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“She’s older than my grandmother.” “She’s older than baseball.”

The stranger said, “I’ll eat dinner and after that I can take care of myself. Thanks, fellas, for warning me.”

Bobby shouted, “Her lemon pie will make a rabbit hug a hound.”

Taylor added, “Make a preacher lay his Bible down.”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Townsend entered her house and went directly to her sewing box. She put on her glasses and took out a needle.

She walked back down the path to her house and stuck the needle in a tree.

She returned to the house and began to cook a chicken she had resting in the refrigerator. For the next hour she stirred pots and shifted pans, then she set her dining table for two. She had time to freshen up and change before her company came.

“Well, welcome, Mr. Wilson.”

He was a little cooler than he had been at church.

She knew why but she also knew he hadn’t eaten her cooking.

“The bathroom is here if you would like to freshen up. Dinner is not quite ready yet.”

Of course everything was ready, but she wanted him to have time to breathe in the fine aromas floating in the air.

She served him chicken and dumplings. Chicken tender as mercy and dumplings light as summer clouds.

The side dishes were fried yellow summer squash and English peas.

He didn’t care that he was eating as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. She kept pressing him, “Eat some more, but save a place for dessert. Some people swear by my lemon meringue pie.”

Between bites she thought she heard him mumble, “That’s my favorite.”

When he put his first bite of Mrs. Townsend’s pie in his mouth, he was hers. He was ready to marry her or let her adopt him.

She sat opposite and watched as with each forkful he surrendered more.

After the second slice he would have followed her to the Sahara Desert.

She said, “Let’s go out on the porch for the air.”

He replied meekly, “Yes, ma’am.”

Once they settled into the swing on the porch she said, “My goodness, night has fallen. It’s quite dark.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s dusk all right.”

They swung a few times.

She asked, “What on earth is that shining down there in that tree?”

He squinted, “I can’t hardly see a tree.”

She said, “Yes, I see it. It’s either a needle or a pin shining. Well, I do say. It’s a needle.”

He asked, “You can tell?”

She said, “Yes, I see the hole. I’ll go get it.”

He said, “Well, that proves you are not as old as they say you are. When you come back I may have some talk for you.”

She stepped off the porch and went down the lane and retrieved the needle. When she came back she could hardly see the house, but she kept walking with her head up, triumph in her grasp.

She tripped in the darkness. After much fumbling she was able to stand erect. She saw that she had fallen over a cow that had lain down in the lane.

Mr. Wilson saw her fall, and he could see the cow. When she gave a little scream, he bounded off the porch to help her. Once she collected herself, he said, “Well, thank you for dinner. I have to go.”

She asked, “Can’t you stay for one more slice of pie? ”The strength of the pie can be seen in the fact that he did stop to think about it.

She took his arm as if she wasn’t going to give it back. He thought of the pie again and then the cow and the possible pouncing. He said, “No, ma’am, ” and snatched his arm and went away running. He escaped, but he never forgot the pie.

Each time, my grandmother laughed until tears flooded her cheeks. I think she knew Mrs. Townsend or someone very much like her.

Here is the recipe. In fact, here are the recipes for Mrs. Townsend’s entire Young-Man-Catching Sunday Afternoon Dinner.

Best wishes.

Lemon Meríngue Píe

SERVES 6

1 cup sugar

3 tablespoons cornstarch

⅛ teaspoon salt

1½ cups hot water

1½ cups crumbs from soft-type bread (no crusts)

4 large egg yolks (reserve whites for Meringue)

1 tablespoon butter

Grated rind of 1 medium lemon

Juice of 2 medium lemons

One 9-inch pie shell, baked

Meringue (recipe follows)

Preheat oven to 400°F.

In top part of double boiler, mix well sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Stir in hot