The American Café Read online

  Sadie stood at the kitchen door and blinked twice. “What are you doing?”

  “It looks to me like Goldie left you fully stocked with non-perishables,” Emma said. “That'd be just like her, too.” She chose a large bowl from under the counter and started scooping flour into it. “If I'm going to get you on your feet here, I'm going to have to see if I can remember how to whip up some of these old recipes.” Emma lowered her nose and looked at Sadie over her glasses. “Some people might think I'm old, but I learned to cook in the same kitchen Goldie did. Let's see what we can come up with.”

  Sadie was taken aback by Emma's sudden transformation from a frail, grieving sister into an amazing kitchen machine. Before Sadie knew it, Emma had stirred up a ball of pliable dough, rolled it out on the floured countertop, and folded it into two pie pans. She trimmed the dough, then used her thumb and first finger to shape perfect ridges all the way around the edge.

  As she worked on the pie crusts, she issued orders to Sadie. “See if you can find any red syrup. It should be in that pantry.” She pointed with her head.

  “Red syrup,” Sadie repeated and then asked, “What is red syrup?”

  Emma laughed. “Waffle syrup, honey. It'll say Griffin's on the label.”

  “Oh.” Sadie opened the pantry doors and retrieved the syrup and other ingredients as Emma called them off.

  “I hope you bought some eggs and milk and butter,” said Emma. “If not, we're going to have to make a trip to the grocery store.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Sadie said, pulling items from the refrigerator. “Stocked up yesterday.” Out of habit, she opened the carton of milk and performed the smell test. It passed. She placed the ingredients on the counter and watched as Emma haphazardly dumped and stirred them together in a large bowl.

  “Emma, I don't know how to tell you this, but whatever you're making looks…awful.”

  “Oatmeal pie.” Emma smiled. “You're going to love it. And so will the customers.”

  The mention of customers jarred Sadie. “I think I'd better see what else I can find in the way of groceries before we can think about serving customers.” She opened the freezer and fished out a box of pre-shaped hamburger patties and placed them in the refrigerator. “Well, we can start off with hamburgers. I'm going to run to the store for buns and whatever else I can think of. I'll be back shortly.”

  Emma nodded as she placed two pies into the large oven.

  When Sadie returned, the savory aroma of freshly baked pies almost overwhelmed her. She lowered an armful of brown paper sacks onto the counter and breathed deeply. Emma had been busy. Two oatmeal pies rested on a wire rack next to the oven, and Sadie thought they could easily be mistaken for pecan pies. Emma opened the oven and invited Sadie to peer inside. Three more double-crust pies looked as if they were almost ready.

  “One apple, two cherry,” beamed Emma.

  For the first time, Sadie's chest began to fill with excitement. This is really going to work, she thought. “I don't know what to say, Emma. I didn't expect you to do all this.”

  “I know, neither did I, but you got to go with the flow, and this seems to be the direction the river is running.”

  Emma began to break out in giggles. As they laughed together, pent-up tension spilled into the air around them. Sadie wiped tears from her face and looked for something to write on. She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and guest-check pad. “Okay,” she said. “You tell me and I'll write it down.”

  “What?” Emma untied her apron and used it to wipe her face.

  “The recipe for oatmeal pie.”

  “Oh. Well, honey, I start out with four eggs and stir in about a cup and a half of red syrup, a cup of coconut, and a stick of butter. Then I pour in about a cup of milk, real milk, not that watered down stuff, and a cup and a half of oats. That's the real oats, not the instant kind.”

  “That's all?”

  “Yes, just put it all together in a bowl and stir it up. Then pour it in your pie shells. If you want to get fancy, you can line the bottom of the crust with pecans or walnuts. This makes two pies. Bake them about an hour at three-fifty or so, and you've got a crowd pleaser deluxe.”

  Sadie shook her head in amazement.

  “I can do anything Goldie did.” Emma smiled, turned her back, and muttered under her breath, “Only better.”

