I checked this fact with Barbara and she confirmed that it was absolutely true. She had bought some horse from a ranch in Tennessee the year before and she had started seeing Tilly shortly thereafter.
“I was the cook,” Tilly went on to explain. “And that boy there, he misses his home-cooked Tennessee meals.”
The “boy” she was referring to was a ranch hand named Bobby who had moved up from Tennessee for the job. Tilly said he was especially missing real Tennessee corn fritters.
“If I give the recipe to Barbara so her husband can make it for Bobby, will you go into the White Light?” I offered, making a deal I’ve struck many times over the course of my life.
“Those horses are in good hands,” she decided. “So yes, I suppose my work here is done.”
Tennessee Corn Fritters
¾ cup flour
½ teaspoon salt
Dash of pepper
¾ teaspoon baking powder
2 eggs
1½ cups corn cut from cob
Sift together flour, salt, pepper, and baking powder. Add beaten eggs and corn and, if necessary, a little milk. Drop by spoonfuls onto a hot, well-greased griddle or frying pan, and cook until golden brown on both sides. If using creamy canned corn, add an additional 2 tablespoons flour to absorb extra moisture. Serve with warm maple syrup. Serves 6.
BREAKFAST BAKE CASSEROLE
LINDA AND GALE WERE THE KIND OF SISTERS whose bond went beyond the mere familial relationship. They’d always been close, and after their parents had died when they were 19 and 22, that closeness helped them both and it grew exponentially. It was also how Gale knew—knew—her sister was in the house with her.
Linda had been dead more than a year when Gale called me. She’d died of cancer, leaving her 8-and 10-year old boys behind. I knew there was a spirit in the house, but I wasn’t convinced yet that it was Linda. Most cancer patients cross over immediately—they’ve had a long, hard battle to the end, they’ve said their goodbyes a hundred times, and they’re just ready to move on. But sometimes cancer patients stay, and I thought maybe, just maybe, Linda’s children had been enough to make her stay.
I was wrong. Oh, it was Linda in the house all right, but she hadn’t stayed for her kids. Well, not entirely. She’d stayed for Gale to help her care for her kids! The sisters had lived right next door to each other, and since Gale didn’t work and Linda did, she often watched her nephews after school. Gale had her own children, too, and the cousins got along famously—it was hardly a strain, but Linda said she felt bad. Linda’s husband traveled a lot for work, and now that Linda was gone, Gale often had to watch the kids overnight.
“Gale’s always been there to watch my kids,” she said. “It’s not fair. I couldn’t just leave her with all that extra work.”
“Believe it or not, you probably aren’t helping too much, though,” I said gently. Gale had already told me her daughter had seen Aunt Linda in the house, and it had scared her. Not because she was scared of her aunt, but because … well, I guess we’re just conditioned to think ghosts are scary, aren’t we? But besides that, there were the colds and headaches and all the other things that come when a ghost is draining the energy from the living.
“I know,” Linda admitted dismally. “But I also just feel horrible about something.”
“What?” I wondered. “Is there something you forgot to mention before you died?” That was not at all uncommon—seems like even the spirits who tell me they had everything sewn up when they died can still think of just one last thing to say. One last regret to own up to, or one last apology to make.
“No, no, this was after I died,” Linda said. “My boy, Jack, really hurt Gale’s feelings at Christmas, and that’s just not right. Not with all she does for them.”
Apparently Gale had tried to make one of her nephew’s favorite recipes just after Christmas, something his mom always used to make. It had been their first Christmas without Linda, and she was trying to do something, however small, to let her boys know that Linda would never be forgotten. Only she hadn’t made it right, and Jack had told her so in no uncertain terms. Gale had felt bad and Jack only made it worse.
“It’s just not right,” Linda said again. “Look, can you give her the recipe for me, so she can make it right? She put potatoes in it, and that’s what Jack hated so much.”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course I can.”
“And one other thing,” Linda added with an amused smirk. “Ask Gale why she didn’t just go next door and get my recipe box.”
Gale chuckled when I asked her that. “I guess I never thought of it!”
Breakfast Bake Casserole
3 cups ham, diced
1 tablespoon dry mustard
3 cups cheddar cheese, shredded
1 tablespoon flour
3 cups French bread cubes
3 tablespoons melted butter
4 eggs
3 cups milk
Combine all ingredients in a bowl, and pour into a large casserole dish. Refrigerate overnight. Take out in the morning and bake for 1 hour at 350 degrees.
CHICKEN NOODLE CASSEROLE
MEN RARELY CALL FOR MY HELP, mostly because most men don’t believe in what I can do. It doesn’t bother me—it’s just one of those facts I’ve learned along the way. I swear, a ghost could hit some of the husbands I’ve met over the head with a broomstick and they still wouldn’t believe. Ralph believed, though.
Ralph’s dogs had been acting strange, as he put it, for about the last six months. He lived alone—never married, no kids—with his dogs, and they’d got used to each other’s rhythms pretty well. He was usually home from the factory where he worked by two in the afternoon, and he’d take the dogs for a walk or just run them around in the backyard. He had three dogs. Two were mother, and son and the other was a stray female he inherited. Life was pretty routine for Ralph, so he tended to notice even the slightest thing that was peculiar.
The first thing that clued him in to something being amiss was that his male dog took to rolling over and exposing his belly when they were in the backyard. He’d done that as a pup for his mother, of course, but he didn’t do it very often anymore. Now he did it all the time. He’d be running across the yard after a ball, and he’d suddenly just drop and roll over, a sheepish, ears-back look on his face.
There were other things, too. All three of the dogs would growl in the house when they’d never growled before. Usually it was the male, and Ralph’s first thought had been that the dog was going funny, but then he noticed the females doing it, too. They’d just stand and stare at the air in an empty room and growl.
“Yup.
