The Sandcastle Hurricane by Carolyn Brown

Author:Carolyn Brown [Brown, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2022-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I like for things to be even and in balance,” Maude said as she set the table with officious care that Sunday for dinner. “We always called the noon meal dinner and the evening one supper. Mother said it was presumptuous to call it lunch and then dinner for the evening meal. She said we weren’t queens and princesses.” She cut her eyes to Cleo.

“My family said lunch and dinner, but Aunt Charlotte has always called it dinner and supper, and I liked that better. Less formality,” Tabby said.

“It really is nice to have eight people around the table today, no matter what we call it,” Cleo said. “Kind of makes everything even, doesn’t it?”

“We won’t have any empty chairs today,” Homer said from the kitchen table, where he, Frank, and Ricky were having a glass of sweet tea and visiting until dinner was ready. “And we called it dinner and supper at our house, too.”

“We had dinner and supper,” Frank said, “and I loved Sundays when Mama cooked at home. She always fried a chicken, and my brother and I fought over the legs.”

“I’m glad to fill a chair and keep the balance any Sunday,” Ricky said with a smile. “Fried chicken is my favorite food. Is this always the Sunday dinner here at the B and B? If so, you could think about opening up a restaurant . . . maybe out in the barn. We could turn that into a really nice café.”

“That would be a solid no.” Ellie Mae threw up a hand in protest. “Running a B and B is enough for me.”

“Aunt Charlotte said that the Landry Sunday dinner was fried chicken, and I’ll add my no to the idea of a café, too,” Tabby answered.

“My mother always made fried chicken for Sunday dinner,” Maude said. “She would peel the potatoes and have them ready to boil when we got home from church, and she would get down the cast-iron skillet, and—”

“Roll the chicken in flour,” Cleo said, “then put it in the sizzling grease to let it cook while she made biscuits.”

“Don’t finish my sentences for me,” Maude snapped.

“Don’t make me think of times when my mama did the same thing as your mother,” Cleo shot back at her.

“You didn’t have a mother. You were spawned by the devil or feral wolves, and the woman who raised you was sorry she ever brought you into her home,” Maude smarted off.

“That’s not what my mama told me. She said she loved me and that I got my wild nature from my aunt. Of course, she hated Aunt Nellie and refused to let her come in the house after Daddy died,” Cleo said.

“That’s because Aunt Nellie worked in a bar and drank like a fish.” Maude left the dining room and glared at Cleo. “Mother couldn’t have that kind of influence in a Christian home. How did you know about that, anyway?”

“How do you think?” Cleo answered. “Aunt Nellie kept in touch with me and even worked a season in the carnival for us.

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