My name is Bess. Some people in Harts Corner and around these parts, call me a scary woman. Others call me a Voodoo Queen. Others say I do evil things. But many can attest to the fact that my salves, brewed teas, and potions have cured many of their ailments. Mary Margaret Butler calls me a conjurin' woman. I'm not so sure I understand the true meanin' of that word and if'n I did, I most probably wouldn't like it. I just call myself a healer and let it go at that.
My immediate family came from islands off the coast of Georgia. They been around for almost two hundred years there. Before that some kin says they came from a Caribbean country, and I do believe the original of my folks is, like most people of color, Africa. I never paid much mind to where I came from. The God put me on this earth and here I be. And The Lady has a lot to do with the fact that I's still here.
She gives me the power to keep people healthy. I worship her--leavin' out bowls of her favorite herbs, berries, twigs. I lights candles all around the room I've set aside for her. And she is there when I need to study on a hard case, come up with somethin' powerfully healin' or soothin' for some one in real need of a cure. Now, those Baptists and other church preachers (and some members) around will be mighty quick to tell you that I am spreadin' evil with my thoughts and beliefs. Where do they get their information? Do God come down and tell them that Bess LeClaire is an evil woman? Do he tell them not to come out here to get help? Is it at his direction that they smile at me when I do go into town, and cross themselves when my back is turned? Hmm, some pious people those are.
Traditional medicine don't help everyone. And my medicine don't either. Part of the reason it kept the pain away from Lutie Mae Lucas was because she believed I could somehow help her. Long before she got the cancer, she had come to me for such things as the mid-life miseries, colds, fevers, and a cough that lingered. I made her a tea of three barks for the cough near the end of her life and when it didn't help, I convinced her she needed to see a lung specialist. I don't fool around with life-threaten' diseases.
Now Mary Margaret is not a believer. She is a fearer--a feared of the hoodoo stuff, as she calls it. She sees Dr. Barnes when she lets things go too far--if she'd let me mix her up a little tea, she could save her money--and she don't even want Bethy Rose to know about my remedies. I respect her wishes and Bethy Rose and I just remain friends. She's a precious child that deserves all the happiness she can grab hold of.
I don't do too much cookin' anymore but, unknown probably to Mary Margaret, there are a couple of the tried and true favorite dishes served at the Blue Moon that I gave Lutie Mae. You know, in the old days--and sometimes even today--farmers raise a hog just for butcherin' in the fall to put meat in their freezers. Folks used to bring me bacon, a ham, and pork chops in payment for herbs. I used this recipe for pork chops.
Fried Pork Chops With Cream Gravy
1 cup all-purpose flour 1 tsp. mixed spices (Cajun used today)
1/4 tsps. garlic powder 1/4 tsp. pepper
8 (4-ozs) boneless center-cut 1 cup buttermilk (nonfat for health)
pork chops Vegetable cooking spray
For Gravy
1 cup milk (fat-free for health) 1/4 tsp. salt
Garnish: coarse ground pepper
Reserve: 2 tbsps. flour, and set aside. Place remaining four in shallow dish.
Combine: Seasoning, garlic powder, and pepper. Rub pork chops evenly on
both sides with seasoning mixture.
Dip: Pork chops in buttermilk; dredge in flour. Lightly coat both sides of
pork with cooking spray.
Cook: Pork chops, in batches, in hot oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-
light heat 5 minutes on each side until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.
For Gravey Add: Reserved 2 tbsps. flour to pan drippings in skillet; stir in milk and salt, and
cook, stirring constantly, until tickened and bubbly. Serve immediately with
pork. Garnish, if desired.
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