Crow drove through downtown and the French Quarter, passing through a section of town called the Faubourg Tremé, where the houses were stacked close together with no yards. Eventually he turned onto Elysian Fields, a broad boulevard lined with live oaks and modest one-story raised shotgun cottages that had once been brightly painted but were now dingy and guarded by heavy iron burglar bars across the windows and doors. The boulevard’s neutral ground was strewn with folding chairs and empty food containers that were being scavenged by a few mangy dogs.
“I wish the neighbors would learn to pick up after themselves,” Doll said under her breath as Crow pulled up in front of their double shotgun, a long narrow house with two front doors on opposite ends that led to mirror-image apartments on either side.
Birdelia jumped up from one of the plastic chairs on the front porch. She was wearing a puff-sleeved blue dress with a white satin sash that was so starched it stuck out like a bell, making Birdelia’s skinny little legs look like Popsicle sticks.
She tore down the steps and pointed at Ibby. “What’s she doing here?”
“That any way to talk to Miss Ibby?” Doll scolded. “Where your manners at?”
“Well, like I say before, what’s she doing here?” Birdelia asked again, still pointing.
“She gone spend the day with us,” Doll replied.
Birdelia looked at Ibby as if she didn’t know quite what to make of that.
“Why don’t you two visit out here a few minutes while we go inside?” Queenie said.
“Okay.” Birdelia shrugged.
When she and Doll got inside, Queenie stopped and leaned on the wall.
Doll put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, Mama?”
Queenie waved her away. “I’m fine. Just never seen Miss Fannie like that before. Scared me a little, that’s all.”
Doll watched her mother shuffle toward the back of the house. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she’d been thinking the same thing. Fannie had always managed to return from St. Vincent’s Hospital after a few days, but what if this time was different? What if Miss Fannie never came back?
Gone have to say an extra prayer at church today, Doll thought as she followed her mother into her bedroom.
Chapter Eighteen
Ibby stood on the porch with Birdelia, studying the small ornamental tree in the front yard that was haphazardly strewn with Mardi Gras beads. Empty blue bottles were stuck on the tips of each branch. She’d never seen anything quite like it.
“Why does that tree have all those blue bottles stuck on the branches like that?” she asked.
“It’s Queenie’s bottle tree,” Birdelia said. “Every time she finishes a bottle of Milk of Magnesia, she sticks it on a branch of the tree. The bottles, they supposed to capture spirits that wander in the night. Mama says them spirits love blue glass, so they crawl up inside, and once they there, they can’t get out. Then, when the sun rises, they burn all up until they no more.”
“What are all the beads for?”
“Them just Mardi Gras beads.”
“What do they do?”
“They just for show. We throw them up in the tree after the parades. Make the tree right pretty, don’t you think?” Birdelia smiled a big toothy smile. “Threw most of them up there myself.”
Birdelia grabbed Ibby’s hand and pulled her inside the house. It smelled of potpourri and overstuffed furniture. Birdelia plopped down on a brown Naugahyde couch that had a crocheted afghan thrown over the back of it.
“This side of the house is where Queenie, Crow, and T-Bone live. Me and Mama live next door, on the other side of the shotgun.”
“Who’s T-Bone?” Ibby asked as she came over and sat next to Birdelia.
“T-Bone? Oh, he’s my uncle. His real name is Thaddeus. They call him T-Bone ’cause he likes to play the trombone. Got a picture a him up there somewhere.” She pointed to a gas fireplace with framed photos perched on the mantel. Birdelia went over and picked one up. “Right here.”
The boy in the photo didn’t look much older than Ibby. He was tall and skinny, with a long face, a broad smile, and close-cropped hair. His eyes held a certain sparkle, as if he’d been up to some mischief.
“He looks awfully young to be your uncle.”
“He’s sixteen. Might be at church this morning, but never can tell with T-Bone. He got a habit a not showing up like he supposed to.”
“Who are the other people in the picture?”
“That one on the left, that were my uncle Ewell, and that one next to him were my uncle Malcolm. Never knew either one. They died before I was born.”
“What happened to them?”
“Not sure about Malcolm. Don’t think no one ever told me. And Ewell, he was shot in a fight right outside this house.” She looked around at the other photos. “Don’t see no pictures of my uncle Purnell. Mee-maw must have taken them all down.”
“Why would she do that?” Ibby asked.
“He ain’t exactly been in Mee-maw’s good graces lately. Been hanging out with bad brothers. Mee-maw kicked him out of the house ’cause she didn’t want him bringing them around no more.” Birdelia put the picture back on the mantel and pointed at Ibby’s dress. “My mama make that?”