“Listen to me, Miss Fannie. I’m gone have to turn this baby before it’ll come out. Understand?”
Queenie had her hand on Fannie’s stomach, feeling for the head. When she found it, she nudged the baby around by pressing on Fannie’s stomach on either side of her belly. Fannie let out another scream. She was sweating profusely.
“Give me some time, Lawd,” Queenie said. “Give me some time.”
After twenty minutes or so, Queenie felt she had the baby turned. She wiped Fannie’s forehead and spoke to her gently. “Now Miss Fannie, when I say so, you got to push down hard. We gone get this baby out. Okay now, push.”
Fannie’s face scrunched up in the worst grimace Queenie had ever seen on a human being.
“That’s it, Miss Fannie. One more like that, think we gone have a baby. One more push now. Give it all you got.”
This time when Fannie bore down, the baby came sliding out and let out a wail.
“I got it, Miss Fannie. Oh, she a beautiful baby girl. The most beautiful baby girl I ever seen.”
Fannie fell back onto the pillows.
Queenie rushed to the bathroom. After she cleaned the baby up, she wrapped the child in a towel and set the baby on her knees. She had never seen a child with eyes like that, one brown and one a bluishgray.
“Let me see her!” Fannie called out.
Queenie fretted. How I gone tell her? What I’m gone do?
“Queenie, is something wrong with the baby?”
“No, Miss Fannie. Just gone clean her up a little.” Queenie was stalling, trying to figure out what to say.
When Queenie looked into those eyes of that baby, she knew what she had to do. She swaddled the baby and brought it over to Fannie, who held it in the crook of her arm.
“Miss Fannie, she a beautiful little girl. Looks just like a little king cake baby, with perfect little arms and legs, just a little china doll.” Queenie stroked the baby’s face with the back of her finger. She was afraid of what Miss Fannie might do now that she had seen the baby.
Fannie closed her eyes.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, Miss Fannie. You thinking you can’t keep no colored baby. But I have an idea. Just listen to what I have to say. Just listen.”
Fannie put her arm over her face. Queenie had no idea what Fannie was thinking. All she knew was she had to save this baby.
Queenie began to talk, not knowing if Fannie was even listening. “Miss Fannie, this is what I’m gone do. I’m gone take this child and raise her like my own. Take her home and say she mine. Folks, they won’t know the difference. I’m so fat, no one ever knows when I’m with child until my babies show up anyway. Be the same for this child. Miss Fannie, I always wanted a baby girl. Now I got one. This way I can bring her around every day. You can watch her grow up. What you say, Miss Fannie?”
Fannie was lying there, staring at the ceiling. She was so still, Queenie was afraid she might have up and died from the shock of it all.
Fannie looked at Queenie. “You would do that?” It came out just above a whisper.
“Sure, Miss Fannie. It’ll work out just fine for both of us that way.”
“What about Crow?”
“Don’t you worry none about Crow. He’s gone be tickled to have a baby girl. You’ll see.”
Fannie stared at Queenie for a good five minutes. “So, what are you going to name her?”
A huge sense of relief passed over Queenie when she heard that. She picked up the baby and bounced her up and down in her arms. “Well, think I’ll name her Viola, after my mama.”
“Viola,” Fannie said, managing a smile. “That’s a nice name.”
“But look at that pudgy little face. Just like a little doll. Think I’m gone call her Dollbaby. What you think, Miss Fannie?”
Chapter Forty-Two
Doll had been listening by the door. There it was, the secret of her life, all out in the open. Doll had never heard her mother tell the story like this. In fact, this was probably the first time the whole story had ever been told. Doll smiled to herself. Mama never told me I had a pudgy face.
It was like the knife she’d had in her back all these years was gone, tossed away.
There was no remorse. No fear. Only a sense of relief.
Doll felt for the letter in her pocket, the one Mr. Rainold had given to her after the funeral. She pulled it out and examined the writing on the envelope. It was addressed to Viola Trout and was written with a fountain pen in swirly letters, smudged on one side, where Fannie had let her finger slide across the wet ink. It was Fannie’s handwriting, no doubt. Doll ran her finger over the letters, trying to imagine Fannie writing her name on it. She hadn’t had the gumption to open it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was inside.
Doll slipped her finger under the flap and took out the letter. Her hands were trembling as she read it.