PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#115
"Inga?"
"Humm," she turned as she cooked potatoes. "You need something John?"
"Have you checked on the propane lately?" John had a tattered list in his hand and a stub of a pencil he was marking with.
"Nooo, I didn't think about it. Actually, I have no idea when Leta got the last delivery."
"I think we'd better check right now," the handyman, part time deputy and cafe helper, dash minister, muttered darkly.
The amount of propane in the large tank was disappointingly low. "I don't know how to measure what we use," Inga looked at the chill line that approximated the amount of gas available. "Do you know?" she looked at John who was feeling the tank with his hands.
"No experience in that area," John replied absently. "I suggest we explore different ways of cooking, cutting way back on using the grill."
Inga nodded as she walked back into the kitchen, reaching over to turn the grill off. The pot of potatoes continued to steam in the cool air. Using pot holders, she moved the Volrath stockpot to the wood stove in the front room, capitalizing on not loosing heat from the interrupted cooking.
In the cast iron dutch oven she dropped a tablespoon of oil and the chopped up chicken she had prepared. As the supplies ran out, Inga was forced to cook using more creative methods. The chicken and dumplings had evolved down into chicken stew. The celery, and most of the onions were used up. Flour was used for biscuits
The wealth of supplies that John had brought in, were dwindling fast. The boxes of food they had distributed to the community, gone, as people indiscriminately cooked and wasted what they did have. Poor judgments and the habits of excess are not easily set aside just because the times demand it.
The storage room had more empty shelves than full ones. Inga estimated they had twenty pounds of flour, a bit more in beans and rice and a flat or two of canned vegetables. Both she and John hoped that the road would be opened soon. Inga had enough money to buy supplies, just no way to get them delivered.
The days and what they held, were looking grim. Inga's diners had dwindled down to Stan and Jerry, plus Doc and Donna. Hobart hung around the edges, but he had started living in the roadhouse. Hobie acted like a lost puppy with the Betty chapter closed. He moped up and down the street in front of the diner, hands stuck in his coat and hat pulled low.
Cassy fed Will, Kevin and what small amount they were able to get Wayne swallow. Cassy was getting low on food, so she did what all cautious cooks did to stretch what they had. More rice, more beans used as fillers for hungry bellies.
In the diner, John and Inga ate when the rest of the customers had finished. Recently, their portions were smaller and smaller. Patti sat in her room, unconnected to life. Inga thought she was deliberately starving herself, as no amount of coaxing would bring her to the table.
Brett and his now legendary appetite was tamed by the concoction Inga made him drink. A age old trick from her mother, of course.
Inga made a cup of beef broth every day with increasing amounts of boiled garlic until the mixture was syrupy with the strong fusion.
Brett gamely drank the mixture, and avoided everyone for the week. He rushed from the room every once in a while, but nobody commented. If he passed the tapeworm, he didn't say. However, when he had finished the 'treatment' he had more of a normal appetite than previous.
John kidded the teen about glowing in the dark and safe from vampires, but the minister's approval went a long way toward helping Brett finish the 'medicine'. Brett slept in the woodshed, he couldn't stand to be close to himself with out a stiff breeze blowing from upwind.
The second night he had banished himself to the shed, Brett was wrapped up in John's sleeping bag with a rain poncho wrapped all around. That was the night he discovered all sorts of shenanigans and people were out in the storm after dark. It sure was puzzling that kids were out wandering around.
The trash bin behind the diner was a favorite stop for the gangs. Each night they searched through the trash looking for scraps of food. They also did enough talking to wake Brett and keep him informed of the slippery, dark side of Evergreen.
The late night gossip that was bandied about, gave Brett the first clue about the town betterment committee. Brett kept the information close to his vest while he thought out all the ramifications. Finally, the burden was too great a secret to keep, and he sought out John and Inga.
"Hey, guys, do you want to hear something that might be kinda bad?" Brett asked in a very disturbed way. John's nose sniffed trouble right away, and he motioned Inga to a chair beside them.
"Last night," Brett started, "It was way late and when the guys started coming around,......."
Inga opened her mouth to ask questions, but stopped when John shook his head no and reached under the table to grab her hand in warning.
"Do you or Auntie Inga know about the 'town betterment committee?" Brett hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
"No, " John said calmly. His demeanor tensing, he didn't like where this might be heading. He was after all, a student of human nature and not under any illusions about what might be taking place.
"Well, I guess they are a bunch of people that think, what is here, should be given to everybody. Or at least that's what it sounds like to me." Brett ducked his head, embarrassed to bring up the subject that he had no proof about.
"Brett," John stood up to pace the floor. "I do believe you. Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Do you have any more information, this is very important for all our safety." he leveled a calm but intensive stare at the teen. Like all people that John grilled with his eyes, the icy blue stare made it impossible for others to lie to him.
"Maybe today or tomorrow they are going to come here and take our food and give it around." Brett offered.
