Soon Queenie’s head appeared. “Help your mama out, boy.”
T-Bone took Queenie’s arm and led her out, then backed down the ladder and disappeared into the hole.
“Birdelia, you skinny, go on down there,” Queenie said, “see if you can lend a hand, and take this garbage bag down with you.”
“What the heck is going on?” Ibby peeped over the edge.
Queenie took Ibby’s arm and led her to the front steps, away from all the commotion. “Come have a seat next to me.”
As Ibby sat, she could just make out Queenie’s profile in the dark. She was brushing off her dress. When she finished, she took Ibby’s hand in hers.
“I didn’t think Miss Fannie knew, but the way she’s been pacing on this porch makes me think she must have seen me and Crow out here that night all those years ago.” Queenie rocked herself as she always did when she was thinking about something that upset her. “For a long time now, you been wanting to know about that room upstairs, the one at the top of the stairs. Well, child, I’ll tell you about that night. It weren’t too long after Master Balfour died and your father got sent off to boarding school. Miss Fannie, she’d only been home a couple of weeks after going to the hospital with a nervous breakdown. She was still fragile. I kept an eye on her, especially when Mr. Norwood would go off on his stints on the river. When I look back on it, I shouldn’t have gone off to the market that day. Things might have been different.”
When no one was around, Fannie liked to listen to music. She’d go upstairs, open the windows, and turn up the phonograph until music filled the room. Occasionally a neighbor complained, but most of them had gotten used to the sounds of Glenn Miller or Tommy Dorsey in the late afternoon. On this particular day, Fannie was standing in the middle of her and Norwood’s bedroom in her bare feet, listening to “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller. She turned the phonograph up as loud as it would go, so loud the glass in the windows rattled, and danced around waving a silk scarf, letting it float around her. Then she’d stop and go the other way, spinning slowly with her eyes closed until she grew dizzy. It was her way of chasing away the loneliness when Norwood was away on the river. She’d been up in their room for several hours now, pretending she was with him in front of a big stage in New York. She’d never been to New York, but he’d promised he’d take her there one day.
She was so wrapped up in her dreams that it took her several minutes to notice there was someone at the door to the bedroom. It was one of Queenie’s cousins, named Muddy, who came around every so often looking for money.
“You have no business up here, Muddy. You know better.” She waved him away, annoyed that she’d been disturbed in the middle of a song.
Muddy was a large man, over six and a half feet tall, pushing three hundred pounds. His face was void of expression, as if he hadn’t understood what Fannie was saying. He was a bit slow. She tried to explain so he’d understand.
“Queenie’s not here, Muddy. She’s off at the market. Now go on. You can wait downstairs in the kitchen.” She then turned her back and went back to dancing. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, Muddy was standing a few feet away from her. “What are you doing? I told you to go on downstairs. Now do as I say.” This time there was anger in her voice. She didn’t like people getting that close to her, much less an uninvited guest in her bedroom. “Did you hear me?”
Muddy stood there as if he wanted to ask her something but was afraid.
“You want money? That’s what you want?” she asked. “Here. I have some right here.”
She opened the drawer to the table next to the bed, where she kept cash and a small pistol. She counted out ten dollars and tried to hand it to him. He looked down at the money. Fannie thought he was trying to decide what to do. Maybe he thought it wasn’t enough.
“Here, go on. Take it and get on out of here like I told you.” She tried to put the money in his hand.
He swatted it away and shook his head. He took a step closer.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She felt a tinge of panic rise up in her, but she still thought he just didn’t understand. “Take the money and go!” she demanded.
The next thing she knew, he had pushed her to the floor and pulled up her dress. She tried to fight him. She clawed at his face, but he was strong. He slapped her across the cheek, startling her. She began to cry. He pushed her down. She felt his big belly on her chest as he thrust himself inside her. She tried to scream but nothing came out except a tear that trickled down the side of her face. There was nothing she could do but listen to the music and the sound of Muddy’s guttural moans.