night, I cook,” she said. “Come at eight.”
Beulah bristled. Who does Rossella think she is hosting dinner in my house? It’s my place to do the inviting.
Evelyn glanced at Beulah, waiting for her to respond before she accepted. Beulah recovered.
“Yes, please come. But Rossella, eight is a little late for us. Country people go to bed early. Can we make it earlier?”
“Okay, seven,” Rossella threw up her hands as if time were of no consequence. Beulah turned her attention back to the frying chicken and tried to compose herself.
“Sounds good to me. Can I bring my dad if there’s enough?” Lindy said.
“Of course,” said Beulah, feeling a bit more in control. “He’s more than welcome.”
“Rossella, would you like me to bring a dish?” Evelyn asked.
“No, no, eets fine. I have all,” Rossella said with another wave of her hand.
You have it all because you are using my groceries, Beulah thought, feeling very uncharitable. The brazen nerve of that woman rubbed her raw.
“Really, let me bring a dessert,” Evelyn said.
“No, no, I do,” Rossella said.
After frying the chicken, Beulah made cream gravy while Evelyn got the biscuits out of the oven. With Evelyn’s help, they brought coleslaw, green beans and macaroni and cheese to the table.
After being seated at the table, Jake said grace and then the food was passed around the table in family style. Beulah noticed Rossella was picking at the macaroni and cheese and she looked at her.
“It is okay?” she asked, knowing her macaroni and cheese was a crowd pleaser.
“Okay, but no garlic,” she said.
“I can’t eat garlic, so I don’t cook with it,” Beulah said as firmly as she could.
“No garlic for you?” Rossella’s face lit up as if someone had turned on a light. “Okay, I see problem with you.”
Beulah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She was just about to respond when Jake said, “I got an e-mail from Annie.”
This got Beulah’s attention and she let Rossella’s comment go.
“How is she? Any word?” Beulah asked.
“They went to the address on the letter, but it was a boarded up building. She could tell where a storefront had been by the stone work, but it was abandoned.”
Beulah was disappointed.
“I suppose it is to be expected,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”
“They do have some leads. She said she would call as soon as she knew anything. And she said to give you her love,” Jake said.
Beulah was a little miffed Annie communicated with Jake instead of her. She was feeling a little sideways in general right now. The sooner Annie and Janice could get the mystery solved, the better for all of them. Then Rossella could go back to New York City where she belonged and Beulah could get her house, and her kitchen, back.
“Rossella, how long have you been widowed?” Lindy asked.
“Too many years now. I no like being alone. But men no want my age, they want young woman,” she laughed. “Even though young woman can’t cook.”
“Beulah ought to have been snapped up, as good as she cooks,” Woody said. “And Evelyn, too.”
“I don’t want a man,” Beulah said, feeling a little irritated this issue had come up again so soon. “One was enough for me.”
“Maybe that’s my problem,” Lindy said. “I don’t know how to cook.”
“You don’t have a problem,” Jake said. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“Have you talked to Stella lately?” Evelyn directed the question to Woody, who seemed embarrassed.
“Well, yeah, I have. I invited her down for Scott and Mary Beth’s wedding, truth be told. In fact … I was wondering, Beulah, if maybe she could stay with you since Evelyn’s got her house full.”
Beulah swallowed a piece of chicken whole. Good grief. Another houseguest.