Doll climbed onto the picnic table and removed a large web from the corner. She came back into the kitchen and handed it to Queenie, who gently folded it over several times and placed it on top of Ibby’s skinned-up knee.
“No need to buy no gauze when we got spiderwebs do just as good.” Queenie winked at Ibby. “Just hold it in place a spell. It’ll get that knee to quit bleeding.” She motioned toward the refrigerator. “Now, Doll, go fetch me one of them tallow candles, the ones I keep in the icebox in case Miss Fannie hurts herself.”
Doll handed the candle to Queenie, who placed it against Ibby’s eye, which was now a splotchy mess of purple and red where Annabelle had punched her.
Queenie’s forehead crinkled up. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Is it true?” Ibby asked.
“Is what true?” Queenie asked.
“That my grandma was a stripper on Bourbon Street?” Ibby said with eyes so wide they looked as if they might pop.
Doll shook her head. What had that devil child been telling Miss Ibby?
“Now, tell me, Miss Ibby, how on earth something like that ever come up?” Queenie asked.
“Annabelle said her mama told her that the lady who lived in the haunted house down the street was nothing but trash, a stripper from Bourbon Street.”
“Miss Annabelle said that?” Queenie asked.
Ibby nodded. “I got mad, so I pushed the swing and it accidentally hit her in the head. She started screaming bloody murder.”
“Bet she did,” Doll said. “She’s one big drama queen.”
“Then Annabelle came over and raised her fist at me, said she was gonna beat me up until I saw stars coming out of my eyes.”
Doll pulled up a stool next to Ibby and handed Queenie another cold candle.
“Bet that’s not the first time Miss Annabelle been in a fight.” Queenie changed out the candle and held the new one up against Ibby’s eye.
“Then what happened?” Doll prodded, wondering how much Miss Annabelle had told Miss Ibby.
“Annabelle punched me, so I kicked her. Next thing I know she’s pushed me down on the driveway, so I yanked her down by the ankle. We were rolling around on the ground when Ernestine came out and turned the hose on us.” Ibby’s words were coming out so fast she could barely catch her breath.
“Calm down, Miss Ibby. We ain’t going nowhere,” Queenie said.
Ibby began to hiccup.
Queenie patted her on the back. “Take a deep breath.”
“Then what?” Doll asked.
“Well . . . when Annabelle’s mother comes outside to see what was going on, Annabelle leaps up and tells her mama it’s my fault, that I called her names. So her mama tells Ernestine to bring me home. Says I’m not welcome there anymore. Tells me not to come back.”
“I knew it weren’t a good idea when Miss Fannie suggested it,” Queenie mumbled.
“What we gone do?” Doll asked. “Miss Fannie gone notice that eye for sure.”
Queenie took the candle away and inspected Ibby’s eye. “Just gone be one a those times we pretend there’s nothing wrong, ’less she asks. Miss Ibby, you run on upstairs and change out of them wet clothes. Don’t say nothing about your run-in with Miss Annabelle when you come back down for lunch, and whatever you do, child, don’t let on what Miss Annabelle say about your grandma, you hear me?”
Ibby jumped down from the stool. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
After Ibby left the kitchen, Doll looked over at her mother. “So, Mama, just how long you think you can keep putting off Miss Ibby? Sooner or later she gone find out the truth about Miss Fannie.”
Queenie glanced out the back window. She had on one of her thinking faces. She turned back around. “Rule Number Six.”
“Since when we get a Rule Number Six?” Doll asked.
“Since just now.”
“So what’s Rule Number Six?”
“Whatever you do, you got to keep Miss Ibby away from Miss Annabelle.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ibby inched sideways into her chair, trying to keep her eye turned away from Fannie, as she took her seat at the table for lunch.
“What’s all this?” Fannie asked as Queenie placed a platter on the table.
“Thought Miss Ibby might like to try something different while she’s here.” Queenie put a bottle of hot sauce on the table. “Know how you like gazpacho during tomato season. And on the platter we got oysters three ways—on the half shell, oysters Rockefeller, and oysters Bienville. On the small plate is some cornbread, already buttered, just the way you like it.”
Fannie leaned over and whispered to Ibby, “She’s trying to impress you. She never makes all this just for me.”
“Oh, and there ain’t no hereafter today, Miss Fannie, just so you know.” Queenie gave Ibby a brief smile before she went back into the kitchen.
It was one of those keep-your-mouth-shut kind of smiles.
Ibby reached for a piece of cornbread. “What’s hereafter?”