“No, she had left that blank,” he said. “I had to fill in some of the final details. She didn’t have a birth certificate, so I had to rely on her word.”
“That be about right,” Queenie said. “I think she was barely eighteen when she and Mr. Norwood moved into this here house.”
“The services are planned for Thursday morning at ten-thirty,” Mr. Rainold added.
“That gone give me only two days to cook. How many you think gone come by after the funeral? Couple hundred?” Queenie asked.
“A couple of hundred?” Ibby gawked. “I thought you said she planned a small funeral.”
“Small to Miss Fannie ain’t the same thing as small to you and me,” Queenie said.
“I think Queenie’s right. Fannie knew a lot of people in a lot of different circles,” Mr. Rainold said.
“I better get started.” Queenie rushed off toward the kitchen.
“Ibby,” he said in a low voice. “Are you up to going over the will? We can wait if you like.”
She took in a breath. “We’ve got to do it sooner or later so let’s get it over with.”
“There’s not much to it, really,” he said.
As Mr. Rainold read Fannie’s last will and testament, his words were all a jumble, floating over her head. She felt as if a bulldozer had run over her, then backed up to make sure she was squished flat. Nothing was registering.
“It’s fairly straightforward,” Mr. Rainold went on. “Fannie wished for Queenie and Doll to take some memento from the house, anything they like.”
She fidgeted with the edges of her shirt. “Okay.”
“She took the liberty of paying off the remainder of your college tuition at Tulane, as well as Birdelia’s at Southern University,” he added. “So at least you don’t have to worry about that.” He put the document down on the table. “There isn’t much else left in the estate, except for this house, which she willed to you.” He pointed at various objects. “Now I see she has some things of value, such as those Drysdale paintings on the wall and all that Newcomb pottery in the china cabinet, which you could probably sell at auction.” He peered at her over his reading glasses. “And there’s about five thousand dollars in a bank account. But she never did keep much cash in the bank.”
“She never trusted banks after the Depression,” she said. “That much I know.”
He touched her hand. “I know this is all happening so fast. I’ll let you think on it. You don’t have to do anything about it now. I just wanted you to know where things stood.”
He got up and let himself out.
Ibby sat at the table for a good long while after he left. She thought about what Fannie had said after Purnell died. She said people should have proper funerals so everyone could say their last goodbyes. Fannie had spent so much of her life worrying about where she was going to be buried. In an odd way, it seemed strange that she wasn’t here to witness her own send-off.
Ibby could hear Queenie banging around in the kitchen. Whatever it was Queenie was cooking was making her hungry.
“Now, Miss Ibby, don’t you fret,” Queenie said as Ibby came into the kitchen. “We gone take care of everything. I done this so many times I could put on a funeral in my sleep.”
Ibby forced a smile. “Thank you, Queenie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Now listen, baby. This is what’s gone happen. By the time we get back from the burial, people gone be lined up at the door waiting to get in the house so they can get their fill of food and drink. They gone hang around all afternoon, and some into the night, before they take their leave. And they gone all tell you how much they adored Miss Fannie, whether they liked her or not.” Queenie gave out a light chuckle.
Ibby didn’t laugh.
“Come on, Miss Ibby. Got to carry on.”
Ibby looked up at her. “I just don’t feel like it right now.”
“I know you’re sad, but that ain’t the way Miss Fannie would have wanted it. She had a good life, all in all, and she loved you. That’s what you need to keep in your heart. Remember the good times. Like when that tree came through the window and Miss Fannie was trapped like a caged bird. Remember that? Remember how she looked?”
That brought a smile to Ibby’s face.
“That’s what I like to see.” Queenie patted Ibby on the back. “Now listen, I gone do all the cooking. Doll can whip up a nice black funeral dress for you. Crow can bartend. That’s about all there is to it.” She shook her head. “We sure gone miss that old lady.”
Ibby smiled again. Queenie always did refer to Fannie as “that old lady” even though Fannie was younger than Queenie.
Doll came into the kitchen. “Miss Ibby, Mr. Rainold told me to pick out Miss Fannie’s burial clothes. You care?”
“Why don’t you pick out a nice dress,” Ibby said as the doorbell rang.