Fryin' Pan Serenade

By Karen Ganger

Fryin' Pan Serenade is the third book in the Welcome Home, Arkansas series.

The Memorial Day Weekend in our favorite Ozark Mountains community begins the summer with wicked heat, drought, a severe storm causing widespread damage, and a local fishing derby. Is the change in barometric pressure the reason Pamela Winchester is act

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Apr 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647537364

Karen Ganger

Karen Ganger lives with her husband near Seattle, Washington where her home is perched on a cliff over Puget Sound in sight of Mt. Rainier. Her career path included the medical field, retired casualty claims manager and historical archivist. She is an accomplished cook, gardener, traveler, cancer survivor, mother and grandmother. Her passion for over half a century has been to preserve cultural, historical and traditional recipes.

Book preview

1

Over the last four days, the heat wave was really beginning to take a toll on the local farmers. Crops were drying up, the pastures were starting to brown, and with only one cutting of hay so far, the likelihood of more cuttings looked slim. Cattle ranchers were already grumbling about taking their stock to market if the hay begins to run out. Sending their stock to market or auction early would mean the beef futures would be affected, and that only meant that consumers would see higher prices in the market, while the ranchers would only, if they were lucky, receive a small profit for their livestock.

Now, it was Friday, the first day of the Memorial Day weekend, and the temperature was approaching the century mark. To make matters worse, the humidity was keeping pace with the mercury. The sky offered no visible solution, but every citizen in Welcome Home, Arkansas, could feel it in their bones that a thunderstorm was in their future. It would solve the farmers’ problem, but the sticky, thick air was just about unbearable.

Francine Simson was driving her best friend and business partner, Pamela Winchester, home. Her SUV followed the red clay road up and out of the hollow, where, at least, there had been some shade and relief from the blazing sun. Now the road curved up onto the flat ridgeline, a straightaway that ran for a half mile. Everything up there was baked. Fence rows, bushes, vines, and trees were covered in dust. The road was so dry the red clay had become pulverized into a three-inch layer of fine powder. Her vehicle looked like an orange Creamsicle mobile.

Whew! Francine expressed as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It’s hot up here.

Pamela looked at her and saw little wet ringlets of hair framing Francine’s face. Her left hand raised to Francine’s temple, where she lightly brushed them away from her skin with her fingertips. You’re glistening, my dear!

Francine looked to her right and smiled. You should be glad I used my deodorant today. I’d be more than glistening. By the way, Pamela, you look like you’re one tick from heatstroke. Your face is beet red.

I’m fine, really…, Pamela answered. It’s just my English complexion, you know.

You might be a bit sunburned too, Francine offered. We were out there for two hours! Which leads me to a good question—why did you volunteer us? Did you notice we were the only women out there?

Pamela had volunteered their time and effort for community service and install American flags along Ozark Highway. The Welcome Home City Council wanted flags to line the highway on both sides of town between the Memorial Day weekend and the Fourth of July. Pamela had a slight smile on her face as the searing breeze from the window blew in. It felt like a blast from a pottery kiln.

Do you want me to put on the air conditioning? Francine asked. I mean, really, Pamela. Not only were we the only women out there in the baking sun and heat, but think about our ages! You’re pushing eighty, and I’m a generation behind you. We’re not spring chickens anymore. There are plenty of young men who could’ve done it.

Listen to me, Francine Simson, I’m not pushing eighty yet, and secondly, we should set an example as women and as business owners, and also, we did this to shame the men. Chivalry is apparently dead. Not one man stopped and asked if they could help us. No one stepped up to the plate to bat the ball. Well, so be it! We’ll show them who really rules! Pamela cracked a wide smile and started laughing. A blast of hot air came through the window and delivered a gust of dust that landed on her face. Her face skewed up, and she choked slightly.

Francine, by now, was laughing heartily. Want some fun? she asked. Her face bespoke glee. Watch this!

