“Yes,” Ibby said. “For my birthday. And she made me a doll, too.”
“I know,” Birdelia said. “I laid on the floor, and she drew the pattern around me. She say she gone make me one, too, if she ever has the time. My mama, she say she gone go into business someday, sew clothes and stuff for folks. She’d be real good at it, don’t you think?”
Doll emerged from the back room. “You two about ready?”
Birdelia stood up. “You look mighty fine, Mama.”
A white patent-leather pocketbook hung from Doll’s arm and she was wearing a silk shantung dress similar to the one Fannie had worn to lunch at Antoine’s yesterday.
“Thank you, baby,” Doll said as she adjusted her hairpiece.
Queenie came up behind Doll.
“Come on—don’t want to be late.” Queenie shuffled her large frame toward the front door.
Ibby had never seen Queenie in anything but her gray uniform with the white apron. Today she had on a dark purple cotton dress with a lace collar and had somehow managed to puff her hair up into a short bob that peeked out from under a large purple hat. She was carrying a black leather pocketbook in one hand, and white cotton gloves in the other.
“Where’s the old man?” Queenie looked around the room.
“I’m right here, woman.” Crow came into the room wearing a dark pinstripe suit and two-toned shoes.
“Grab the deviled eggs from the icebox.” Queenie pointed toward the kitchen. “And don’t be forgetting the cornbread and collard greens.”
“Already in the car,” Crow said.
“Well, come on then. What you waiting on?” Queenie waved her gloves.
Ibby slid into the car next to Birdelia, who was balancing a tray of deviled eggs on her knees in the backseat. Doll came around the other side and got in as she fastened a scarf around her hair and put on a pair of sunglasses. Queenie rolled the front window down, holding on tight to her hat so it wouldn’t blow off as Crow drove away.
About fifteen minutes later, Crow pulled up in front of the True Love Baptist Church on Dryades Street in Central City, a section of town near the interstate. The area had once been prosperous, catering to small minority-owned businesses, until the addition of a housing project in the 1940s caused the area to dwindle, leaving most of the buildings empty, save a few bars that dotted the corners and an auto repair shop. Streams of people in their Sunday best were making their way toward the church. Crow pulled up to the curb, then came around and opened the door for Queenie.
“Y’all go on in. I’ll find a place to park,” he said.
The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the metal cross perched high above the gabled roof of the small white clapboard church. The red doors to the church were open and two men in white robes greeted the congregation. Several women were accepting food donations in the empty lot next to the church, where dozens of folding tables had been set up under a tent.
“Good morning, Sister Saphronia, Sister Viola,” a man with sparkly eyes said to Queenie and Doll.
“Blessed day to you, Reverend Jeremiah.” Queenie accepted a program and a paper fan from him.
“And who have we here?” he asked.
“This here is Miss Ibby,” Birdelia chimed in.
The man shook Ibby’s hand. “Welcome, welcome.” Doll and the reverend exchanged glances. “Take a fan, young lady. You and Birdelia can go on up to the front of the church with the other children.”
Ibby took the fan from him, noting how the Reverend Jeremiah had a way of putting people at ease, even white girls who’d never been to church before.
Doll jerked her head toward the door. “Go on in, girls. I got to go with Queenie around back and make sure everything is ready for the picnic after the service.”
Birdelia pulled Ibby inside and marched her down the center aisle. The windows were closed, making it so unbearably hot that Ibby had trouble catching her breath. When they got to the front of the church, just beneath the platform, they settled cross-legged on the ground.
The church was painted completely white on the inside and was unadorned, save for a large painted canvas hanging from the ceiling above the stage, a bucolic scene of a lake surrounded by snow-tipped mountains. Ibby wondered if it was Reverend Jeremiah’s idea of heaven. Just beneath the canvas, a man in a robe was standing behind the pulpit, his head bowed as he flipped through the pages of a large Bible.
Several children of various ages joined Ibby and Birdelia on the floor, as infants were being left with two women in knee-length white robes. The girls sat fanning themselves as the rest of the congregation strolled in. After a while, the church took on a kind of low buzz as women in the pews began to sway from side to side, making a sound somewhere between a hum and a moan.
“What are they doing?” Ibby whispered to Birdelia.