GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER

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GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER

~Frederick Road

FREDERICK ROAD By Marilyn (LaraOct7/MWL1367)

I was puzzled one dark winter evening when I heard a knock on my front door. Who could it be? I wondered. I wasn't expecting company. Nor was it the kind of night for a neighbor to drop by. It had been snowing all day and the temperature was hovering near zero.

I shuddered when it struck me that I was alone. My husband had left early that morning for Frederick to buy a truckload of wood and wouldn't return until late that night. I glanced at Mercedes, my big Tabby cat, and wished she were a loud barking dog instead of a cat.

When the knocking came again, I stiffened my spine and headed for the door. I wasn't an alarmist, I told myself. I wasn't like my neighbors who bragged that they never opened their door to a stranger. On the other hand............

I hesitated a moment, then gathered my courage and flipped on the porch light. I reached for the doorknob.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

I found myself peering into the face of a tall, wide-shouldered man. He was well-dressed, I noted, as my eyes took in his dark, heavy coat, his shiny leather boots.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," he said.

His neat appearance, and his deep, solemn voice began to soothe my fears.

"I'm Tom McKennon, special agent, assigned to protect the President of the United States." As he spoke, he held up a small plastic card.

I leaned forward and gazed at the print.

"The President was on his way to the White House after spending the weekend at Camp David. But the limousine has skidded off the road and is in the ditch in front of your house. Perhaps you knew......"

"Oh my!" My hands flew to my mouth. "No, I didn't know. It's....it's the President's car?" My heart began to race. "Is..is he all right? He isn't hurt, is he?" I tried to calm my quivery voice.

"The President is fine, ma'am."

The agent's smiled briefly, but I noticed that his composure was somewhat shaken.

"No serious harm was done. It's just.....

He shifted his stance and I waited for him to go on.

"I.....I need to use your phone." His brow furrowed and he held up his cellular phone. "Of all times........" He grimmaced, swore, and rapped the phone on his knee.

"Oh." I said. I looked past his shoulder, toward the steps, where blowing snow had formed man-tall heaps. "Oh dear." I nervously wrung my hands. "I would love to help, but my phone doesn't work either. The lines have been down since early morning."

His eyes widened. "You're sure?"

I stepped back. "You're welcome to come in and try if you want."

The agent raked his fingers through his dark, curly hair. He glanced at his watch. "I shouldn't be telling you this," he said, meeting my eye. "But quite frankly, I don't know what to do. The President is scheduled to attend a dinner for the Ambassador of Latvia this evening and he isn't going to make it. Even worse, it doesn't look as though he's going to have any dinner."

I couldn't help smiling over the possibility of our President having to skip a meal, especially when it was common knowledge that he had the appetite of a bear. I thought about the pot of soup I had simmering on the back of the stove, and the buttermilk pie I had baked that afternoon. Should I offer to share my dinner with the President of the United States? If I did, would there be enough for him plus his agents? How many agents were there? Still, it wasn't every day that a person had the opportunity to invite the President of the United States into their home for a meal.

The agent scuffed his foot and I decided to be daring.

"Do you think the President would like to come inside where it's warm? I have a pot of soup simmering on the back of the stove, and I baked a buttermilk pie today. If you don't think I'm being presumptuous, I'd like to invite you and the president to share my meal."

The agent's eyes gleamed. "You have buttermilk pie?"

I nodded.

He grinned. "I'll go speak to the President right now. And just between us...." The agent leaned in. "I hope it's a yes. I hope, too that I'm also invited. I haven't had buttermilk pie since I was a kid."

After the agent left, I closed the door and hurried to the kitchen. I brought out my blue-checked tablecloth, the best I had, and collected my favorite blue napkins. While I busied myself setting the table and filling the water glasses, I was aware of the aroma of beef broth, vegetables, and bay. My kitchen might not be modern, I thought, glancing around, but it was warm and cozy. When I heard a tap on the door, I quietly pulled off my apron. I drew a deep breath and moved for the hallway.

At the door, I paused briefly. Then I reached for the doorknob.

"Thank you ma'am, for being so friendly. I welcome the opportunity to dine at your table."

Oh my goodness. I found myself gazing into a pair of the most incredibly blue eyes I had ever seen.

"A bowl of hot soup and a slice of your buttermilk pie sounds heavenly to a man who hasn't had a bite to eat since noontime."

I gulped and nearly swooned when I realized I was peering into the face of the President Of The United States!
_________________

Buttermilk Pie

1 baked pie shellï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½4 Tablespoons flour
Separate eggs. Beat yolks and add buttermilk and lemon juice. Mix sugar with salt and flour and add to previous mixture. Cook over hot water until thick, stirring constantly. Pour into baked pie shell and cover with meringue made of the 2 egg whites stiffly beaten with the 1/4 cup sugar. Brown in 350ï¿½ oven for about 10-12 minutes. Serves 6-8.

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