Ibby gazed up at her. “I’m sorry about today.”
Doll smoothed her hair. “Now, don’t you fret none, you hear? Besides, you gave all them folks at church something to talk about for a good long while.”
Ibby propped herself up on her elbow. “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine.”
“I ain’t gone leave you here all by yourself. Besides, sometimes when Miss Fannie’s feeling low, I’ll come around and stay a night or two on the second floor, just to make sure she don’t get lonely in the middle of the night. I got a cot in the sewing room, just for such occasions.”
“Doll?”
“Yes, child.”
“When will Fannie be back?”
Doll thought a moment. “Don’t know for sure, baby. Expect we hear from the doctor in a few days.”
“Why is Fannie so sad all the time?”
“Oh, baby. Ain’t no simple answer for that. She just gets that way sometimes, when the sorrow comes bubbling up.” Doll put a finger under her chin and drew her eyes to hers. “Listen, your grandmother going to the hospital got nothing to do with you. Later, when you all growed up and got a family of your own, you’ll understand. It hurts to love sometimes. But that’s just God’s way, I reckon.” Doll thought about her own words. She knew she was speaking for herself as much as for Ibby.
“Doll?”
“Yes, child?”
“What happened to Balfour?”
“I had a feeling you might be asking about him after his name came up at lunch yesterday.” She glanced up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath. “There was an accident. After that, Miss Fannie, she ain’t been the same since.”
Graham Bell ran up to the third floor and flung open the door to the attic room. His younger brother, Balfour, whom he called Balfy for short, ran in behind him, carrying a balsa wood airplane in each hand. It was a few weeks before Christmas, and the boys were excited. They’d just finished listening to President Roosevelt’s radio address downstairs with their mother and father. The president said the war in Europe was raging and the United States needed to stay on alert. He was planning to send help to the British to stave off a possible German invasion. The Japanese had been waging war in China for a few years. It was 1940. Graham was almost ten. Balfy had just turned eight. And all the boys knew about war was how to play at it.
Graham opened the window overlooking the front yard and leaned out. A cool breeze swept in, blowing a few leaves from the oak tree into the room. Balfy came up beside him.
“Here, Graham.” Balfy handed him a plane, then took a box of matches out of his pocket.
“You’re going to be in trouble if Mama finds out you been playing with matches,” Graham said.
“So don’t tell her.” Balfy put the plane on the windowsill and lit a match.
All Graham could see was the top of Balfy’s head as he bent over to light the match, his wavy hair the color of straw. The breeze from the window blew the match out. He bent over further, trying to shelter the next match from the wind.
“Give me the matches. I’ll do it.” Graham held out his hand.
Balfy waved him away.
“Ouch!” Balfy screamed and blew out the match. “I just burned myself!” He rubbed his finger against his wool knickers.
“You’re going to burn the whole house down, the rate you’re going.”
“Shut up, Graham,” Balfy said. “I’ll tell you when to throw the plane. I’ll light mine on fire, and you can throw yours out at the same time and pretend you just shot me down.”
“Jeez Louise, you’re a bossy little brother!”
Balfy stuck his head out the window and held up his plane. “Are you ready?”
Graham did the same. “Ready.”
“Wait a second, while I light the plane on fire.” Balfy sat on the window ledge and tried to light the match. He struck once, then again, almost losing his balance.
“Watch yourself, Balfy. I’d hate to have to pick up the pieces on the sidewalk because you’re too damned retarded to light a match.”
“Shut up, Graham.” Balfy held the tip of the plane up to the lit match. “Wow, look at that!” he said as the flames shot up.
“Hurry up!” Graham yelled.
“Now!” Balfy shrieked. “Throw your plane!”
Graham’s plane brushed against a few branches in the oak tree, then glided down and settled onto the brick walkway below. Balfy’s got caught up in one of the branches and dangled by a wing.
“Boogers!” Balfy cried as he crawled out the window and stood on the gutter that was just beneath the window. “I can get it!”
“Are you crazy? Mama’s going to tan your hide if she sees you standing on the gutter like that. Come on back inside before you kill yourself! You can have my plane. I’ll buy another one tomorrow!”
Balfy held on to the roof shingles and leaned out. “I can get it. It’s only another inch or two.”