Grandma And The Tenant

    Quentin Armsbury had never lived in an apartment before and
so, he was understandably nervous and somewhat apprehensive
when someone knocked at his door his first evening in residence.
Quickly straightening his uncomfortable suit and smoothing his
hair, he went to see who it was.
    "Well, hello, there!" Quentin heard before he could utter a sound.
    His gaze lowered from his own eye level a good foot before it
reached the top of a woman's head.  Her hair was white, cut short,
and clear, beige-rimmed glasses drew his attention to her sparkling,
pale blue eyes.
    "Hello, ... madam ..." Quentin ventured, not quite sure what was
expected of him.
    "Oh, call me Grandma.  Everyone does," she said with a wave of
her hand and a secret smile.  Her other hand thrust a covered dish
at him and he grabbed for it, fearing it would have dropped if he hadn't.
    "Excuse me, Mrs. ..."
    "Cooper.  Doris Cooper's the name.  But just call me Grandma.
Everyone does."
    Quentin nodded, still more than a bit puzzled.  "Is there something
I might do for you?" he asked, avoiding a name altogether.
    "Oh, no.  Not at all.  Just heard you'd moved in and thought I'd stop
by and say hello."
    "How nice," Quentin said with a pained smile.
    "No, trouble at all.  You see, my apartment is just across the hall
here, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
    "I'll keep that in mind."  He went to close the door and remembered
the dish he was holding.  "Oh.  This is your's, I believe."
    "No hurry.  When you've finished it is soon enough.  Old recipe my
grandmother used to make," she said, tapping the glass cover.  "We
come from Maine.  My grandmother scared an indian right out of her
kitchen, she did.  He thought there was no one about and decided to
cook a meal for hisself.  Well, she came out of the pantry, picked up
an old cast iron frying pan, and he ran like the devil himself was
chasing him."  Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.  "Poor
man was probably just hungry, but he skedaddled all right."
    "That would have done it for me," Quentin agreed, frowning.  "Well,
Mrs. Cooper, I really hate to be rude, ..."
    "Oh, call me Grandma.  Everyone does."
    "Yes, well, ..."
    "'Course that was back in the old days," she went on.  "Most people
never locked their doors back then.  Ha!  Most people didn't even have
locks on their doors.  Wasn't any need for them!  Not like now adays.
Now adays you can't hardly go outside anymore without worrying about
someone taking your purse or trying to steal your money.  Ha!
Someone comes to your door now, you're half-afraid to open it.  Never
know what kind of maniac will be waiting there."
    Quentin choked back a chuckle.  "Yes.  One must be careful these
days, uh, how old did you say you were?"
    "I'll be eighty-seven in December," she laughed.  "I have eight
great-grandsons and one great-granddaughter.  They're all around
this area. Do you have family around here?"
    "No, actually, I am quite alone," Quentin replied a touch impatiently.
"Now, if you will excuse me ..."
    "Oh, sure.  I understand.  You must be busy just moving in and all
and getting things settled," she nodded sagely.  "Well, you go on.
Don't let me keep you.  Like I said, if you need anything, I'm right
across the hall. Don't hesitate to ask."  
    "Thank you.  I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Cooper, uh, Grandma," he
corrected quickly, but not quickly enough.
    "Oh, just call me Grandma.  Everybody ..."
    "... does," he finished with her.  "Well, ... Grandma, it's been very
nice meeting you and I will return your dish as soon as possible."
    "No hurry.  Whenever you're done with it," she smiled, her eyes
twinkling.  "You know, I'm always ready to give a hand.  I say that
comes from my upbringing.  My brother and sister were both the
same.  But now adays, sheesh!"
    "Yes, well, ..."  And just as he was about to once again excuse
himself from this conversation, an interesting odor wafted up from
the dish he held.  It was a quite pungent aroma and he couldn't help
wrinkling his nose.
    Grandma noticed.  "That's Rosemary," she said with a wink.
"Always did have that strong order.  I think it kind of spices up the
dish, don't you?"