"My," was all Inga could say with a dry mouth. "We have so little, surely they know that."
"Don't count on it. Brett will you take a message to Will?" John used a napkin to scribble on. "Run, my man." he instructed.
"Inga, please listen to me," John took her hands in his. "This so called betterment committee is nothing more than a mob. We need to do something I would never suggest in normal times. We need to hide some of your food."
"John, I don't mind sharing. I want this community to grow and prosper. I would gladly give half," Inga stared deep into those blue eyes, stressing her belief that helping one's neighbors was important. Inga started melting at the depth of the love and caring she saw reflected in that wonderful face.
"Inga!" John shook her shoulder slightly, "listen to me. These will not be nice neighbors that are coming to call. These are people that will take the food out of Brett's mouth. They will be as a plague of locusts that will leave you nothing. Now! help me." he ordered sharply; breaking Inga out of her trance.
Half of the beans were bagged into Inga's pillow. Half of the rice was carefully put into the exhaust fan vent of the grill. The flour was divided into thirds and two thirds was placed in the vent with the beans. A bowl of beans was set to soak, and rice put to cook on the wood stove. Inga felt like her mother.
Inga wondered what her mother would do. Then it came to her like a bolt from out of the blue. The good old mop board trick. In the broom closet was a loose board just like she needed.
Holding her finger to her lips in the quiet sign, Inga had John take the money sack and hide it in the out of the way hole. There was room in the space for a good sized jar of yeast and a plastic sack of bouillon cubes. John tapped the nail back in place and shook the dust mop over the disturbed area.
In the trays of stacked bowls and mugs, they lifted the top bowls and cups and added cupfulls of coffee and cocoa and replaced the empty top bowl and mug. They covered the trays with clear plastic wrap and set them in the pantry. Jars and cans of meat were stacked under the old chair Leta sat in, the dust ruffle hiding the stash. They had moved the chair to the far corner, so it was likely it would not be tipped over.
They were sitting at the table, when the 'betterment committee' came to call. The mayor, egged on by Mildred Brockman got right to the point.
"We feel," he got a sharp jab in the ribs when he dawdled, "you should give up the supplies you have here for the betterment of the community. We have people who are hungry and you have food." his spiel over, the portly man mopped his face with a blue hanky.
Mildred produced a piece of paper. "We need all the food you have. You may go live with your mother if you need to eat. You Sir," she addressed John, "may go eat with Will."
John stood up and faced the loosely gathered group. "Under who's authority are you gathering the food?"
"Inga?"
"Humm," she turned as she cooked potatoes. "You need something John?"
"Have you checked on the propane lately?" John had a tattered list in his hand and a stub of a pencil he was marking with.
"Nooo, I didn't think about it. Actually, I have no idea when Leta got the last delivery."
"I think we'd better check right now," the handyman, part time deputy and cafe helper, dash minister, muttered darkly.
The amount of propane in the large tank was disappointingly low. "I don't know how to measure what we use," Inga looked at the chill line that approximated the amount of gas available. "Do you know?" she looked at John who was feeling the tank with his hands.
"No experience in that area," John replied absently. "I suggest we explore different ways of cooking, cutting way back on using the grill."
Inga nodded as she walked back into the kitchen, reaching over to turn the grill off. The pot of potatoes continued to steam in the cool air. Using pot holders, she moved the Volrath stockpot to the wood stove in the front room, capitalizing on not loosing heat from the interrupted cooking.
In the cast iron dutch oven she dropped a tablespoon of oil and the chopped up chicken she had prepared. As the supplies ran out, Inga was forced to cook using more creative methods. The chicken and dumplings had evolved down into chicken stew. The celery, and most of the onions were used up. Flour was used for biscuits
The wealth of supplies that John had brought in, were dwindling fast. The boxes of food they had distributed to the community, gone, as people indiscriminately cooked and wasted what they did have. Poor judgments and the habits of excess are not easily set aside just because the times demand it.
The storage room had more empty shelves than full ones. Inga estimated they had twenty pounds of flour, a bit more in beans and rice and a flat or two of canned vegetables. Both she and John hoped that the road would be opened soon. Inga had enough money to buy supplies, just no way to get them delivered.
The days and what they held, were looking grim. Inga's diners had dwindled down to Stan and Jerry, plus Doc and Donna. Hobart hung around the edges, but he had started living in the roadhouse. Hobie acted like a lost puppy with the Betty chapter closed. He moped up and down the street in front of the diner, hands stuck in his coat and hat pulled low.
Cassy fed Will, Kevin and what small amount they were able to get Wayne swallow. Cassy was getting low on food, so she did what all cautious cooks did to stretch what they had. More rice, more beans used as fillers for hungry bellies.
In the diner, John and Inga ate when the rest of the customers had finished. Recently, their portions were smaller and smaller. Patti sat in her room, unconnected to life. Inga thought she was deliberately starving herself, as no amount of coaxing would bring her to the table.
