“Yeah, but God help me, I didn’t tell her the whole truth neither.” Queenie flicked an oyster into the bowl. “You remember Miss Vidrine. Can’t imagine she’s changed a lick in the last ten years.”
Doll had been around twelve years old when Mr. Graham brought Miss Vidrine to have dinner at the house. She’d never forget that first visit. It still made her seethe. During dinner, Miss Vidrine had called Doll over. She told Doll how much she hated liver and told her never to serve it when she came to visit. Then, in front of everyone, she proceeded to spit the chewed-up liver out into Doll’s hand. She did it right there in front of Miss Fannie and Mr. Graham. Everybody saw it. And nobody did anything about it.
“Sure I remember, Mama, but why does it matter?”
“I’ll tell you why. That Vidrine, she saw this big house, thought Mr. Graham was rich. Then she come around, put some kind a spell on Mr. Graham, the only way I know how to explain it.”
“It weren’t no spell. Way I remember it, she announced to Miss Fannie over dinner one night that she was having Mr. Graham’s baby.”
Queenie wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and gave Doll an intent stare. “We got bigger problems, now that Mr. Graham’s gone. All Vidrine got to do now is wait for Miss Fannie to pass on. Then she can move in here and take over, become mistress of this here house.”
Doll dropped an oyster onto the table and looked up. “I know, Mama. I been thinking the same thing.”
“Don’t you go running your mouth to Miss Ibby about all this. Don’t want her to get no wrong ideas, think we meddling. You understand? Not a word.” She shucked a few more oysters, then looked up at Doll. “Where you think Miss Vidrine go off to anyway?”
Doll shrugged. “Don’t think she had the right mind to tell nobody.”
Queenie was silent for a moment. “We got to come up with a plan to make sure she never gets her hands on any a Miss Fannie’s money. And we got to come up with something right quick.”
Her mama had a fierce, determined look on her face. Doll knew that look. It meant by the time that sack of oysters was empty, Queenie was going to have a plan all hatched and ready to go.
Chapter Eight
Queenie was so riled up trying to come up with a plan to keep Miss Vidrine out of the house that it only took about twenty minutes to finish the oyster shucking. All the while, Doll was conjuring her own plan so she could join her friends on Canal Street. She decided to use the same ploy she often did, by pretending to be upstairs in her sewing room working on a new dress for Miss Fannie. Her mother never came upstairs anyway, so if she planned it right, she could sneak away while her mother was watching her stories on the television as she did the ironing.
“My, look a the time,” Queenie said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Almost eleven-thirty. Better hurry up so I can watch my stories.”
Queenie pulled the ironing board from the utility closet in the kitchen and dragged it into the parlor. Doll hurried down the hall toward the stairs.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” Doll said.
Queenie didn’t answer. She was too busy tuning into Search for Tomorrow to care. Once her stories came on, she was in a different world. That’s one thing Doll could count on. Doll stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for her moment. When she heard Queenie talking back to the television, she knew her chance had come. She tiptoed down the hall past her. Not that it really mattered. Queenie had the volume on the TV turned up so loud the whole neighborhood could probably hear, even with the windows closed.
Doll made her way out the back door and to the garage, where she’d stashed a set of clothes for such occasions when she wanted to get away from the house. She changed out of her maid’s uniform into a pair of slacks, a white cotton shirt, and some loafers. When she got to the front of the house, she peeked through the window, where she could see her mother leaning on the ironing board with her chin in her hands, staring at the television. She hurried down the street toward the bus stop, aware that she was garnering suspicious stares from some of Miss Fannie’s neighbors because to them, a black person out of uniform scurrying down the street only meant trouble.
When she reached the corner, she found a few maids in uniform huddled together at the bus stop on their way to run errands for the mistresses of the house. She checked her watch. It was eleven-forty. She was supposed to meet her friends at the corner of Canal Street and St. Charles at noon. She felt a sense of relief when she spotted the bus only a few blocks away.