Lovesick (10 page)

“May I tell you something?” Claiborne asked.

“Certainly, Colonel Claiborne. As you said, you may be my boss here very shortly.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed I may. You know, you strike me as different from these women. Somehow I have a hard time imagining you putting up preserves in the summer, getting up early to make batter for breakfast. You would seem more to me the type of lady who would have those things served to her.”

“Times are hard for us all,” she said. “It is important to be resourceful. And I have only a widow's pension to live on. It is a godsend, but it doesn't go far, I can assure you.”

“Still,” he said, “you strike me as a woman with a level of sophistication that is absent from some of our other contestants.”

Virginia thought of Wadena and her cake hat. She thought of Jubal's bonnet. “It wouldn't be very becoming of me, Colonel Claiborne, to comment on my competitors. Why, just not more than an hour ago, Inez Honeycutt led us all in a lovely prayer of sisterhood. I think you are wicked to tempt me to speak disparagingly of them.”

“Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am. But Mystic White belongs to me. And I am a man used to getting what I want.”

Virginia understood he was laying out terms here for her. “And what is it you want from this, Colonel Claiborne? What will The Lady in the White Hat bring to you?”

“She will be the representative of my company.”

“Yes,” said Virginia, “and that is something I would be honored to do. But the contest. The publicity.”

“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “The publicity. It's an image, Miss Virginia. We will become the flour of the refined Southern lady. Pure Southern, if you will. And by doing that for Mystic White, it will also enhance my image.”

“How so, sir?”

“As I said, the contest winner and I will work very closely together.”

“I believe the contract terms are for a year.”

She thought he looked at her with a slight bit of astonishment, that she would have even an awareness of such a thing. “Yes, for one year. To start. Who is to say what would happen after that?”

“I suppose all things are negotiable,” she said.

“I have many dreams, Miss Virginia,” Claiborne said, leaning over toward her as if sharing an intimacy. “Business is just one of them. You may be interested to know that some folks—people with influence and connections—have encouraged me to turn my attentions to politics. God knows, with all that is happening in the world, so much is slipping away from us. But it would be difficult to entertain those notions as a bachelor. There is too much importance placed on the image of family for that. I would hope that whoever is chosen to represent Mystic White Flour will also be available to assist me. Would be available . . .”

Virginia stiffened in the chair. “I hope, sir, that you understand this business arrangement would be simply that.”

“Indeed,” he said. “But as you said yourself—all things are negotiable.”

Virginia was suddenly aware that Matthew was standing next to them.

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but it is twenty-two to ten,” he said, holding the watch out to Claiborne for verification.

“So it is,” Claiborne said. “Thank you, Matthew. If you will escort Miss Virginia back to the kitchen.” Claiborne did not rise from his chair, but extended his hand to her. She took his hand, and again noticed that he held it for an improper amount of time. She knew this was no accident. It was a test. She did not flinch or pull away, waited for him to release her.

“Thank you for the beverage, Colonel Claiborne,” she said.

“The first of many, I hope,” he replied.

 

She saw Claiborne again that morning in the dining room as he and Roland and Jocelyn Hind Crowley sampled the items that had been placed for them to taste and made comments. Looking at Claiborne, it was hard to imagine him as a senator or possibly even governor. But he did have money. He did have power. And what would that do for her?

After the judges conferred, Roland delivered the verdict: “The following ladies will stay to compete,” he said. “Wadena Chastain, Muriel Sallis, Virginia Yeager, and Jubal Hart. To our other contestants, thank you very much.”

Inez Honeycutt burst into tears on the spot. Neelie Bryson simply walked to the table and picked up her plate of rejected waffles and tossed the whole kit and caboodle into the trash on her way out the door. “I should have never entered such a carnival sideshow,” she said. “My family warned me.”

“But your waffles were delicious, Mrs. Bryson,” Jocelyn Hind Crowley called out after her. “It's just that Mrs. Sallis put sour cream and chopped nuts into hers. A very original approach.”

Roland gave Jocelyn Hind Crowley a look so dark that she stopped talking and took her place back in line. “As I said,” he continued, “we thank all of you for your efforts. And Mystic White flour will be sending you a year's supply of flour.”

The gift seemed of little consolation to the discarded women who looked as if they had just been told the last lifeboat had been filled. Too bad that all hope for them had now been abandoned. Slowly they made their way to consoling daughters, nieces, sisters, friends. To the four remaining women, Roland said, “The next round will begin at two o'clock and will last three hours. If you will confirm with me before you leave for lunch what you will be baking, I will make sure everything you need is waiting for you. And congratulations.”

Claiborne didn't speak to any of the winners, but the women all hugged one another.

“I am so thrilled,” said Jubal Hart. “When I saw all the fancy things that you all were making—and I just had pancakes.”

“But you were the only one with pancakes,” said Wadena Chastain. “That was the difference. Waffles were the low suit today. I could have told you this morning that only one waffle would be chosen. Chopped nuts—who knew, Muriel?” She then looked to Virginia. “And those popovers were a grand idea,” she said. “Plus, using your own preserves—inspired. I must find out from you how you make them.” When Virginia didn't offer any recipe tips, Wadena continued. “We have to watch out for this one, ladies,” she said to Inez and Muriel. “She didn't just come to play. She came to win.”

