The Wiregrass by Pam Webber

Author:Pam Webber
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

There were no cars in front of the café, but Mr. Short was sitting at the counter when we walked in. This time of day, he usually brought freshly butchered meat for Miz Tilly’s supper special and stayed to have a cup of coffee.

I never understood why folks drank hot coffee on hot days until I started drinking it. Then I realized there was something comforting about holding a warm cup and sipping the milky liquid. It just made the day a little better.

“Hey, Miz Tilly. Hey, Mr. Short.”

“Hey, young’uns,” grinned Miz Tilly. “What brings y’all to town?”

Sam leaned over the counter and set the pecans and crock down.

“Granny would like some butter, please. If you have plenty.”

“Sure. I always have ’nuff for Miz Susie. Eli brought in a fresh batch last night. Just let me get these chicken parts to cookin’.”

Miz Tilly took three plump chicken legs out of the thick buttermilk they were soaking in and dipped them in a bowl of beaten eggs. Then she placed them in a brown paper bag filled with fresh flour, salt, pepper, paprika, and a little bit of garlic powder and sugar. Closing the bag, she shook it until the legs were covered. We had watched Miz Tilly fry chicken for years and knew she would arrange the pieces in the oversize iron skillet so they were not touching. She said this allowed the bubbling peanut oil to brown and crisp all the parts evenly.

Going to the sink, Miz Tilly washed her hands and dried them on a hand towel that was as white as the bleached apron she had on. For all the cooking she did day in and day out, Miz Tilly’s aprons were always clean, crisply starched, and ironed.

When we asked why she bothered so, she said, “If a cook’s apron isn’t clean, most likely her food isn’t either.”

Pulling Coca-Cola glasses from the shelf, Miz Tilly filled them with iced tea.

“Y’all must be parched on a devil’s day like this. Drink up!”

I had gotten in the habit of folding my arms across my half lemons whenever we came into Miz Tilly’s, hoping she would not feel the need to say anything else about my woman parts. Luckily, today she was focused on frying chicken and filling butter crocks.

“Here’s Miz Susie’s, and this one’s for Salter Lee.”

Damn! She knows. I’m not sure how, but she knows.

J.D. moaned and laid his head down.

Well, at least now we know how Granny found out.

“Get your head off my clean counter, J.D. Take the lesson that’s comin’ your way with your head up. Y’all need to think about what you’re doin’ before you do it, so good folks don’t get hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Looking out her front window, she added, “If what I heard about the Crossing this mornin’ is true, y’all might wanna head out my back door right now. Sheriff Coker’s car just came around the corner, and he’s headed this way.”

Miz Tilly gathered our glasses while Sam grabbed the butter crocks. Sailing

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