“Come on now, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said. “They gone. It’s dark. I got some supper for you on the table.”
But Fannie refused to come inside. She sat on the swing on the corner of the front porch until Queenie brought out a plate of food. Queenie sat on the swing with her, feeding her a bite of fried chicken every so often. Everyone inside held their breath, wondering if that swing could bear the weight of both of them.
“What’s gotten into her?” Ibby asked from just inside the door.
“Don’t know, baby,” Doll said.
Now Doll was fidgeting too. Everyone seemed to be on edge ever since that tree came crashing down.
Crow and T-Bone packed their tools into the truck.
“We ready to go,” Crow said.
“Just a minute.” Queenie waved him off. “Doll, come over here and help me get Miss Fannie in the house. Miss Ibby, might need your help too.”
Fannie’s hand began to shake uncontrollably as they lifted her from the swing.
Ibby helped Doll get her to her room. Queenie came in behind them as Doll stretched Fannie out on the bed. As Queenie took off Fannie’s shoes, the look on Fannie’s face never changed.
She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, Fannie was up, too, pacing on the front porch in her housedress and slippers. Queenie had to coax her inside to get dressed, but once Mr. Roosevelt arrived, she was back on the porch, watching.
Ibby and Queenie stood in the doorway for a while, watching, too.
“What is it about that tree that has her so uptight?” Ibby asked.
“Who knows?” Queenie said offhandedly.
“How old do you think that tree was anyway?”
“Why you want to know?”
“Just curious.”
“Old enough,” Queenie said under her breath. She appeared irritated by the question.
Fannie stayed out there most of the morning, watching Mr. Roosevelt and his men saw branches from the tree and drag them over to the grinder.
Queenie came out at one point and said, “Miss Fannie, Wimbledon about to come on. Don’t you want to come in and watch it?”
Fannie shook her head. That’s when Ibby knew something was wrong. Fannie never missed Wimbledon. Ibby sat with Fannie on the porch swing for a while, trying to engage her in conversation, but Fannie never spoke a word. She just sat there, watching the tree. After a while, Ibby gave up and went upstairs. She stopped in her father’s room to look for the urn. When she opened the armoire, it still wasn’t there.
Ibby went across the hall to Doll’s sewing room, where she found Birdelia dancing around to an Aretha Franklin song playing on the radio. Doll was standing out on the upstairs balcony, watching the goings-on in the front yard.
Doll came inside. “You need something, Miss Ibby?”
“Daddy’s urn isn’t in the armoire. Do you know what happened to it?”
“Oh Lawd, Miss Ibby. I forgot, you know, with everything that’s been going on. A few weeks back, Miss Fannie asked where that urn was, so I brought it down for her and set it on the dining room table, thinking she just wanted to look at it for a spell. Then when I came back downstairs a little while later, Miss Fannie was gone. That urn, it was gone, too.”
“Oh,” Ibby said. “I just thought you’d moved it.”
“No, baby. I didn’t move it. Figured Miss Fannie had taken the urn out for a joyride in that new car of hers, but when she came back, she didn’t have the urn with her. When I asked her where it was, she said next to Balfour.”
“What did she mean, ‘next to Balfour’?” Ibby asked.
“You know, in the cemetery.”
Ibby looked at the floor. “I guess she wanted Daddy to have a proper burial. You know how she’s always talking about proper burials. I just wish she would have told me.”
“Well, yeah, that would have been the best thing, but you know Miss Fannie. She got her own way of doing things.”
“That’s for sure,” Birdelia piped in.
Doll nodded over at Birdelia. “Listen, girls, why don’t you go catch yourselves a movie over at the Prytania Theatre? No use hanging around here.”
Birdelia waved her hand. “Good idea. Come on, Miss Ibby.”
“You run on downstairs, Birdelia. There’s something I want to talk to Miss Ibby about, alone.”
As soon as Birdelia left, Doll shut the door. She had a strange look on her face.
“Come on over here, Miss Ibby.” Doll sat on the settee across from her sewing machine and pulled a yellow piece of paper from her pocket. “This telegram came for you this morning. I been holding on to it until the right time, but Miss Ibby, there ain’t never a right time.” She handed it to Ibby.