Virginia didn't linger longer than necessary to chat with the women, eager to return upstairs. When she arrived, she discovered the room had been cleaned, but Mona wasn't anywhere to be found. Fortunately, her bag was in the wardrobe. Everything ordered, in its place. She was not gone for good, but this was not like her. Virginia tried not to panic, but she had difficulty even in getting out of her dress alone. Mona took care of these things for her—helped her dress, drew her bath, poured her coffee. The windows were closed and all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. She found it hard to breathe. But she forced herself to settle, opened the window, changed into her dressing gown.

And she ordered a tray. She could only hope that it was Butcher who delivered it.

 

When he put the tray down on the table, she felt a sudden tenderness toward him, like a music student who has mastered a difficult piece and wants the teacher to take pride in the accomplishment. She would have embraced him, but knew she could not.

“I am on to the next round,” she said.

“I heard,” he replied. “I also heard you had time with the man himself.”

“Yes,” she said. “Totally by coincidence. He is such a curiosity. So absolutely sure of himself. But such a . . .” She sighed, catching herself. “But I shouldn't say. It sounds like there is a veritable network of information going on behind the scenes.”

“That's why I came, isn't it? To see. To hear.”

“So they do comment on us,” she said.

“It's of high interest,” he replied.

“Did you see the popovers, George? They baked up just as golden as could be. Roland even commented on the vanilla. Called it a note. Said it helped to make them sing. I saw that Crowley woman write it down. It will probably be in the newspaper.”

“I didn't see 'em,” he said. “But I heard the cooks say they all liked the preserves that came with 'em.”

“Yes,” she said. “The preserves were a nice touch.”

It struck her suddenly as odd that he hadn't looked for, asked for Mona.

“I think Mona has deserted me,” she said.

He didn't reply.

“George,” she said. “I had a terrible fight with Mona this morning. Now she is gone. Something could happen to her. She is not nearly as tough as she makes out.”

“She'll be okay,” he said. “You can trust that.”

“If you know where she is, then you need to send her back to me.”

Butcher didn't say anything.

“There is a great deal of pressure on me,” she continued. “I need to have her here to assist me.” She sat, smoothing the dressing gown down over her legs. “Don't you understand, you dolts, that if I don't win, then no one gets anything. Do you know she has demanded the majority of the winnings? What would she do with that great a sum? Am I to assume that she is going to split this with you? What makes you think she is any more trustworthy than I am?”

Butcher lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. “I think everyone is just watching out for themselves.”

“Fine,” she said. “And where will that get you—us? Send her back to me. When it is over, then we will decide what to do. But you both cannot desert me now.” She put her head in her hands and began to cry.

He felt suddenly ashamed now of the slip of paper in his jacket, a letter he had written to Clayton Claiborne that read:

He had intended to show it to her, to frighten her that if she thought she could run out on him, that he knew ways to get at her as well. Mona had wanted him to put in about her being Miss Virginia's daughter, but Butcher would not. “This is just business,” he told her. “The other is personal between the two of you.”

If the crying was an act for him, Butcher could not tell. She seemed genuinely distraught.

“I will talk to her,” he said. “You are right. We need to all hang together here until this is over.”

Virginia stopped crying. “Thank you,” she said.

“I don't get off until nine o'clock or so tonight. You will be on your own this afternoon.”

Virginia seemed full of new energy. “Certainly. Not a problem. Just as long as she is here tonight. I don't want to be here by myself. And to help me in the morning. Then, when this is over, as you said, we will work out a solution that is equitable for each of us.”

“If I may say, Miss Virginia, I don't think it is the money she is concerned with.”

“You know, don't you, that it doesn't matter what I tell her. She will believe what she wants. But tell her to come back tonight and then she and I will talk.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “And I know you will do a good job with the biscuits. Nothing to be worried about there.”

Butcher collected food trays for the first part of the afternoon, so he was only in the kitchen sporadically as the women competed in the second round. When it was time for the judging, the chef motioned to him to come and carry a plate for one of the women, a thin birdlike woman whose face seemed all contrary angles. Butcher's prediction proved accurate about the biscuits. Even from a distance, he could tell they were perfect, and when the judges announced the finalists, Miss Virginia was one of the two. She didn't look at him, just gave a nod of appreciation to the judges. The other finalist, a short, plump woman with enormous breasts, clapped her hands together and gave a shout when her name was called. The chef thanked the women and told them they would meet again in the morning for the final round. However, before the room cleared, Butcher saw Virginia approach the chef and Colonel Claiborne and the woman from the newspaper.

After a few minutes, the chef held up his hand and motioned for everyone to be silent.

“Folks,” he said. “Mrs. Yeager has just presented me with an unusual circumstance. For her final dish, she will be making aspic, which will need to be refrigerated overnight before it can be sliced.”

One of the women near to where Butcher stood said, “Aspic. In this heat?”

Her friend replied, “She probably just stares at it to cool it down. Such an icy disposition.”

They both laughed quietly at their private joke as Roland continued.

“We have conferred, and we are going to allow Mrs. Yeager to prepare her dish this evening. She says she will be happy to have a short break and then begin.”

There was a small burst of applause for her efforts.

“Miss Chastain, I trust this is acceptable to you.”

“Lord, yes,” said the woman. “I don't care who cooks when.”

There was more applause for her generosity.

“Very well, then,” said Chef Roland. “I have five-thirty
PM
. Mrs. Yeager, if you will return to the kitchen by seven, then you should be able to begin. It will be a late night, I'm afraid—and you will have to have your dish finished by ten
PM
to abide by the three-hour time limit. I have other obligations, but I will discuss with Colonel Claiborne and Miss Crowley as to what we need to do so you will not have to be all by yourself in the kitchen.”