All Roads Lead to Texas. Linda Warren

take the biscuit. Never heard of such a thing. I learned to cook as soon as I could hold a spoon in my hand and stir. My daughters learned the same way. All nine of ’em, Edith Mae, Etta Mae, Erma Mae, Emma Mae, Earla Mae, Eva Mae, Ella Mae, Essie Mae and Eloise Mae.”

      Callie gaped at her. “Your girls have the same middle name and their first names start with an E?”

      “Sure do. Easier to remember ’em that way.”

      “But isn’t it confusing?”

      “Sometimes, but when they’re all home I just shout Mae and they all come running.”

      A smile tugged at Callie’s mouth. She could imagine that. When Ethel hollered in high-throttle sewing-machine mode, everyone had a tendency to run—in the opposite direction.

      Callie rinsed a rag in warm water. “Please tell me Odell’s middle name is not Mae.

      “Of course not. He’s named after his father, Odell Willard—everyone called him Willie. I went through ten births to give that man a son and what does he do? Up and dies on me. No warning, no nothing.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that, he’s gone and I’m left to raise ten kids alone.”

      “That had to have been hard.”

      “Wasn’t easy, but my girls started working as soon as they could and they’re all married and have good jobs, except none of them live here. Got a couple in San Antonio, but it’s just me and Odell now.” Ethel surveyed the cobwebs on the ceiling. “We’ll need a ladder to get up there.”

      “Yeah.” Callie followed her gaze. “I’ll borrow one from Odell.”

      “Why did you have to go to school to learn to cook?” Ethel returned to their former conversation. “Didn’t you have a mother?”

      Callie inhaled deeply. “Yes, I had a mother and I learned to cook at an early age, too. It’s something I’ve always loved to do and I had a neighbor who taught me a lot. But I went to culinary school so I could learn the skills of being an executive chef in a fine restaurant.”

      Ethel had a bandanna tied around her hair and she pushed it back slightly. “You mean you’re one of those fancy know-it-alls I see on the tube?”

      “Something like that.”

      “Well, swat me with a fly swatter. Ain’t that somethin’. Wait until I tell my cousin Bertha. She thinks she’s the best cook in the county ’cause people come from all over to eat her kolaches, which I make most of the time and she gets all the credit.” She thought for a minute. “I might just come to work for you. What are you gonna pay?”

      “What do you think you’re worth?”

      An eyebrow darted up. “A lot more than you can pay.”

      Callie laughed out loud and it felt good. It also felt good to be in Homestead and to meet so many heartwarming people.