Doll took in a deep breath. What Miss Fannie was saying got her to thinking. What if Miss Vidrine planned to move herself into this here house once Miss Fannie passed? Maybe she wouldn’t even wait that long. . . . Miss Vidrine knew Miss Fannie’d been to the nuthouse on occasion over the years. What if she tried to have Miss Fannie committed? What if she knew the truth about Miss Fannie? The thought of Miss Vidrine becoming mistress of the house made Doll sick to her stomach.
“Miss Fannie, you just had a shock, and I can see a bump coming out on your head where you hit the table. You ain’t thinking too clearly right now. Why don’t you take a little rest?”
“Yes, let me think on it some more.” Fannie closed her eyes. “Let me think on it.”
Doll glanced down at Fannie. She had a Cheshire smile spread wide across her face, the kind Doll had seen many times before.
Just pray it passes, Doll thought as she shut the door.
Chapter Six
The cane-seat stool squeaked across the linoleum floor as Ibby pulled it toward the kitchen table. Queenie was up at the sink humming to herself, her sturdy legs, with the stockings rolled down to just below her fat knees, swaying beneath her gray uniform. From the back, her head looked like a bowling ball, save for the tiny bun the size of a quarter set squarely in the middle of it.
The counter where Queenie was working was cluttered with tins of flour and sugar, a grease-filled coffee can, a ceramic container full of spoons and whisks, a cookie jar, a bread box, several wooden cutting boards stacked against each other, and a small transistor radio. She glided back and forth across the counter like a trolley on wheels—cutting, dicing, rinsing; pulling things from the shelves; stirring the big pot on the heavy relic of a stove; checking the oven and intermittently dabbing her forehead with a dish towel.
“Queenie?” Ibby asked after a while.
“Yes, baby?” Queenie answered without turning around.
“My grandma—is she going to be all right?”
Queenie tapped the spoon on the side of the pot, wiped her hands on her apron, then glanced over her shoulder and gave Ibby a motherly look. “Miss Fannie been mighty worked up ever since she got the news that Graham passed. And that urn you just set on the table in front of her about did her in. Doll took her into the bedroom for a little rest. She’ll be just fine. Just give her some time.”
Queenie must have noticed the sweat running down the side of Ibby’s face. She took a rag from the drawer and ran it under the faucet.
“Hold this up against your cheek. It’ll cool you off. Ain’t no air conditioning in this old house. You’ll get used to it after a while.” Queenie grabbed a bottle from the icebox and tapped the metal top on the edge of the blue Formica counter until it popped off. She stuck a straw into the bottle and handed it to Ibby. “Here, drink this. Maybe something cool will help.”
Ibby couldn’t decide if she liked the almond soda, called Dr. Nut, but it was cold, and that was all that mattered. She glanced out the back window, where, beyond the reach of the tall pecan tree, several sets of sheets flapped from a clothesline. Just off the back of the house was a screened porch with a picnic table. Above the table, six or eight plastic bags filled with water dangled from the rafters, glistening in the sun like uncut diamonds. Queenie saw her staring at them.
“Those called penny bags. Each of them got a brand-new penny on the bottom. The light reflecting off the penny supposed to confuse the flies, so they don’t come around and bother the food, although every time I see a fly, they confused enough already. Know what I mean?” Queenie chuckled.
The smell from the cast-iron pot filled the air.
“What are you cooking?” Ibby asked.
“This here’s redfish courtbouillon.” The word came out of Queenie’s mouth sounding like koo-bee-yon. “Kind a like a fish stew. It got to cook a good while, know itself first, before it be done. Just waiting on the redfish that Mr. Pierce the fish man gone bring by the house later.” She began dicing up some vegetables and tossing them into a bowl. When she finished, she tilted the bowl so Ibby could see what was inside. “This here is the Holy Trinity. Onion, celery, and poivron, or what some folks call bell pepper. Along with a touch of garlic and a smidgen of cayenne pepper, the Holy Trinity goes into just about everything I cook. Can’t use too much pepper, though. Miss Fannie gets indigestion, and believe you me, you don’t want to be around when that happens.” She tossed the contents of the bowl into the pot, stirred it a few more times, then put the lid on.
Doll came into the kitchen and tugged at her hair. Ibby was aghast when Doll pulled it completely off her head.
“Miss Ibby, you gone catch one of them flies in that mouth if you don’t close it,” Queenie said.
Doll laughed when she saw the look on Ibby’s face. “You thought that was my real hair? No, baby, just a wig.” Doll tossed the hairpiece onto the counter by the back window.
“How’s Miss Fannie? Should we call the doctor?” Queenie asked.
“She got a mighty fine bump on her head, but she’ll be all right.”
“You sure we don’t need to call the doctor?”
“No, Mama, she just needs a little rest, that’s all.” Doll sat on a stool near the back window and stared out into the backyard.