Page 54

Oooh, yes! Christmas was only five days away. I stared at the tall, splendid tree in the corner, at the poinsettias placed around the room. "Ain't it pretty, though, Heaven?" Fanny said much too loudly. "When I'm rich an famous I'll lunch like this every day, every day in t'year!"

Miss Deale beamed at all of us in turn. "Now, isn't this nice? Much better than you going your way and me going mine. You can each tell me what you'd like most. We'll start with you, Mr. Casteel."

"I'll jus have what t'rest of ya does," muttered Grandpa, appearing overwhelmed and ill at ease. He kept trying to hide his

mouth with his hand, afraid others would see his missing teeth, his watery eyes still downcast, as if still awed to be seated where he was.

"Miss Deale," Fanny said without hesitation, "ya pick out t'best there is, what ya like most, an that's what we all want. An dessert. Jus leave out t'collards, t'biscuits an gravy."

Even after that Miss Deale managed to keep her compassionate expression.

"Yes, Fanny," she concluded, "a very good idea, I must say, for me to select what I like most for all of you. Now, is anyone here who doesn't like beef?"

Beef! We never had beef at home, and it would put color in the cheeks of Our Jane and Keith.

"Love beef!" Fanny cried with loud, lusty passion. Grandpa nodded, Our Jane sat looking wideeyed all around, and Keith had his eyes on his small sister, while Tom just glowed.

"Anything you like will suit us just fine," I said humbly, everlastingly grateful to be here, and at the same time so afraid we'd shame her yet with our bad table manners.

Miss Deale lifted her napkin, which was folded like a flower, and shook it open, then slipped it over her lap. I quickly did the same, even as I kicked Fanny's shin under the table, and helped Keith with his napkin, as Miss Deale helped Our Jane with hers. Grandpa somehow managed to catch on and did the same; so did Tom. "Now, for the first course we should have salad or soup. The entree will be meat and vegetables. If you'd rather have seafood, lamb, pork, speak up now."

"We'll have beef," stated Fanny, almost drooling.

"Fine, everybody agreed?"

We all nodded, even Our Jane and Keith.

"Now . . . we'll have to decide if we want our beef roasted rare, medium, or well done--or would you rather have steak?"

Baffled again, Tom and I met eyes. "Roast beef," I whispered. In my favorite books all the really romantic men ate roast beef.

"Good, I adore roast beef myself, medium rare, I think, for all of us. And we'll have potatoes . . . and for vegetables--"

"Don't want none," Fanny informed quickly. "Jus give me t'meat, t'taters, an t'dessert."

"That's not a well-balanced meal," Miss Deale went on without even glancing up from her menu as the waiter took ours away and delicately brushed them off. "We'll all have a tossed salad, and green beans. We should enjoy that, don't you agree, Mr. Casteel?"

Grandpa nodded dumbly, appearing so intimidated I doubted he'd be able to eat anything. As far as I knew, Grandpa had never eaten "out."

It wasn't a meal . . . it was a feast!

Huge plates of salad were put before us. We just stared for a few minutes before I lifted my eyes to watch which fork Miss Deale used, and then I picked up mine. Tom did the same, but Fanny just plucked out what she wanted with her fingers until I nudged her under the table again. Our Jane picked at hers, and Keith looked troubled as he did his best to swallow strange food without crying. Miss Deale buttered two hot rolls and handed one each to Our Jane and Keith. "Try that with your salads; it helps a lot."

To my dying day I'll remember that salad full of green leaves we'd never seen before, and tomatoes at this time of the year, and teeny ears of corn, and green peppers, and raw mushrooms, and so many other things I couldn't name. Tom, Fanny, and I devoured our salad in short order, reaching often to seize up hot bread from a covered basket, and three times it had to be replaced. "Real butter," I whispered to Tom, "it has to be."

Before Our Jane, Keith, and Grandpa could finish their salads, the "entree" arrived.

"Do ya eat like this every day?" asked Fanny, her dark eyes glowing with happiness. "Why, it's a wonda ya don't weigh a ton."

"No, I don't eat like this every day, Fanny. Sunday is my day to treat myself, and from now on, when I'm in town, it will be your day to enjoy with me."

It was too good to believe. Why, we could live all week on what we ate today, and with great determination I decided I'd eat everything, even though it did appear an enormous amount. I think Fanny, Tom, and even Our Jane and Keith made the same decision. Only Grandpa had trouble with the beef since he had so few teeth.

I felt like crying I was so happy to see Our Jane eating with real enjoyment. In no time Keith cleaned his plate, even if he did overdo it when he leaned over to put his head in his plate so he could lick up the last bit of the dark sauce.

Miss Deale's hand on my arm restrained my scolding. "Let him sop up his gravy with the roll, Heaven; it does my heart good to see all of you enjoy your meal." She smiled radiantly.

When we'd all emptied our plates, leaving them so clean they sparkled, she said, "And of course you'll all be wanting dessert."