BEULAH STAYED IN her room most of Sunday afternoon, trying to get her composure back. The last few days had taken the cake. Not since Fred died suddenly nearly two and a half years ago had she been in such a state. All because her world had been uprooted by a foreign woman who had come in here and tried to take over.
Or was it really Rossella’s fault? Maybe it went back to the whole affair with Ephraim. To have her routine disrupted just as she was trying to sort out what to think about her brother and his long ago indiscretion had just made a hard thing worse.
Honestly, if she looked at the last several months, it had been one thing after another. First, Annie showing up unexpectedly after losing her job; then knee surgery. About the time she recovered from the surgery and worked out a nice routine with Annie, there was the fire in the old stone house.
The paltry insurance check, the disagreement with Annie, Betty Gibson’s nosy blathering, and then Annie finding the mysteriously hidden letters. The revelation about Ephraim’s son and, finally, the houseguest. Well, it was more than one body could take.
Try as she did to practice hospitality in case she might be entertaining angels unaware, she was quite sure Rossella DeVechio was no angel.
***
Monday morning, Beulah drank her coffee at the kitchen table, hoping for a few moments of peace before the day started.
Rossella planted herself in front of Beulah, hands on her waist.
“Tonight, I cook for you.”
“Yes, we agreed yesterday,” she said, growing wary.
“And you not be here while I cook, okay?” Rossella said, now wagging a finger back and forth.
“You don’t want me to help set the table or do anything?”
“No set table, no help cook. No be in kitchen all day.”
“Okay, Rossella,” she said and sighed. “I won’t be here. When do you want me out?”
“I give you one more hour. Then I take over,” she said and waited for Beulah to nod her agreement. When she did, Rossella broke into a smile, leaned down and kissed her on both cheeks. “Good! You like tonight. No garlic.”
After Rossella left, she looked around the kitchen longingly. Just knowing she couldn’t be in here today made her want to cook. Instead, she would look on the bright side. There was a list of errands she needed to run in Rutherford and that would keep her busy.
There were only a few days left until Annie returned. If she could maintain self-control until then, everything would get back to normal. Whatever normal meant these days.
***
Beulah finally went home when she had run every possible errand she could think of between Somerville and Rutherford. As she opened the back screen door, a mixture of spices wafted from the kitchen. Suspicious, she sniffed again, but did not smell garlic. Rossella was humming to herself and didn’t seem to realize Beulah had walked in the back door.
Ignoring me, she thought, hoping I won’t come in the kitchen.
Rossella was busy with her hands and working at something in the sink. Beulah edged up to the kitchen door and peered around the doorframe. A plucked chicken was in the sink and Rossella was using both hands to squeeze out the pinfeathers. A red feather floated to the floor. That chicken did not come from Kroger. That feather belonged to one of Annie’s Rhode Island Reds.
Beulah felt her face flush with heat. Enough was enough. She straightened herself up to her full five feet five inches and stormed into the kitchen as best she could with a cane.
“What in tarnation are you doin’?” she said.
Rossella glanced over her shoulder.
“We agree I make deener,” she said, turning back to the business of popping out the pinfeathers.
“I never said you could take one of Annie’s chickens,” Beulah said, and planted her feet and her cane firmly into the linoleum.
“You not say I no take chicken,” Rossella said, not even turning to face her. Beulah started to protest, but Rossella’s English stumped her for a second. In that brief pause, she realized she was liable to say something she would have to confess later in her prayers.
“Humph!” she said and marched out of the kitchen and into the dining room where she stopped short.
Her white lace tablecloth was spread out on the table and her best china was at each place setting with a matching cloth napkin. Votive candles in teacups sat around the table, lending a delicate ambience, even though they were not yet lit. Crystal water goblets and Evelyn’s antique wine glasses were positioned just above the top of each knife. Had she stolen Evelyn’s wine glasses, too? If not stolen, then Evelyn was an accomplice.
She had to admit, her table had never looked more beautiful. But just as the thought threatened to soften her, she thought once again of how that woman was putting her in the position of causing someone to stumble by having wine in her home. If Catholics wanted to drink, fine, but she did not appreciate that woman pushing her beliefs off in Beulah’s house.
Beulah went upstairs and took a long time getting ready, praying for peace and calm, and finally sitting like a prisoner on the edge of her bed. While she waited for the appointed time, she ran her hands over the metal box that sat on the nightstand next to her bed and wondered how Annie was doing. That was the important thing, and she needed to focus on things that mattered, not petty squabbles with a houseguest. It would all be over soon and her routine would get back to normal. Finally, after the umpteenth time of looking at her watch, she went downstairs and sat in the den, a visitor in her own home.
When the first guest knocked on the door, Rossella dashed to open it before Beulah could even stand from the couch.
“Come in, come in,” Rossella said to Evelyn. “Come here and wait with Beulah. I bring you aperitif.”
“Did you know your wine glasses are on my dining room table?” Beulah said.
“Yes, Jake ran them over to her earlier today,” Evelyn said, her eyes shifting away. At least her friend had the decency to look chagrined.
Betty and Joe Gibson came in, followed by Lindy and Tom.
“Law have mercy,” Betty said. “This is fancy, fancy, making us wait in here.”
“Well, you may as well have a seat,” Beulah said. “Rossella is in charge tonight.”
Evelyn and Tom sat next to each other on the couch, with Beulah beside Evelyn. Lindy sat on the arm of the couch next to her dad, Joe took the recliner, and Betty sat in a wingback chair. About the time they all got settled, in walked Jake and Woody.