    "Rosemary, hum?"
    "That's right.  Rosemary Mathews from down Perkins Street.
Used to be a bag lady."
    Quentin chewed his cheek for a moment.  "From Perkins Street,
you say?"
    "That's right.  Only about fifteen blocks from here," she nodded.
"Of course I had her delivered--can't be lugging around corpses at
my age.  But I let her set up for a about a week--you'll see, it makes
all the difference in the taste--and I butchered her myself!"
    "Yourself, you say?"
    "That's right.  I've been butchering 'em myself ever since my
mother taught me how and that's close to eighty years now."
    Slowly, Quentin lifted the glass covering.  And gasped.  There
was a hand!  A hand in his dish!  And a lady's hand by the look of it.
"There's a ring on it!"
    "Oh, that wasn't hers," Grandma said, shaking her head.  "I just use
it for garnish.  Make it look nice, you know.  Some people like parsley."
    "But Grandma, this is a hand!" he exclaimed.  "A human hand!"
    "Oh, I know," Grandma chuckled, blushing slightly.
    Quentin was beside himself.  Never before had he seen anything like
it and for a moment he didn't know what to say.  Suddenly, he scowled
down at the old woman.  "You'll have to tell me who brings these to
you," he insisted firmly.
    "Sure.  I'll write his name down for you.  After all, what are
neighbors for?"
    "Grandma, this is simply too much," he frowned, then stepped away
from the doorway and waved her into the room.  As soon as she
entered, he closed the door behind her and ushered her into the
kitchen.  Motioning her to a seat at the table, he set her dish on the
counter and opened the oven.  "Look at this.  This is what I was
going to have tonight for supper.  Rump roast.  Can you believe it?
I got it from a nursing home downtown and I had to pick it up, too."
    Grandma merely shook her head, chuckling her amusement.  "You're
a newcomer, that's why.  Though I doubt they'd give you better even if
you'd lived here all your life.  That's the way it is now adays.
Everybody's out for themselves."
    "Well, since you were good enough to give me such a prime cut, I
will simply have to insist that you stay for supper."
    "Well, Mr. Armsbury, ..."
    "Call me Quentin, please.  Everyone does," he beamed.
    "Well, Quentin, ... I think I might just take you up on your kind
offer.  Thank you."
    "Not at all, ... Grandma.  Your company positively delights me."
    Grandma's cheeks pinkened again and she returned his smile.
"You know, I thought you looked like a nice young man the minute I
saw you first walk in.  Most people aren't like that now adays, you
know.  Ha!  Back when I was younger than you, my father would've
given his right arm to a neighbor who needed a hand.  And he did,
too.  Lopped it off just below the shoulder.  What a mess!  But did he
complain?  Ha!  He was glad he could do it what with all the starving
going on that winter."  The old woman gave a little giggle as she
lowered her voice and added, "You know, my father always did bite
his nails.  Well, the people he sent the arm to sent him back a bowl
of the stew with a pinky in it, you know?  Mother Cooper took one
look at that and said, 'I knew it was only a matter of time.'  My father
laughed so hard!  I'll never forget the look on his face."  She shook
her head and laughed again just thinking about it.
    "Mother Cooper?  Is that the one who scared the indian out of her
kitchen?"
    "Oh, no.  No, that was Grandmother Cooper.  Did I tell you, the
darn fool indian came back a week later?  Fed us for almost three
weeks, he did."
    "Well, that was certainly a bit of good fortune."
    "Sure was.  Grandmother Cooper was getting on in years, but she
still swung a mean frying pan.  We were just about out of food, too.
Nearly et the mailman!"
    "No!"
    "Yes, and he was a scrawny thing, too," Grandma nodded
vigorously.  "Yep.  Things were different back in those days.  Now
adays, ... sheesh!"
    Quentin couldn't agree with her more.  "Well, this certainly is a
pleasure, Mrs. Cooper."
    "Oh, just call me Grandma.  Everyone does."