She gunned the accelerator, and the SUV shot forward, moving slightly left and right. It was hard keeping the vehicle running straight as the tires plowed through three inches of fine powder. A huge cloud of dust followed them. Suddenly, as they approached the last of the Walkers’ pastures, the road turns a sharp left at a forty-five-degree angle. Francine turned the steering wheel and stomped on the brake pedal. The vehicle spun left, and with the forward momentum, the right side of the vehicle was now proceeding forward. Pamela was looking straight ahead through her side window, while Francine whooped and yipped.

Pamela suddenly grabbed Francine’s right forearm and yelled, Stop! She squeezed tighter. Stop, I said! What was that?

Francine let off the brake, then hit it again to stop the vehicle. It skidded to a halt, and a cloud of dust engulfed them. Are you scared? Francine asked with a devilish smile. "It was a fishtail, although I guess the kids call it drifting now.

Pamela still had a good grip on Francine’s arm. Back up! she ordered. Put it in reverse and back up. Her slight British accent came out, making her sound so authoritative.

Francine did as she was told. She had backed up as far as when she started the turn.

Stop the car, Pamela instructed as she pulled on the door handle. Exiting the vehicle, she walked over to where the pasture ended. She spied Grandma Walker’s rusty green golf cart sitting there alone in the pasture. Her eyes gleaned over the semidried field. She needed a higher vantage point. Walking back to the car, she asked Francine to turn around and head back west. Pamela stood on the floor in front of the passenger seat hanging out and standing above the vehicle. Stop! Put the vehicle in park and help me. Pamela stepped out and stood in front of the orange-dusted SUV waiting for Francine to join her.

What are you doing? Francine snapped. It’s blazing out here. Let’s go.

You see that golf cart? Grandma Walker drives that thing around checking on her cattle. She’s used it for as long as I can remember. She’s not in it. She must be out here somewhere.

Both women looked at the bank of hard pan clay below the fence. At this end of the pasture, it was about three feet above the roadway.

We have to get up there and take a look, Pamela said. Come on.

The two women looked at the dirt wall. With a joint effort, they climbed up and then maneuvered through the barbed wire fence. When they reached the top, they could see that most of the pasture grass was eaten and very short. It was easy to look across now. They didn’t see any cows or anything else that interested them. Their eyes returned to the fence line. On the eastern edge of the pasture, where Francine had stopped after drifting around the corner, there were several old oaks, a tangle of sassafras trees, briers, and blackberry brambles lining the fence. The grass here was high but was bone dry as the cattle had avoided the brush. It just wasn’t edible anymore.

Scanning the fence line, Francine finally saw some sort of lump that seemed unusual.

Something’s not right. The golf cart is over there, but her dogs are missing too. You know those little Chihuahuas that are built like tanks? They go everywhere with her. What are their names again? Oh, Francine, I’m losing my memory. Oh, yes, right! Tank, or is it Tug? And Dozer. It just came to me. I don’t see them, do you?

Pamela, look over under that black walnut tree. What’s that? Francine asked as she pointed forward toward the fence line. Keep your eyeballs peeled, and watch out for snakes!

Pamela stepped through the brush and saw a burlap bag sitting upright. Still scanning the brush beyond the burlap, she observed something. She couldn’t tell what it was.

Francine, come over here. She watched as Francine approached and then turned her gaze back to the bag. They walked over to the burlap bag and found it contained several black walnuts in it—the husks no longer green but dried a dark brown and wrinkled.

Huh…she must’ve been collecting these black walnuts, Francine said as they continued the search through the tall grass and brush.

Suddenly, they both spied a lump of cloth lying in the shade on the edge of the field nearly underneath the barbed wire strings. The area was littered with fallen tree limbs from the old tree along with dried weeds.

Oh my gosh! Is she still alive? Pamela asked as they both ran quickly to the area.

As they reached her, they found her lying facedown in the dirt, her thin cotton house dress now covered with dust and debris. Francine touched her and saw she was still alive but not in good condition.

Grandma Walker! Pamela announced. Can you hear me?

A weak voice answered with a mm-hmmm.

Are you in any pain? Are you hurt?

Again, just a mumble from the poor old lady.

