Death of a Christmas Caterer (4 page)

Last weekend, while I was whipping up a batch of my mouthwatering pecan pancakes with caramel-apple topping for my daughter and a couple of her BFFs, who were spending the night for her birthday, it totally brought me back to that fateful evening seventeen years earlier when my lovely Gemma first arrived in this world. Of course it couldn't have been a quiet, normal birth. No, she had to show up in true dramatic Powell-family style!

My ex-husband had decided that he would drive up to Ellsworth to do a little Christmas shopping after work one evening, which thrilled me to no end, seeing as he was thinking ahead instead of waiting until the last minute as usual. He had only been gone a couple of hours when I noticed how hard the snow was coming down outside. But living in Maine, he was used to driving in plenty of snow. Plus his truck had four-wheel drive.

My stomach had been a bit upset since dinnertime, which was to be expected, since I had devoured four good-size pecan pancakes with extra caramel-apple topping. I was eight months pregnant and expecting right after the New Year holiday, so I was having serious sweet and savory food cravings for the last three months. Normally, I wouldn't be eating so much. Yeah, let's go with that. I sat down to catch my breath and watch the weather on the news when I suddenly realized we were right in the middle of a severe blizzard warning. Six inches of icy snow and sleet had already fallen outside, and we were expected to get at least six to eight inches more. The wind outside howled and the snow was coming down hard and fast. Just like the pain that was building in my stomach. Probably just the baby kicking or moving around. I didn't want to panic, so I called my friend Mona, who was expertly trained in calming me down. After describing my increasing discomfort, she suggested I might be in labor. I laughed and told her she was crazy because I wasn't due for another three more weeks. Mona wanted Danny to take me straight to the hospital to be safe, but I told her he wasn't there. Suddenly there was a loud crash outside. I jumped and screamed. The phone went dead. I went to the window and saw that a giant tree had fallen on the power line right outside and everyone's electricity had gone out in the neighborhood.

I didn't bother to light any candles and decided just to lie on the couch and try to get comfortable with my aching belly and wait for the electricity to come back on and my husband to arrive home. The pain, however, kept getting worse. Maybe I
was
in labor.
No. Don't even think about that,
I told myself. How would I ever get to the hospital with no car and a raging storm outside? By dogsled?

I lay there for maybe twenty minutes, when suddenly my front door burst open and a bright light blinded me. A giant shadow covered in ice and snow came bursting through the front door. I screamed again. It appeared I was being attacked by the Abominable Snowman! As the monster stepped into the light, grabbing at my arm and yelling at me to stay calm, I realized it was Mona, her wet hair standing straight up in the air like frozen icicles.

She hauled me up off the couch and threw my boots on my feet. Wrapping my winter coat around me, she then half carried, half dragged me. She pulled me right out the front door, the whole time shouting at the top of her lungs about how she had already called Liddy, who was contacting the Bar Harbor Hospital to put them on high alert, and how Liddy was about to call the Bar Harbor Police Department and have them intercept Danny on his way home so he could drive immediately to the hospital.

I glanced around for Mona's truck, but it wasn't there. Apparently, she couldn't back her truck out of the driveway because of all the snow. Instead, she had jumped on her trusty snowmobile with her ice-fishing sled attached to the back and immediately snowmobiled over to my house. She ignored my protesting as she lowered me into the sled, threw a blanket over me, and screeched for me to hold on. Then she jumped on the snowmobile and we roared off like a bat out of hell, slipping and sliding all the way to the hospital while I held on for dear life to the sides, praying that I wouldn't fall out of the sled and deliver the baby in a snowbank on the side of the road!

As Mona sped into the hospital driveway, I lifted my head to see the sliding glass doors to the emergency room ahead of us. I prayed we wouldn't smash right through them. I saw Liddy jumping up and down inside by the admitting desk while waving her arms, frantically warning Mona to slow down. She mercifully let up off the throttle and began applying the brakes and skidded to a stop.

Behind us I heard police sirens blasting full force as a squad car squealed into the driveway, followed by Danny's truck. He had gotten a police escort all the way to town after crossing the Trenton Bridge.

The next thing I knew, Mona was running out the doors, pushing an empty wheelchair, and screaming at the top of her lungs, “Make way for mother and child!” as she pushed past poor Nurse Tilly and knocked her flat on her butt. I was still lying on my back in the sled, thinking to myself what could possibly happen next, when a flash went off in my eyes. It was a local reporter with the
Island Times
hanging around the emergency room on a stormy night, hoping for a story. I guess it was meant to be that I would wind up working for the paper since we always seemed to be in it.

After hoisting me to my feet and setting me down in the wheelchair, I was rushed inside, thinking,
Please don't let this be a false alarm after a fiasco like this!

Well, it wasn't. Gemma Mona Liddy Powell was born at 9:53
P.M.
, three weeks early, with her beaming dad and proud godmothers by her side—and these women, to this day, still fight over who will raise her when I'm dead, which I hope isn't any time soon! A week later, as you can probably guess, the Powell family graced the front page of the local newspaper with the headline
LOCAL COUPLE GET EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT!

Before we get to those pecan pancakes, I find it's always helpful for the chef to clear her mind with a cocktail first. A neighbor of mine gave me this drink recipe when I was pregnant with my daughter. It was very frustrating having to wait until I gave birth before I could try it; but when I did, it became an instant favorite. And since the odds of me getting pregnant now are about as high as me winning the Maine Mega Millions, there's no harm in warming up tonight with a lemon whiskey sour on a cold winter evening.

 

 

 

1½ ounces whiskey

1 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice

½ ounce simple syrup

Maraschino cherry for garnish (optional)

Place all your ingredients in a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake and pour into a cocktail glass and garnish with a cherry.

 

 

 

1 cup all-purpose flour
cup finely chopped pecans, toasted
1 teaspoon granulate sugar
1 teaspoon brown sugar
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon baking soda
Pinch of salt
1 cup nonfat buttermilk
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large egg

 

Stir together the first 8 ingredients. Whisk together your buttermilk, oil, and egg in a bowl. Add to the flour mixture; stir until just moistened.

Pour about ¼ of a cup batter for each pancake onto a hot, lightly greased griddle. Cook 2 to 3 minutes or until the tops have bubbles and the edges are crispy. Turn and cook other side. Top with the caramel-apple topping.

 

2 (12 oz) packages frozen spiced apples, thawed

½ cup packed brown sugar

2 tablespoons butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

¼ teaspoon salt

 

In a saucepan, bring all of your ingredients to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, 2 to 3 minutes or until thoroughly heated.