  11

  The holding cell smelled like full-strength Lysol. Pearl hated the odor but decided it was better than the alternative. She didn't want to think about what had probably transpired inside this cage, but she was sure it could have smelled much worse. She would have to remember to say more prayers for the drunks of Cherokee County. A green cotton blanket covered a thin mattress on a narrow metal bed bolted to the wall. The bedding appeared to be clean, for which she was grateful.

  This was the second day of Pearl's incarceration. Soon, she hoped, someone would come and take her back to the hospital with the white, shiny walls and bright lights. Pearl hated being in jail. She hated being anywhere. For that matter, she hated being alive. On more than one occasion, she'd simply prayed for death to deliver her from her miserable existence. However, much to her chagrin, that request had yet to be honored.

  The door opened and Pearl stood up, ready to go. But instead of a limousine ride out of Liberty, it was George Stump delivering breakfast.

  “Stand back, you old hag.”

  A wooden plank attached to the bars opposite the bed created a makeshift dining room table. Stump unlocked the door, carried in a metal folding chair, popped it open with one hand and plopped a tray of food down on the wooden ledge.

  “I don't know exactly why you rate,” said Stump, “but you got a visitor.”

  For the first time, Pearl noticed someone had come in behind the police chief. Pearl couldn't see too well, even with her glasses, but she could tell it was a woman.

  “Who is it?”

  “It's the woman from the café,” he said. “She brought you this food and she wants to talk to you. So you be nice to her.” Then Stump turned his attention to Sadie. “If you need anything, I'll be right out front. Okay?”

  He slammed the cell door shut, then popped open another metal folding chair outside the cell for Sadie and retreated to his office. Sadie thanked him and took a seat.

  “What do you want?” asked Pearl, swiping at strands of gray hair surrounding her face.

  “Well, the police department is paying me to bring you food.”

  Pearl eyed her visitor. “So? What else do you want?”

  “To be truthful, I'm not sure. I thought I might persuade you to explain why you dislike me so much. First of all, if your gun had been loaded, I would most likely be dead now. Secondly, you destroyed the front window of my restaurant, and in doing so, caused a man to fall off his ladder and get hurt.”

  Pearl looked at Sadie and then looked at the plate sitting inside the cell, covered with a red-and-white checkered dish towel.

  “Go ahead and eat your food,” said Sadie, “before it gets cold.”

  “You trying to poison me? That would be okay with me, you know.”

  “No, no,” said Sadie. “I'd never do that.”

  Pearl uncovered the plate, took it back to her bed where she balanced the plate on her lap and began to devour scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and sausage gravy. If it was poison, Pearl thought, it sure was tasty.

  The two women sat in silence until Pearl finished her breakfast. She placed the plate back on the wooden plank but kept the dish towel in her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm sure you didn't have to make such a nice plate.”

  “Mrs. Mobley, is there something I did to you that I don't know about?”

  Pearl stared at her. “What you got to say for yourself?”

  “Say?” Sadie asked. “I don't know what you want me to say.”

  “You don't have to say nothing,” Pearl sneered.

  “Okay, how about a question then? Did you kill Goldie Ray?”

  Pearl looked a
t the ceiling, contemplating Sadie's question while she nonchalantly stroked her slender neck. “She had it coming,” she finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Pearl felt a surge of hatred rise within her as she spit out her words. “I mean, she was there.”

  “Goldie?” Sadie began to show interest in Pearl's words. “Goldie was where, Mrs. Mobley?”

  “She was there when they had their way with me.” Pearl shuffled over to the bed, sat down, and folded the dish towel on her lap.

  “Please, wait. What are you talking about?” Sadie moved to the edge of her chair and touched the bars of the cell. “Who had their way with you, Mrs. Mobley?”

  “See, there's where you're wrong. I'm not Mrs. Mobley.”

  “Oh.” Sadie rolled her eyes and stood. “This is ridiculous. The police chief was right. Give me the plate.”

  Pearl retrieved the plate off the wooden ledge, walked to the cell door, and slid the plate through the bars to Sadie. When Sadie grasped the edge of the plate, Pearl stared at her for a moment before releasing it.

