Doll turned an ear toward it. “You right, Mama. That old tree, I think it about had it. That’s what it’s trying to say.”
“It’s been saying that for a long time,” Queenie said. “I got other things I got to tend to than listening to that old tree, like figuring out what we got in the icebox so I can make dinner. Saw some eggplant and tomatoes in the yard. What else we got?” She stuck her head into the icebox.
“I’ll be up in the sewing room if you need me.” Doll left the kitchen.
Ibby went back in the front parlor to watch the game with Fannie. After a little while, Queenie brought them a snack.
“When did you get here?” Fannie asked.
“A little while ago,” Queenie said. “Just came around to make you some dinner. We be back tomorrow, same as usual.”
When she turned to go, Fannie said, “Queenie?”
“Yes, Miss Fannie?” She had one hand on the kitchen door.
“Glad you’re back.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Fannie. Glad to be back,” she said as the door swung closed behind her.
The sound of the tree scraping the house was getting so loud, Fannie had to turn the volume up on the television.
“Damn tree,” Fannie said. “Remind me to tell Crow to trim it next week, will you, Ibby?”
“Hank Aaron up to bat,” the announcer said.
“That’s my boy.” Fannie leaned in closer to the TV.
Doll came running down the stairs, screaming, “This it! This it! This it!”
“What is she going on about?” Fannie turned up the volume on the TV to drown out Doll.
Ibby followed Doll into the kitchen where she found her waving her hands around.
“This is it, Mama!” Doll said.
Queenie looked up at the ceiling. “That noise. It ain’t stopping.”
The moaning became louder and more drawn out until it gave way to sets of pops that sounded like champagne bottles being opened, then a loud squeal that was so shrill Ibby had to put her hands over her ears.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Doll hollered.
In the next second, glass shattered and wood split as the giant tree came crashing down.
“Where’s Miss Fannie at?” Queenie’s voice was panicky. “She didn’t follow you in here?”
“No. She’s still up front,” Ibby said.
The three of them looked at one another, afraid of what they might find when they opened the door.
The only sound in the house now was the blare from the announcer’s voice on the television: “Tony Oliva just hit one off the left-field fence. . . . Will he be able to pull off a home run today?”
When they peeked into the front room, they could see the back of Fannie’s head. She was still sitting on the couch but was pinned on either side by two branches that had forced their way through the front window.
“Think she’s okay?” Queenie whispered. “She’s awful quiet.”
The three of them tiptoed into the room to find Fannie peering from behind the tree limbs like a caged bird. Ibby put her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh, but the way Fannie kept peeping from behind the branches, Ibby couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing.
“Miss Fannie, you done got yourself in a pickle.” Queenie slapped her knee and bent over, giggling.
“Sure enough,” Doll snorted. “Don’t know how you gone get out of this one.”
“Glad y’all think this is so funny.” Fannie glared, although she was trying hard not to laugh herself. “Anybody going to do something, or you all plan to keep me in here all day?”
“I don’t know. What ya think, Mama? Maybe we should let her stew in there awhile.”
Fannie switched the channels back and forth on the television. “At least it didn’t hurt the TV.”
“Thank God,” Queenie said between laughs. “Don’t know what we would a done then.”
Ibby’s pocketbook was on the hall table. She retrieved her Polaroid camera from it, then came back into the room. “Fannie, look this way.”
Fannie put up her hand as Ibby snapped a photo. “Stop!”
“Queenie and Doll, get over there by Fannie so I can take a picture.”
Queenie got as close as she could and made a clown face while Doll pointed at Fannie. Fannie’s mouth was wide open, and she was saying, “No, please don’t do that,” as Ibby took the picture.
“Do something quick! I need to whiz like a racehorse,” Fannie said.
“I’ll get you a pot,” Queenie chuckled.
Ibby went over and stuck her head out the front door. The old tree looked like a sleeping giant that had eased itself to the ground and rolled toward the house for a final rest.
“Doll, I hate to tell you this,” Ibby called out, “but some of the limbs may have pushed themselves into your sewing room.”
Doll came out onto the porch. A good portion of the tree was blocking the driveway and spilling over into the neighbors’ yard, and a hole the size of a small swimming pool gaped where the tree had uprooted itself.