Brett and his now legendary appetite was tamed by the concoction Inga made him drink. A age old trick from her mother, of course.
Inga made a cup of beef broth every day with increasing amounts of boiled garlic until the mixture was syrupy with the strong fusion.
Brett gamely drank the mixture, and avoided everyone for the week. He rushed from the room every once in a while, but nobody commented. If he passed the tapeworm, he didn't say. However, when he had finished the 'treatment' he had more of a normal appetite than previous.
John kidded the teen about glowing in the dark and safe from vampires, but the minister's approval went a long way toward helping Brett finish the 'medicine'. Brett slept in the woodshed, he couldn't stand to be close to himself with out a stiff breeze blowing from upwind.
The second night he had banished himself to the shed, Brett was wrapped up in John's sleeping bag with a rain poncho wrapped all around. That was the night he discovered all sorts of shenanigans and people were out in the storm after dark. It sure was puzzling that kids were out wandering around.
The trash bin behind the diner was a favorite stop for the gangs. Each night they searched through the trash looking for scraps of food. They also did enough talking to wake Brett and keep him informed of the slippery, dark side of Evergreen.
The late night gossip that was bandied about, gave Brett the first clue about the town betterment committee. Brett kept the information close to his vest while he thought out all the ramifications. Finally, the burden was too great a secret to keep, and he sought out John and Inga.
"Hey, guys, do you want to hear something that might be kinda bad?" Brett asked in a very disturbed way. John's nose sniffed trouble right away, and he motioned Inga to a chair beside them.
"Last night," Brett started, "It was way late and when the guys started coming around,......."
Inga opened her mouth to ask questions, but stopped when John shook his head no and reached under the table to grab her hand in warning.
"Do you or Auntie Inga know about the 'town betterment committee?" Brett hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
"No, " John said calmly. His demeanor tensing, he didn't like where this might be heading. He was after all, a student of human nature and not under any illusions about what might be taking place.
"Well, I guess they are a bunch of people that think, what is here, should be given to everybody. Or at least that's what it sounds like to me." Brett ducked his head, embarrassed to bring up the subject that he had no proof about.
"Brett," John stood up to pace the floor. "I do believe you. Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Do you have any more information, this is very important for all our safety." he leveled a calm but intensive stare at the teen. Like all people that John grilled with his eyes, the icy blue stare made it impossible for others to lie to him.
"Maybe today or tomorrow they are going to come here and take our food and give it around." Brett offered.
"My," was all Inga could say with a dry mouth. "We have so little, surely they know that."
"Don't count on it. Brett will you take a message to Will?" John used a napkin to scribble on. "Run, my man." he instructed.
"Inga, please listen to me," John took her hands in his. "This so called betterment committee is nothing more than a mob. We need to do something I would never suggest in normal times. We need to hide some of your food."
"John, I don't mind sharing. I want this community to grow and prosper. I would gladly give half," Inga stared deep into those blue eyes, stressing her belief that helping one's neighbors was important. Inga started melting at the depth of the love and caring she saw reflected in that wonderful face.
"Inga!" John shook her shoulder slightly, "listen to me. These will not be nice neighbors that are coming to call. These are people that will take the food out of Brett's mouth. They will be as a plague of locusts that will leave you nothing. Now! help me." he ordered sharply; breaking Inga out of her trance.
Half of the beans were bagged into Inga's pillow. Half of the rice was carefully put into the exhaust fan vent of the grill. The flour was divided into thirds and two thirds was placed in the vent with the beans. A bowl of beans was set to soak, and rice put to cook on the wood stove. Inga felt like her mother.
Inga wondered what her mother would do. Then it came to her like a bolt from out of the blue. The good old mop board trick. In the broom closet was a loose board just like she needed.
Holding her finger to her lips in the quiet sign, Inga had John take the money sack and hide it in the out of the way hole. There was room in the space for a good sized jar of yeast and a plastic sack of bouillon cubes. John tapped the nail back in place and shook the dust mop over the disturbed area.
In the trays of stacked bowls and mugs, they lifted the top bowls and cups and added cupfulls of coffee and cocoa and replaced the empty top bowl and mug. They covered the trays with clear plastic wrap and set them in the pantry. Jars and cans of meat were stacked under the old chair Leta sat in, the dust ruffle hiding the stash. They had moved the chair to the far corner, so it was likely it would not be tipped over.
They were sitting at the table, when the 'betterment committee' came to call. The mayor, egged on by Mildred Brockman got right to the point.
"We feel," he got a sharp jab in the ribs when he dawdled, "you should give up the supplies you have here for the betterment of the community. We have people who are hungry and you have food." his spiel over, the portly man mopped his face with a blue hanky.
Mildred produced a piece of paper. "We need all the food you have. You may go live with your mother if you need to eat. You Sir," she addressed John, "may go eat with Will."
John stood up and faced the loosely gathered group. "Under who's authority are you gathering the food?"