Natalie had to process the accent and the slang. It tickled her that they seemed to have their own dialect up here. Would it be that she’d be talking like that a year from now too? She highly doubted it.
Jambalaya wasn’t something Natalie had ever eaten before. She hoped that fairy stone would bring enough luck that there might be something more on the menu today.
There were a dozen tables filled with diners in the far corner of the hardware store. A kitchen was tucked behind a chalkboard that ran the length of the wall. In bold shimmery goldletters, “Nelle’s” had been painted on a sign that hung from the ceiling.
Orene marched up to a heavyset woman wearing a colorful apron and stirring a pot as big as a witch’s kettle with a huge wooden spoon. “Nelle. Need you to meet somebody. We got us a new neighbor.”
Nelle never stopped stirring the bubbling cauldron. Her toothy grin, spaced like Chiclets, gave her an appearance that matched the jack-o-lantern faces on Orene’s playful shirt. “Who do we have here?”
The woman’s accent was thick. Not like the others in this town.
“Hi, I’m Natalie.”
“I’m Nelle, and I’m happy to meet anyone who’s a friend of my dear friend Orene here. How do you know each other?”
Natalie silently translated the thick accent, trying to decipher the question. Or was it just a comment?
“She’s Nawlins to the core,” Orene said with a nudge.
“Love Nawlins, but I’m Creole. It’s different.”
“And you run this kitchen. It smells wonderful.”
“Cookin’ like I always did back home, because it makes me happy, and my food makes them happy.”
“I can see that.” People at every table were devouring the food. “I’ve never had Creole food. Is it spicy?”
“Naw, girl. You’ll love my food. You two go sit down. I’ll bring it over in a jiffy.”
“Nelle.” Orene’s voice had lost its play. She nodded toward Natalie. “She was married to Jeremy.”
Nelle’s eyes widened. “Oh. I’m so sorry. But it’s good you’re here. Finally. How wonderful. He’s greatly missed around here.”
“You knew him?”
“I did.” Her Creole accent hung in the air as rich and spicy as the jambalaya. “Amazing what brings people to this town. Brings us together, yes? Family. It’s the most important thing.”
“Is that what brought you to Chestnut Ridge?” Natalie asked.
Nelle glanced over at Orene. “Oh, goodness, my dear. A hurricane blew me up here, but that’s a very long story for another time. I’ve got cooking to do. You two go sit. I’ve got work to do.”
“A hurricane? My goodness.”
“Oh, but it’s true. Devastating, my dear, but don’t let that worry you. It was the best change in my life. It brought me here.” Her eyes glistened, echoing the cheerful look on her face. “Go. You two sit. Get hungry. I’ll tell you the whole story another time.”
“I look forward to hearing it,” Natalie said, but Orene was already pushing her toward an open table.
“You will,” Orene said. “Trust me. You can’t escape her stories.”
Nelle tossed a hand towel at Orene. “You get on outta my kitchen, you can’t be nice. Before I say something to get me in trouble.” Her hearty laugh ended in a howl that sounded like the last hanging note in a song.
Before they even got settled at the tiny corner table, a young girl was bringing bowls of jambalaya to them. Without a word, the colorful bowls were set down, and another teenager brought glasses of sweet tea over.
“We didn’t order this,” Natalie said.
“There’s no ordering here. We get what we get and be happy with it.” Orene placed a paper napkin in her lap.
“Hmmm, I am not sure about this.”