Francine and Pamela took her answer as a no. She was obviously scratched up pretty good from the briers and blackberries. There was evidence of dried blood on her hands and arms. They would have to check her out thoroughly and clean her up to make sure she was truly okay.

We’re going to take you home, all right? Honey, what were you doing out here? Pamela asked.

The old woman croaked, Oh my! Ah’m saved. She choked and moaned a little.

Now, Vera, we’re going to get you out of here, aren’t we, Francine?

Yes, we are, Francine said. She was on her knees and attempted to pull Grandma Walker out from under the barbed wire fence. Can you give me your hand? she asked as she took her hand. Francine had pinched the skin atop of Vera’s hand. It sat straight up and never resumed its prior position. Pamela, I can see she’s severely dehydrated. Look at this. We’ve got to get her home quickly.

The two of them apologized to Grandma and told her they’d have to her drag out from where she lay. As they did so, they both suddenly realized her hair was entangled in the barbed wire and blackberry brambles. She was so entwined they would never get her released.

Francine, go back to the car, find my purse, and take out my scissors, she instructed. I’m so sorry, Grandma, but we are going to cut your hair to get you out of here.

Francine managed to get up on her feet and headed for the SUV. The field was so hot, the baked earth radiating more heat, she felt a little woozy herself. She didn’t know if she’d make that drop-off back to the road without falling and hurting herself. But she made the effort knowing that they had probably saved Grandma Walker’s life.

Returning to the field, she climbed up in a less steep area. She noticed a Cherokee rosebush growing there on the fence line—so dainty, so beautiful and fragrant and yet sturdy enough to stand up to the summer heat. Francine decided she would have to get one someday.

When she met up with Pamela and handed over the scissors, she had noticed that Pamela had moved Grandma out from under the brush. Only her head still remained in the same place.

This isn’t going to hurt, Vera, but you may feel some tugging. I’ll try to save as much as I can, Pamela said as she positioned herself closer to Grandma’s head.

Francine stood over the two and heard the quicks-it, quicks-it, quicks-it as the scissors cut Grandma free. After a few minutes, Pamela told them she was done.

Keep your head down, honey, and don’t move until I say so, all right? Pamela was on her knees, stationed in front of Grandma’s body. She turned slightly and looked up toward Francine.

Do you think you can find a fallen tree branch so we can prop up a barbed wire or pull one down? We need to open a space in the fence to get her through.

Yeah, right. I’ll do it. You finish moving her into safety. I’ll be right back.

Francine turned to locate a tree branch and try to open a space when she saw the next best thing. As she looked to the fence line along the road, she discovered an okie gate. She walked over to it and found that the wire was not that tight around the post. She was able to open it with ease. She ran back to Pamela and Grandma Walker.

Let’s go! Francine said. There’s an okie gate over there. You get on one side and I’ll be on the other. We’ll lift her up and walk her out."

Pamela positioned Grandma Walker so that she was sitting up. Her legs were laying in front of her. Both Pamela and Francine grabbed around her back under her armpits and lifted her. Once she was on her feet, they felt they could walk her with ease. They told Vera exactly what they were going to do. The poor old lady looked at them as if she was confused, her white hair chopped and stuck out in all directions. She didn’t argue, but then she demanded her bag of black walnuts.

On the count of three, we will pull you up so you can stand up straight, then we’ll move to the gate, all right? Francine instructed. I’ll grab your walnuts.

One…two…three!

The women on either side of Grandma pulled up hard, and not realizing that Grandma hardly weighed anything, they started to fall backward. Luckily they caught themselves and balanced Grandma in the middle.

I guess we are stronger than we thought we were! Pamela said. Let’s go.

It took about ten minutes to move Grandma from the field out to Francine’s SUV. They placed her gently into the right passenger seat. Pamela sat in the back behind Grandma. Despite seat belts, Pamela held on to her from the back. Grandma was so weak from her ordeal she could barely sit up.

Pamela instructed Francine to drive back across that flat ridgeline, and when the time was right, she told her to pull into a driveway and keep going.

