Lindsay McKenna - Shadows from the Past

Allison took her white linen napkin and smiled fully. Becky came over and poured her some red wine. “Oh, you never allow me to forget that you’re the boss, Iris.”

Kam watched the maid pour the red wine and thought that blood had been drawn symbolically between Iris, the matriarch, and Allison, the upstart. What a group! She couldn’t believe the rage behind the words of the two women. It made her evening meals with her parents in Montana look alien in comparison to this family.

Iris said nothing. Becky gave her a pained look.

“Miss Iris? Should I serve dinner? Or wait?”

Iris addressed Allison. “Are Zach and Regan comin’ or not?”

Shrugging, Allison said, “They’re busy.”

“Would have been nice to let Hazel and Becky know ahead of time,” Iris growled. “They aren’t slaves to do our bidding around here.”

Kam couldn’t believe the drama around Allison. Gulping, she realized that if Rudd was her father, this woman was her stepmother. Not exactly a great package. And nothing like Laura, who was the epitome of grace, good manners and kindness. Kam searched the woman’s heavily made-up oval face to see if she could find generosity or kindness. She could not.

“Please serve the meal,” Rudd requested of Becky. “And thank Hazel in advance for her help in makin’ our dinner.”

Kam found Rudd’s sensitivity toward others positive. Becky rushed out of the room, through the swinging oak door. Shortly, she came back with squash soup, which smelled wonderful.

“Now this,” Iris told her, pointing to the yellow soup in front of her, “is from my garden last year, Kamaria. Hubbard squash from last fall’s crop. The best squash in the world to give a nutlike flavor to soup. Hazel always puts on bacon bits and tops it with a tad of sour cream. Makes for a wonderful beginning to our meal.”

Kam waited until Rudd picked up his soupspoon and then she followed suit. “Are you going to plant Hubbard squash in your garden this year?” she asked Iris. The soup tasted heavenly. The salty bacon enhanced the nutty flavor of the squash. The sour cream melted and swirled in the golden contents and reminded her of an abstract painting. It was a beautiful presentation.

“Absolutely,” Iris gushed, excitement in her voice. “In fact, I’m going to add another squash this year, a Lakota squash. This kind has orange and green vertical stripes. Some of my friends tell me it has the same firm consistency as Hubbard. You need a good, meaty flesh for a good squash soup.”

“Good to know,” Kam said, finishing off her soup. She glanced over at Allison who seemed bored, her soup untouched.

“Just because Ms. Trayhern is here you trotted out your squash soup. You know I hate squash, Iris,” Allison said defiantly.

Rudd sighed. “Allison, Hazel always cooks one soup a day and you know that. And we have squash soup at least once every two weeks.”

Kam could feel Rudd’s concern that his wife’s petulance would ruin the festive atmosphere. Iris slurped down the soup with relish and seemed content, her appetite clearly in place. Kam felt she had to speak up. “I thought the soup was wonderful, Becky. Thank Hazel for me. I’d love to get this recipe.” She almost added that her mother would love to have it. She certainly didn’t want them to get entangled in her family background. At least not until the time was right.

“Thank you, Kamaria,” Becky said, adroitly moving around the table and removing soup bowls. “Hazel loves to have feedback on her meals. She wants to make people smile over her creations.”

Iris smacked her lips, drank a bit of her red wine and patted her mouth with the white linen napkin. “Now, that’s a great start to a great meal, Kamaria. You see? Food like this is a special treat and I can see you appreciate it.”

“I do,” Kam said. “At home, my mother uses all the veggies from her garden to cook with, too.”

“Oh,” Allison groaned, shooting a look at Kam. “Don’t tell me you’re into gardening, too?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Kam felt the only way to deal with Allison, who wanted to be queen bee, was to treat her with respect.

Allison sighed. “Well, Iris, this will be your first caregiver who loves gardening.” Then she looked at Kam. “You know, every caregiver we’ve hired has left a month after arriving here.”

Iris gave Allison a narrow-eyed look. “And I wonder why?”

Kam felt the tension sizzle between the two women.

“No, Iris,” Rudd rumbled, “let’s not go there. I want a peaceful meal for once. Kamaria is our guest. Can we table some of our conversations at least for tonight?”

Kam saw the faces of the three players. Iris looked incensed. Allison became smug. Rudd appeared frazzled, as if playing the referee between two boxers. Of course, with the dissension here between Allison and Iris, Kam could see how the family dynamic drove off previous employees.

Becky brought out a small garden salad drizzled with buttermilk dressing. The portions were small and she was glad.

“I’m leaving for L.A. tomorrow, Rudd. My friends are throwing a party at the Beverly Hills Hotel and they want me to attend.” Allison smoothed her hair and affected a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll be gone for five days.”

Rudd nodded and handed Becky his emptied salad bowl. “Is Regan going along?”

“Probably. She hasn’t made up her mind yet. You know she has that Goth boyfriend in Jackson Hole.” She smirked. “I’m trying to pull her away from that slovenly thing. I checked on him and his parents are truckers. Trash, Rudd. Regan needs to understand she has to get into her own class and not go to the belly of the whale for friends or relationships. It’s so frustrating!”

Kam glanced over to Iris, who shook her head in dismay.

“No one is trash, Allison,” Iris shot back. “Classism didn’t build this ranch, you know. A lot of people worked untold hours. Truckers are very important people to us. And I’ve found them to be more than honorable folks. Charlie and Rose Burger do a lot for the poor of that town. He’s with the Elks and she’s with the Soroptomist Club. They raise a lot of money for the needy. I don’t see them bein’ called trash by the likes of you.”

Kam gritted her teeth and stared down at her salad bowl. Did they spar like this at every meal? Iris took no prisoners, but then, Allison seem to delight in dropping bombs to goad the old woman. Conversation like this was murderous to sit through, Kam decided.

“Regan’s boyfriend, Justin, is a good enough boy,” Rudd said. “He’s hard-working, Allison. Charlie and Rose raised him right.”

Allison sniffed. “I just don’t want our daughter hanging around with the likes of him. She’s better than that. I’m hoping she’ll meet an actor to marry.”

Iris snickered. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—marry an egotistical monster who can’t do without bright lights, fawning people and a bunch of hangers-on. Right.”

Allison glared at Iris, then looked down the table at Rudd, as if to say silently that he should protect her from his mother’s acidic comments.

Rudd did nothing but scowl, and spread butter across a warm biscuit.

Kam remained silent. How lucky she had been to have Morgan and Laura as parents! Their dinner table was full of lively conversation, searching talks, excitement about things each family member was doing—never this kind of nastiness. First of all, they would not have allowed these types of personal attacks at the dinner table. Secondly, this was a place to meet and talk and catch up on what everyone else was doing. She wiped her mouth with the linen napkin and thanked Becky as she came by to pick up the bowl.

“Hollywood is much more than that, Iris,” Allison sniffed. She saw Becky coming with the main course and halted her tirade.