Ibby could tell something was on her mind.
Queenie placed a bowl in front of Ibby. “Go on, eat up, baby. You must be hungry after your trip.”
Ibby poked at the white blob in the bowl with the spoon. “What is it?”
“Taste it first, then I’ll tell you,” Queenie said.
Ibby didn’t like that answer. That was the kind of answer her mother used to give her when she was trying to get her to eat cauliflower, and the one thing she hated more than anything was cauliflower. She gingerly pinched off a minuscule portion and examined it before letting the tip of her tongue linger on the spoon, trying to decide if it was to her liking. To her surprise, the stuff was pleasantly sweet. She noticed Queenie watching her.
“You never had clabber before, I can tell,” Queenie said.
Ibby shook her head. “What is clabber, exactly?”
“You let the milk sit out for a day or two until it sours and the top part congeals. I sprinkled a little nutmeg and cinnamon on top to give it some punch.”
Ibby pushed her empty bowl away. “Glad you didn’t tell me what it was before I ate it.”
“Doll here tells me you like music,” Queenie said. “What kind you like?”
“Moody Blues,” Ibby said.
“Blues? We got plenty of blues in New Orleans,” Queenie said.
Doll gave a little laugh. “No, Mama, The Moody Blues, they a new band from England.”
“England? You don’t need no band from England when we got the likes of Allen Toussaint, Dr. John, and Irma Thomas right here. Ain’t that so, Doll?”
“I guess.” Doll shrugged.
“Girl, what’s wrong with you this morning?” Queenie waved the dishrag in Doll’s direction. “You love Miss Irma.”
Doll began plucking at her hairpiece as if she had a vendetta against it.
“I think maybe Doll’s upset that I’m here,” Ibby interjected.
“Now, Miss Ibby,” Doll said. “Where’d you get such an idea?”
“Because I know Fannie didn’t invite me to visit. My mama just dropped me off here because she didn’t have anywhere else for me to go.”
“You take that sorry look off your face and listen to me, little girl,” Queenie said as she pulled up a chair and sat next to Ibby. “Miss Fannie, she was beside herself when she found out you were coming.”
Ibby shook her head. “Fannie doesn’t seem to be very happy that I’m here.”
“That’s just Miss Fannie.” Queenie reached over and grabbed a brown egg from the counter, then placed it on the table in front of Ibby. She gave it a slight twirl. “Look at it this way. Your grandmother, she’s kind a like this here egg. If the egg wobbles, means it’s raw, so I throw it into the batter and make a cake. If it spins kind of even, like this one here, means it’s cooked, so I make egg salad instead.”
“Maybe you should get a cracked egg, Mama. Be more to the point,” Doll quipped.
Queenie glared at Doll. “Point is, you got to know whether the egg is cooked or raw before you know what to do with it.”
“Was she always like that egg?” Ibby asked.
Queenie got up and went over to the counter. “No, Miss Ibby. She didn’t start out that way. She start out fresh and new, like we all do. Did you see that big tree out in the front yard?”
“Yeah,” Ibby said. “Why?”
“Well, you see how big the trunk is and how those limbs kind of fall down all over the place? That tree didn’t start out that big. It grew over the years until it got so tall that it start to lean. Sometimes we got to prop it back up so it don’t topple over. Same as we do with Miss Fannie.” She put her hand on her back and winced.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Doll asked.
“Got ninety-five-year-old legs on a sixty-year-old body,” Queenie said as she leaned back against the counter and nodded over at Ibby. “See what I’m telling you? Kind of like that tree in the front yard. My legs, they just don’t want to hold me up no more.”
“Now your mama, she another story,” Doll said to Ibby. “Put Miss Fannie and Miss Vidrine in the same room, be hard to tell which one come out standing.”
Queenie frowned at Doll. “Now why’d you go and bring that up? Miss Fannie wouldn’t like it if she knew we were talking about her. It ain’t our place.”
“Okay then, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to ask her myself,” Ibby said.
Queenie and Doll looked at each other.
“No, baby, don’t do that.” Queenie sat down at the table next to Ibby. She pointed a finger. “Rule Number One in this house. Don’t ever go asking Miss Fannie about her past. Gets her all emotional. Rule Number Two. She starts talking about her past, let her talk but don’t go asking no questions. Rule Number Three. You see her hand start twitching, you better change the subject or she gone have one of her spells. Rule Number Four. You got something you want to know, you come ask one of us.”
“But you said it wasn’t your place to say anything,” Ibby said.