About a quarter mile in, they came across Grandma Walker’s old white-and-green farmhouse. It was set back behind and underneath two large pecan trees. Pamela walked over to the house and opened the front door, then returned to the vehicle where she and Francine moved her into the house.

They placed Grandma on her living room sofa, propped up with pillows.

Francine went to the kitchen and poured out an ice-cold glass of water. Obviously, the Walkers were still on a well, and the water from that underground aquifer was pure and cold. She brought in the glass and helped Grandma drink it down. They needed to hydrate her quickly and cool down her core. Pamela went into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator searching for orange juice. She didn’t find any, but there was a jug of cold unfiltered apple cider. She poured a glass and walked it into Francine.

Give her this now. She needs some sugar to build her energy. I’m going to call her daughter-in-law.

Grandma was now getting saturated with liquid and needed to sit back, relax, and breathe for a minute. Francine left her momentarily looking for the bathroom, where she found a washcloth. It was heavily soaked with cool water and rung out. She returned and started wiping the dirt from Grandma’s face, hands, and arms. Pamela came back and fed her more water while Francine washed out the washcloth and came back to clean off her legs.

Within five minutes, Barbara Walker blew in the front door. She was a big feisty woman. Loud, muscular, and all business—she was the one in the family who could rope a calf and tie its legs together in record time. She pushed bulls into cattle trailers or stalls. She wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Well, anyone except Grandma Walker. In the past, the two of them had a history of a few tiffs that were pretty serious. When it came to the cattle, Grandma always won. With other things, Barbara won, but it was those types of victories that were bittersweet because Grandma always took it personal and took it out on Barbara.

What in tarnation is goin’ on here? Barbara yelled.

Francine and Pamela told her the whole story about driving down the road; however, they did leave out the part of racing and fishtailing. Or as Francine called it, drifting. They saw the golf cart sitting in the pasture, but they didn’t see her or the dogs. They thought something was wrong, so they trespassed and walked around. They found her burlap bag of black walnuts and finally found her tangled up along the eastern fence line covered in debris and dust.

Pamela apologized for cutting Vera’s hair, but it was the only way to remove her. Barbara could see thousands of pinprick blood spots where the brambles had punctured her paper-thin skin. Francine told her that she had done a quick job of cleaning her up but suggested that she probably needs a good bath or shower and a check of her body under that thin cotton house dress.

You might want to call Dr. Kite and get her checked out. She might have had a small stroke or something. I mean, it’s a roaster out there today. It might have been heatstroke that caused her to fall down, Pamela offered.

Why she goes out on that stupid golf cart every day and doesn’t tell anybody where she’s goin’ is beyond me. I wondered why Tug and Dozer were hangin’ at my house. I should have known she was in trouble. Those dogs are so old they probably watched Lassie with her. Too bad they couldn’t tell me she was in trouble. I’m so sorry for getting you all involved, but I’m sure you did save her life. If she came up missing later this afternoon, I don’t know how long it would have taken us to find her. Thank you!

You might want to go and retrieve her golf cart too before some hooligans find it, Pamela offered.

Yeah, Tom and I will go down and bring it back after dinner, Barbara answered. Again, thank you so much!

They all looked over at Vera, who sat quietly on her sofa where a multicolored granny square crocheted afghan lay draped over the back.

Would you mind watching her for a moment? I’d like to call Dr. Kite’s office while you’re here. Excuse me a minute. Barbara left the room for the kitchen phone.

Francine and Pamela sat in the living room with Grandma. Pamela saw a similarity to the house with her own. It was that same drab brown-beige overtone that she was now getting ready to dispense with, ever since last fall when she saw that article in the Southern Living Magazine that so inspired her. To think that she moved out of her house for the complete renovation that was now just beginning.

Francine’s opinion of the furnishings was different. She saw a comfortable family home with lots of memories. There were pictures on the walls of family, pictures of their cattle with blue ribbons attached, embroidered samplers dating back a hundred years. Here was a woman in her nineties still living in her own home, active. She had a lot of things to keep her going.