“Hey everybody,” Jake said, freshly showered in a collared shirt and jeans. Woody was also dressed in jeans, but his shirt collar was frayed and so were the cuffs. He even wore a tie, but it hung too short and was cocked sideways. Some men needed a wife more than others, she observed, and Woody was one of those.
There was a reshuffling of the seating arrangement and just as they resettled, Rossella walked in with Beulah’s old bamboo tray. She had covered it in two of the lace cloth napkins so it looked quite pretty. On the tray were flutes of champagne. At least Betty Gibson was right here in the middle of it and would be less likely to tell half the congregation.
“Prosecco!” Rossella called proudly. She started with Woody and then went around the room, offering a glass to each. Everyone took a glass and when Rossella finally got to Beulah, it seemed the room fell quiet and waited. After a slight hesitation, she reached for the glass as the room went back to chatter.
Let it not be said I was an ungracious host.
Rossella took the last glass for herself and then lifted her glass. “Salute!” Then she took a sip and they all followed. It was fizzy, but not sweet like a soda.
Rossella disappeared and then was back with a tray of small pieces of sliced bread with chopped tomatoes on top. “Bru-sketta,” Rossella said, again with great pride, and then carried the tray around to each person and offering one of Beulah’s cloth napkins along with it.
For the next minute, there was only the sound of crunching. Woody dropped half his tomato topping on the floor and bent to pick it up with her white lace napkin.
“Sure is crunchy,” Joe said and everyone laughed. There was nothing to do but drink more prosecco, she realized, since the flaky crumbs had to be washed down.
After they had all eaten the bread, Rossella ushered them into the dining room. The room was even more enchanting with the chandelier dimmed and the votive candles lit. It looked like they were walking into a fancy restaurant.
Everyone took a seat and Rossella brought out two plates of thinly sliced meat, one for each end of the table. Had she brought that down with her from New York? It must have been in the suitcase of food, for it certainly wasn’t anything out of Beulah’s pantry.
“Antipasto. Prosciutto, salame, mortadella, and olive.”
Rossella disappeared into the kitchen again and she realized there was no seat at the table for her. Jake noticed at the same time and when Rossella came back in the room, he stood and offered her his seat.
“No, no, I do for you tonight,” she said and then removed the prosecco glasses and opened the bottle of red Chianti. Jake sat back down at Rossella’s urging and so Beulah did nothing but allow the Chianti to be poured and take a sip in gratefulness for the gift Rossella was offering. The realization was humbling. Here she was, being resentful and stubborn. It was the old sin of pride rearing its ugly head once again.
Beulah was surprised at how much the prosciutto tasted like their own salt-cured country ham. In fact, it was so much like it she took a second portion.
“This is one thing I would like to do eventually. Learn how to cure pork like the Italians,” Jake said.
“What’s involved in the process?” Tom asked.
“I would need a barn dedicated to the curing, and the other equipment depends on the types of curing we might do.”
Rossella removed the empty plates and then brought out the noodles. “Primo piatto. Tagliatelle with lemon.”
“What does primo piatto mean?” Betty asked when Rossella left the large bowl to be passed around.
“It means the first course, generally pasta,” Jake said. “In other words, there is another coming,” he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
“First course? We’ve already had bread and ham,” Woody said. “I thought the meat was all there was to it, so I had a big ‘bate’ of it.”
“This is delicious,” Tom said.
“I taste the lemon and cream,” Evelyn added. “It’s wonderful.”
“Everything is good,” Lindy said.
“Are these the noodles what she had hanging in here on Sunday?” Woody asked.
“She called it tagliatelle, so it must be,” Beulah said.
“You can tell the difference in homemade pasta,” Lindy said. “It’s so light.”
Rossella walked in and there was a verbal explosion of appreciation while Rossella glowed under the compliments.
“I now bring you secondo piatto,” she said, picking up the nearly empty bowl of noodles. She hoped Rossella had dished some out for herself before bringing it to the dining room, or else she would have slim pickings for her own supper.
Rossella entered carrying the Rhode Island Red on a platter, roasted until the skin was golden brown, and sprinkled with an unidentified herb.
The tray was passed around, everyone taking a bit. She was thankful the chicken wasn’t too large with all the food they had already consumed.
“This chicken is delicious. I wonder where she got it,” Jake mused, obviously savoring the meat.
“You ought to know, Jake,” Beulah said. “You and Annie picked them up.”
He raised his eyebrows. “One of Annie’s laying hens?”
“I found her plucking it in the kitchen sink this afternoon,” Beulah said.
“Well no wonder it’s so good,” Joe said, and then chuckled. And then Beulah chuckled. And then the whole group burst into laughter.
There was a sound of clinking dishes and running water in the kitchen while they finished the meat. Rossella was not only cooking for them, but cleaning up as well. In a few minutes, she entered the dining room and cleared away the meat and all the plates. Evelyn and Lindy both tried to get up and help, but she shooed them back into their seats. Once the dishes were off the table, Rossella brought small dessert plates and set the stack on the corner of the table. Beulah was stuffed and would pass on dessert.
Rossella entered with a clear glass pan and held it for everyone to admire.
“Dolce. Eez tiramisu.”
She then put it on the table and dished servings onto the dessert plates.
When a dessert plate landed in front of her, there was nothing to do but taste it. Never had she savored such a creamy delight. It was both custard and cake in layers. She ate every crumb on her plate and noticed everyone else did, too.
“I’m foundered,” Joe said, and pushed back from the table.
“Me too,” Evelyn said. “But it was such fun,” she said, glancing at Tom.
“It sure was,” he said, and looked at Evelyn the way Jake gazed at Annie.
Everything Beulah suspected was confirmed in that one look.