Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in August/September, 2008, Volume 5, Issue 3, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
It’s sure been hot as it’s been under Miss Lizzie’s collar these last few weeks. The heat ain’t bad enuff, but Miss Lizzie has been in the most ugliest mood I’ve yet to see her, and I’ve been workin’ hear more than two years. Things haven’t been good hear the past five years, I’m told. But as time goes by it’s gettin’ worse and not no better. At least Miss Emma’s gone travelin’ to Fairhaven. That helps. Miss Emma to be sure is a quiet one, and I remember my Da’ sayin’ tis always the quiet ones you gotta watch for. I dunno. I just feel somethin’ in the air. And I smell somethin’ in the air, too. Oh. That was John Morse walkin’ past the kitchen. When he lived here for a year, me and him both in the high upstairs, the household would tease us because they would hear me runnin’ up there, assumin’ he was chasin’ me. I was just tryin’ to find a window I could open.
I ain’t felt like this since in the old country, when I started to make a dress for a relative on my mother’s side, Maggie Kelly. You never start to make a dress on a Saturday, and I shoulda known better. But I promised her I’d make her a new dress and I didna have no chores for the afternoon. Well, sure enough, she died within a year. I get creepy feelin’ every thyme I think back to her, layin’ there in the weddin’ dress she wore 88 years before.
This mornin’ when I went to put the milk can out, a rabbit ran right across in front of me. That’s sure to bring with it the dark. And on top of that, Miss Lizzie was the first person I saw yesterday mornin’. Seein’ a red-headed woman first thing like that can only mean somethin’ is brewin’.
Well, I won’t know what it is till it happens. And if I don’t get a move-on here, the bad thing to be comin’ will be me gettin’ a Congress boot out the doorr.
About four days ago, I was told to cook a shank of mutton. “Mutton, again, Mr. Borrden?” I said. “We just finished with a shank last week. Please, I’m feelin’ poorly.” He frowned at me and said, “Cook the mutton, Servant Girl.” And there ain’t no replyin’ to one of Mr. Borrden’s scowls.
If he just were to get lamb, twould be a different world in this household. But the mutton is cheap, and that’s the end of that for his reasonin’. It takes so long for us to eat it up, because me and the Misses’ Bordens don’t have no part in it.
But there is one way none of us mind mutton. And that’s when I make a Irish stew that’s been made in the old country since the good Lord gave breath to my grand-da’ and his grand-da’, and grand-da’s before him.
IRISH MUTTON STEW
Yer gonna need:
Two pounds of mutton 2 small spoons of salt
6 potatoes, peeled and cubed 2 small spoons of sugar
6 carrots, peeled and cut in strips Just a pinch of pepper
6 small whole onions A few little spoons of dark brown coloring
A yellow turnip, cut up like the potatoes Flour, for when ya thicken it
A few parsley sprigs
Get a big pot. Put yer meat in it and cover it with water. Be mindful of how much water you used to cover the meat. Put in everything but the flour. Get it boilin’, then turn yer heat down to low, cover the pot and let it simmer for 2 hours. This is when I usually go and visit Mary Doolan over the fence, comin’ back every half hour or so to stir the pot. Don’t worry, nobody’ll come in the kitchen and ask what’s for dinner. They’ll know.
In a bowl, put in one big spoon of flour and one big spoon of water for every cup of water you took to cover the meat. You can stirr it until you get rid of the lumps. Or sometimes you can leave the lumps and when the family yer feedin’ asks about ‘em, you can say they are little dumplins and ask if they did not like them. They’ll be surprised you went to the trouble to make little dumplins and claim to like ‘em, and they’ll think yer pretty special – a harder worker than they’d been thinkin’. Ennyway, you add the flour and water into the stew and stirr it in until it comes to a boil. Cook slowly for about ten minutes, then serve.
Well, I served breakfast this mornin, without takin’ off any of my clothin’. Now I gotta clean the dishes. And wait. And see what the rabbit means.
I’ll leave you with this: Beware of a childless woman who looks fixedly at your child.