  “I'm not Mrs. Mobley,” continued Pearl. “I'm Miss Mobley. You got that? That means there ain't no Mr. Mobley. The name Mobley came from my folks, bless their souls.” Pearl turned, walked to her bed, and sat. “That means that boy of mine is a bastard.” Pearl slid onto the floor and began to weep quietly. “John is a bastard,” she cried. After a few moments, she stopped crying and smiled at Sadie. “I had the sweetest little girl, too. But for some reason they took her away. Said I tried to kill her, but I didn't. They just took my little girl away.”

  “Who took your baby, Miss Mobley?”

  “She was a mite prettier than John, too. Poor little thing. She never even cried.” Pearl stared into space and began twirling the top button on her blouse.

  Sadie shook her head. “What's all this got to do with Goldie?” she asked.

  “She's the one. Took my girl.”

  “How did Goldie take your girl?”

  Pearl tilted her head to one side. “I don't exactly know how she did that.”

  “Mrs.…Miss Mobley, none of this makes any sense.”

  Pearl looked away. “I'm tired,” she said. Slowly climbing onto the bed, she wadded the dish towel, placed it under her head, and closed her eyes.

  The door slammed behind Sadie as she walked back into the outer area where Stump sat with his feet resting on the corner of his desk. He smiled like a cartoon cat while he mashed his cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray. “Wasting your time talking to a crazy woman.”

  “Something about this doesn't smell right.”

  “It's the Lysol.”

  “No, I mean, do you really think she killed Goldie? She seems to be so confused.”

  “Hey, it's like I told Smith. If that's what she says, who am I to argue with her? Makes for less paperwork.”

  Sadie took her plate and left without saying another word.

  12

  Sadie stood at the back of the small church, trying to decide where to sit. The crowd had begun to assemble but the first four pews remained empty, reserved for the grieving family of the deceased. Unfortunately, she knew those pews would accommodate just one lonely sister, Emma Singer.

  Earlier, she had left Emma at the funeral home to take care of the financial details of her sister's burial. Emma asked her not to wait, so Sadie had agreed to meet her at the church.

  The small Indian church looked as if it had been built a hundred years ago. The furniture and fixtures showed signs of age not only in style but also in wear. The old upright piano sat near the front of the sanctuary near a side window, with two short benches nearby for the choir. Frosted windows provided privacy from the outside world yet allowed a soft light to shine through, creating a warm, welcome feeling.

  The unopened casket stood in its place in front of the pulpit at the center of attention. Several sprays of fresh flowers lined each side, with two rows of blooming plants flanking the top step.

  In the congregation, some fanned themselves with handheld paper fans, others spoke in whispers. Sadie noticed Red sitting alone at the end of a pew near the back. Staring blankly at the floor, he fingered the feather against the brim of the hat resting in his lap. A young woman played familiar hymns in soft tones on the antique piano while three ceiling fans stirred the stale air in the warm sanctuary.

  Sadie rubbed her bare wrist and wondered about the time. She had taken her watch off the day she left her job at the bank in Sycamore Springs and never put it back on. Time, she had decided, was going to have to advance at her pace from now on instead of ruling her every movement as it had for so many years. Evidently, she hadn't quite mastered a total detachment from the timepiece.

  She exited the sanctuary to wait for Emma. Outside, she pulled her hair behind her ears and then dug in her purse for a barrette to hold the long strands off her perspiring neck. Her search ended when a white Lincoln arrived and parked directly in front of the church. A young Indian man exited the driver's seat, opened the back door, and offered his hand to help steady Emma. She appeared frail against his athletic build as she stood, grasped his elbow, and walked toward the church. At the top of the steps, she motioned for Sadie to take her other hand. Sadie instinctively reached out to her newfound friend and gave her a gentle hug.

  When Emma and Sadie entered the church everyone stood. Men in clean jeans and overalls, some clutching their caps in front of their chests, and women in their Sunday best stared straight ahead as the two women walked down the aisle toward the casket. Sadie could hear someone near the back of the church sobbing. Other than Red she recognized very few people, and although she was among a mostly Indian crowd, she felt like an outsider.

