“No hurry, just come when you can,” Doll said.
When Ibby pulled up in front of the house on Prytania Street, the weathervane on the roof was spinning around so fast the horse looked as if it were chasing its own tail.
“Well, I guess you’re free too,” Ibby said as she got out of the car.
She went in through the front door and stood in the hall. It was strange being in this house, all alone, the only sound coming from the swaying of the pendulum of the grandfather clock. The dining room table where Fannie usually sat in the mornings was empty, not even a place setting. Ibby caught her reflection in the gold-leaf mirror over the fireplace, just the way she had that first day when her mother dropped her off. She’d been a scared little girl who thought her life was ending. She was staring back as a grown woman now who knew that her life hadn’t ended that day—it had just started.
Ibby went upstairs to her old room. She hadn’t been up here in two years, not since she’d moved out to go to college. Her record player was still sitting on the dresser, an album still in it. There had always been a funny smell to the room. Doll called it “that old house smell” that lingered no matter how much she tried to disguise it with Pine-Sol or room fresheners.
Ibby went into the turret room, where all the dolls Fannie had given her were sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, staring back at her with unblinking eyes. There were seven of them, one for each birthday up until she started college. Ibby couldn’t imagine what Queenie wanted with the dolls. Maybe she was just feeling sentimental about Fannie this morning and wanted something else to remember her by.
When Ibby got to the Trouts’ home, Birdelia was waiting for her on the porch. She ushered Ibby inside with a sleepy half-smile. Crow was having coffee at a small dinette table.
“Morning, Miss Ibby,” he said wearily as he got up to greet her.
Ibby motioned for him to sit back down. “How is everybody?”
“All tuckered out,” he said. “But in one piece. That’s what counts.”
“Look, Miss Ibby.” Birdelia pointed at something on a table next to Fannie’s old television that had found a home near the far wall. “You like it?”
Ibby let out a small laugh when she realized she was looking at the bust of Fannie, adorned with a felt fedora and Mardi Gras beads.
Doll came toward them, dressed in a pair of slacks and a sleeveless green turtleneck. “Don’t tell Mama. She ain’t noticed.”
“Not yet, but she gonna soon enough,” Birdelia chuckled.
“Mama’s back in her room lying down. She still a little worn out from yesterday.”
“I can come back,” Ibby offered.
“No, no. She has something she wants to say.” Doll motioned for Ibby to follow her. When they got to the back of the house, Doll stuck her head in the door. “Mama, Miss Ibby’s here.”
Queenie waved Ibby inside. “Come over here, baby. Please excuse me for not getting up.”
The room smelled of lilac and mothballs. Queenie was still in her nightgown, her gray hair hanging loosely around her neck. Ibby cautiously sat on the edge of the bed, holding the doll that she’d asked her to bring.
“I remember that first time you came to visit Miss Fannie. You were a shy little thing. Had that Captain Kangaroo haircut, just like your grandmother. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. I was terrified,” Ibby said. “Mama had convinced me that Fannie was a witch.”
“Fannie was many things, but a witch wasn’t one of them,” Queenie chuckled. Then she grew serious. “Speaking of your mama. Listen, child, I know your mama passed a few years ago. I’m sorry.”
“Doll told you?”
“Sure she did. Miss Fannie knew, too. Mr. Rainold told her not too long after you found out. But Miss Fannie, she never said nothing on account you told Doll not to say anything. Maybe that’s why she never told you.”
“Told me what?”
“About all them birthday dolls, baby. Didn’t you ever wonder why she kept giving you dolls for your birthday?”
“Well, yeah, I thought it was odd, but after I got to know Fannie, it didn’t seem so strange anymore.”
“Believe she stopped giving you them dolls when you turned eighteen. There was a reason for that.”
“I don’t understand,” Ibby said.
“Miss Fannie wanted to make sure them dolls were kept in a safe place, up in that little attic room of yours, until the right time come.” She shook her head. “She hoped you’d live in that house after she was gone, you know.” A pained look came across her face.
Ibby put her hand on Queenie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you worried that if I don’t move back into the house, you won’t have a job?”
Queenie crinkled up her forehead. “Oh, no, Miss Ibby. That ain’t it at all. My back’s just aching a little. I’m old. Maybe it’s time for me to retire. Been working in that house for close to fifty years, you know.”