“Then how come you got that poor-pitiful-me look on your face when you should have a that-was-a-right-fine-party look?”
“I couldn’t care less if my mother came or not,” Ibby said.
“That ain’t true, but Miss Ibby, no use crying over spilled milk. Miss Fannie went out of her way to throw this party for you, sent out fancy invitations, had the house painted, fixed up the yard. She’s never done that for anyone before. You should be happy.”
Ibby didn’t want to listen to Doll anymore, even though she knew she was right. She went upstairs to her room.
A little while later, Doll came up to find her. “Here, I brought you something.”
Doll handed Ibby the life-size doll she’d made her for her birthday, dressed in an exact replica of the dress she had worn this evening, down to the corsage and white gloves.
Ibby flung the doll onto the floor.
“Listen”—Doll wagged a finger—“you lucky she didn’t give it to you in front of all those people. If she had her way, that’s what she would have done, but I talked her out of it.”
“I hate those dolls!”
“You gone hurt my feelings.”
“Why does Fannie keep giving me dolls? I’m too old for dolls. They’re weird.”
Doll picked the doll up from the floor and brushed the yarn hair to the side. “These dolls are Fannie’s way of showing she loves you. One day you’ll understand.”
“Why can’t I just have a normal life like everybody else?” Ibby said.
“Normal? What’s normal? You think everybody at that party tonight got a normal life? We all got something we don’t like, that we want to change.” Doll pointed a finger. “Miss Ibby, I’m gone tell you something you may not want to hear. It’s about time you grew up. They ain’t such thing as normal, and I ought to know. Your grandmother loves you. And if you can see it in your heart to let her in, she’ll more than make up for your mama not being here for you. Understand?”
Ibby sat up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You think I’m a brat?”
“I think you’re a sixteen-year-old that’s mixed up like any sixteen-year-old. Which brings me to another thing. You can’t go kissing no black boys in front of Miss Fannie, even if it is T-Bone, you understand me? It just ain’t right.”
“Why can’t I kiss T-Bone if I want to?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s family. And for another, white girls shouldn’t be kissing black boys. You need to find a nice white boy to kiss.”
“But I like T-Bone,” Ibby said.
“Miss Ibby, how can I make you understand?”
“He told me I was pretty.”
Doll shook her head. “Miss Ibby, lots of boys gone tell you you’re pretty. The first time someone told me I was pretty, nine months later I had Birdelia. We don’t want nothing like that to happen to you. Now you go on and get some sleep.” When Doll came over to kiss Ibby good night, her foot hit something under the bed.
“What’s this?” She reached down. “Miss Fannie’s photo album. I thought I told you to hide that thing.”
“I did. Under the bed,” Ibby said.
She sat next to Ibby on the bed and started flipping through the pages.
“What are you doing?” Ibby asked.
“There’s been something on my mind all night. Where’s that ad with Miss Fannie, the one that has the other lady with the alligator?”
“Toward the back,” Ibby said.
“Here it is.” Doll unfolded it and smoothed it out. “Uh-huh—thought so.”
“What?” Ibby asked.
“Something about that other woman look familiar?”
“No, not really.”
Doll pointed at a photo. “Look at Gertie the Gator Girl.”
Ibby stared at the tall broad-shouldered woman with her foot on top of the alligator. “Yeah, so?”
“Look again, real close. Something about her mouth.”
Ibby still didn’t understand what Doll was getting at.
“Miss Fannie never did say how she knew Sister Gertrude. Now I know why.”
Ibby’s mouth fell open. “That’s Sister Gertrude?” Then it hit her. “Fannie told me Sister Gertrude taught her how to dance. Now I know what she meant!”
“They say the Lawd works in mysterious ways,” Doll said. “And this sure is one of them.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Later that week Ibby was in the kitchen watching Birdelia practice some dance moves out on the back porch when Queenie set a box on the table in front of her.
“What’s that?” Ibby asked.
“Miss Fannie ordered stationery so you can write thank-you notes to everybody that came to the party,” Queenie said.
“But there were over a hundred people there! That could take me all summer!” Ibby protested.
“I believe that’s the point. Give you something to do so you stay out a trouble. Besides, you can thank your friend Winnie Waguespack for giving her the idea. She the one that sent you that thank-you note after her party.”
“Why don’t you just tell Fannie I wrote them and be done with it? Be our little secret,” Ibby suggested.