  Goldie had no Indian blood, she had told Sadie, yet the church Goldie attended every Sunday, the church where her friends had gathered to say their last good-byes, was an Indian church. Goldie obviously had a lot of Indian friends and Sadie began to wish she'd known this extraordinary woman longer.

  Once they were seated, six women gathered behind the pulpit and began to sing. Their voices blended in perfect harmony, filling the small sanctuary with the strains of “Amazing Grace” in Cherokee. The sound they created was so beautiful, Sadie wondered if these women were not mortals at all but angels sent down to sing on this unhappy occasion. Memories slowly rose within her, drawn to the surface by the music. The same hymn had been sung at her grandmother's funeral. Her eyes filled with tears. Suddenly she missed her Cherokee grandmother more than ever.

  When the group finished singing, an older man began the service by reading Goldie's obituary. Then he launched into a plea for the lost souls in the congregation to get right with their Creator before they met a fate similar to that of Goldie.

  Sadie's mind wandered, impervious to the preacher's words. She looked at her hand, still held in Emma's grip, and noticed the contrasting color of their skin—Emma's a pale ivory and hers a light brown. She thought about her own life. It, too, felt pale ivory at times and brown at others.

  Returning from the maze of her thoughts at the sound of the piano, Sadie realized she had missed most of the service. The same young Indian who'd driven Emma to the church strode up the aisle and, after methodically rearranging flowers, opened the casket. The women began to sing as the crowd filed quietly past to catch one last glimpse of Goldie's earthly remains. Then the church was empty. Sadie and Emma found themselves alone with the casket.

  “I'll wait for you outside,” whispered Sadie.

  “No, wait.” Emma stood. “I'll just be a moment.” Emma walked to the casket with what appeared to be renewed strength. She spoke softly and Sadie tried not to listen. “…a nice woman. Don't worry about the café. I'll take care of everything.”

  After a few minutes Emma returned to her seat. The driver came forward, closed the casket and motioned to the pallbearers. The two women followed as six men carried the casket toward the door, and Sadie felt a surge of relief once she felt the outside air.
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  After the short ride to the cemetery and a brief graveside service, the driver dropped the two ladies back at the church where Sadie helped Emma into the Explorer.

  “Is there anywhere you want to go, Emma?” asked Sadie.

  “Yes, yes there is,” she said. “Would you take me to Goldie's house? I believe it's time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Can't keep putting off the inevitable. I've got to sit down and figure out what I'm going to do.”

  “About what, Emma?”

  “I put all my things in storage when I left Carthage,” she said. “I didn't plan on going back for a while. Goldie wanted to travel and I told her I'd go with her. We were going to come back here and Goldie had asked me to stay with her for a while. But that's all changed now.” A forlorn look came over her face. “The lease was up on my apartment and, well, I don't have anywhere to go.”

  “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow to tackle the house.”

  “No, I want to go there now.” Emotion surged in Emma's voice.

  Sadie drove the short distance to Goldie's house, parked in the driveway behind the old station wagon, and followed Emma to the front door.

  “Why don't you come in with me, honey?” said Emma. “We can face this monster together.”

  Sadie smiled. “Okay.”

  Emma turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open. Sadie followed her into the quiet house. Emma put her purse down on the end of the sofa and Sadie followed suit. Together, they went from room to room. Finally, Emma sat down on the red love seat and began to sniff. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

  Sadie sat beside her and put her arm around Emma's shoulders. “You don't have to do this today, you know.”

  “I know, but there's no reason to put it off or to sit around blubbering about it.” Emma removed her glasses, wiped at her eyes, and put the glasses back on. “You see, I am eight years older than Goldie, but she was always in charge, telling everybody what to do. And heaven forbid if some-one should tell her she couldn't do something. I don't know why she never married. I never understood that. I had already moved away when Goldie took over the café in sixty-seven. After that we grew apart.”