Francine thought it was wonderful and hoped she could maintain a nice, quiet yet active lifestyle as Grandma Walker, the matriarch of the Walker family.

Barbara reentered the living room. Dr. Kite will be coming over to check her out. Did you see, in the kitchen, that she had canned a dozen quarts of baby beets today, pickled four quarts of carrots, and two of asparagus? Well, at least I think it was today, might have been yesterday though. She shook her head. She’s got to stop the madness. Thanks again.

Pamela and Francine bid adieu and left Barbara with Grandma Walker. As Francine pulled out of the driveway and back onto the dusty flat ridgeline road, Pamela grabbed Francine’s right forearm.

Promise me that if you ever see a black walnut cake made by Vera at a church bake sale or whatever, you won’t buy it! Promise me! Pamela looked directly into Francine’s eyes.

Francine moved her head and shifted her focus back onto the dusty road. I promise, she said.

Good! Because there’s no telling how old those nuts are! Can you imagine it? She was collecting nuts that had fallen off the tree six months ago. I’m sure they had to be wormy.

There’s no telling…

The late afternoon sun continued to beat down. It felt as if the mercury had finally hit a hundred degrees. The humidity was stifling, but as Francine turned left toward the west, they both realized large puffy cumulus clouds were building and scuttling slowly across the cerulean sky.

Well, here we are! Francine said as she pulled into the yard in front of Pamela’s temporary new old home.

Yep! This is it. This is the house we raised our family in. Monty’s family built it in the 1930s. All local stone and red cedar! A real beaut. Pamela walked to the front door and unlocked the door. Come on in, she said. Let’s have a glass of iced tea. Lemon?

Francine followed her into the house just as Pamela’s dogs, Elizabeth Regina and Ginger-berry, ran out. The house was cool inside, almost to the point of cold. Maybe it was just because they were overheated from the heat outside and all the exertion of the afternoon, or perhaps it was the thick stone walls. She pondered the reason as she sat down at the kitchen table while she watched Pamela pour two tall glasses.

Have a sip, then I’ll show you around, Pamela offered.

They had entered the house really from the back, although it looked like the front as you pulled into the driveway at the end of the road. The back door opened to a utility room and laundry area then opened into a large kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was a large dining room and a family room. Beyond the family room sat three bedrooms and a full bath. On the opposite side of a long wall in the kitchen was a large living room with a huge picture window. The front door was here. Beyond the front door was a large deck. The view was amazing.

You can see Oklahoma from here! Pamela said as she pointed westward. Monty and I used to sit here and drink our coffee in the morning watching the wildlife. See the river and lake right here? She pointed downward off the deck.

Francine felt a little woozy. That’s a long way down.

Yes, it is. But what a view, huh?

Francine nodded and stepped back into the house.

The master bedroom is through here. It was large and had a private sitting area at the far end. Plus, it had a large master bathroom and a walk-in closet.

So this was built in the thirties? Francine asked. The floor plan is so modern. Good light.

Yes, it was a happy house.

If it was such a happy house, why did you move? Francine asked and then spied several family pictures. She recognized Pamela and James, her son. She assumed the man was her husband, Monty, but there were three other children as well.

Well, the kids were grown, and when Monty got sick, we just needed to be closer to town. He needed a doctor close by and easy access to a hospital. This was just too far out. The mercy run I drove that time scared me to death and I knew I couldn’t keep doing that.

Pamela, are these your children as well? Francine asked as she pointed to a picture.

Yes, that’s James, John, Janelle, and Jocelyn, with Monty and myself.

I never knew you had four children. I always thought James was your only son. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Francine questioned her.

You never asked, Pamela answered, then she walked away back into the kitchen.

We kept the property here and the house, but when Monty died, I didn’t want to move back. I wanted to sell it all, but the children wanted me to keep it. They wanted to inherit it all. There was quite a to-do, but in the end, James bought me out. He said it guaranteed that I would have a nice nest egg to live on for the rest of my life. The other three, they never cared for the country life. They all moved away, and it was fine with me. Monty and I did our best raising the kids, and they all turned out well. I am proud and pleased with all of them.

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