Dollbaby: A Novel (11 page)

A little while later Queenie came back into the dining room and placed the eggs in front of Miss Fannie along with a brandy milk punch, hoping the brandy might make her more palatable.

Fannie looked at the plate with wonder in her face. “I ain’t never had eggs benedict before.”

“Well,” Queenie said, hoisting up her bosom, “now you can have them every morning, if that’s what you want.”

Fannie cut a portion of the eggs benedict and tasted it.

“Why, this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” she declared.

“I got plenty more where that came from. Can make you gumbo, or grillades, or whatever else you like. I make me a mean crème brûlée.”

Fannie turned her steely blue eyes up at Queenie. “Really? You’ll stay? I’ll call you Saphro . . . Saphro—you know, your name—if that’s what you want.”

Queenie wasn’t quite sure what to make of her sentimentality. No employer had ever talked that way to her before, so intimate like.
Maybe she not so bad after all.

“Queenie’ll do just fine, Miss Fannie.”

“Your grandma, she been calling her Queenie ever since. Been a good thirty years now,” Doll said.

“Did Fannie make up your name, too?” Ibby asked.

Doll shook her head. “No, child. The way Mama tells it, the day I came into this world, she said I looked like a little brown baby doll, the kind you find in a king cake. From that day on, she called me her little Dollbaby.”

“What’s a king cake?” Ibby asked.

Doll twisted her mouth. “I forget you ain’t from around here. You heard of Mardi Gras, ain’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“King cakes are an oval-shaped strudel they serve during the Mardi Gras season. I don’t really know why, but they stick a little naked doll the size of a half my pinkie in the middle of the cake. Sometimes it’s porcelain, sometimes plastic, but they always look the same—they got their little arms and legs sticking up in the air like they getting ready to pee.”

“Is Dollbaby your real name?”

“No. It’s Viola, but nobody calls me that, lessen we at church.”

Doll stopped in front of a large clapboard center-hall cottage painted the color of strawberry ice cream. A boxwood hedge led up to a raised front porch lined with columns. In the side yard, a towering pecan tree held a swing on its lower branches, the grass beneath it worn thin.

Doll bent over and whispered to Ibby, “Now, don’t you let little Miss Annabelle get under your skin. You hear me? She thinks she’s a real princess, just like her mama do. Don’t be put off by no airs she puts on, that’s all I’m saying.”

With that, Doll led Ibby up the stairs and rang the doorbell. Through the etched-glass paneling in the front door, Ibby could see a long-legged woman in uniform approaching.

“Fine morning to you, Doll.” The woman opened the door. “And who we got here?”

“Ernestine, this here is Miss Fannie’s grandchild. She visiting for a while. Miss Fannie thought Miss Ibby might be good company for Miss Annabelle.”

Ernestine waved them in. “Miss Annabelle’s out in the kitchen doing her best to finish off the batch of chocolate lace cookies I just made.”

“Miss Honey here?” Doll asked with a slight catch to her voice.

“She’s out shopping.”

Doll sighed with relief. In the kitchen, a little girl with beribboned pigtails was perched on a stool, eating a large lace cookie. Her kinky hair was the color of a brand-new penny, and her face was covered in freckles of almost the same hue.

“Cookies just came out of the oven. Want one?” Ernestine asked Ibby, picking up a plate of cookies.

“Yes, please,” Ibby said politely as she placed a cookie on the napkin Ernestine held out for her.

Annabelle jumped down from the stool and looked at Ibby. She had chocolate smeared on the side of her face. Ibby took an instant dislike to her. And from the nasty look on Annabelle’s face, the feeling was mutual.

“Who are you?” Annabelle demanded, her mouth falling open to reveal a gap in her front teeth large enough to fit a number-two pencil.

Ibby thought Annabelle looked like a cross between Howdy Doody and Raggedy Ann. It wasn’t a good combination.

“Be nice, Miss Annabelle,” Ernestine said. “This here is Miss Fannie down the street’s granddaughter. She come to visit a spell.”

Ibby took a bite of the cookie and watched Annabelle. Annabelle in turn cocked her head as if she smelled something awful.

“You two run on outside and busy yourself in the backyard,” Ernestine said.

Annabelle licked the chocolate off her fingers and opened the back door. “You coming or not? I don’t have all day.”

Ibby looked up at Doll with pleading eyes.

“You go on now, Miss Ibby. It’ll be all right.” Doll nudged Ibby forward and whispered in her ear. “You just remember what I told you.”

N
ot an hour later, Doll peered out the back window to find Ernestine walking up the driveway wearing a nervous face, with Ibby trudging along beside her.

“Look like we got a little problem,” Doll said, pinching her mouth to one side.

Queenie wiped her hands on her apron and went to the window just as Ernestine came to the back door.

“What happened?” Doll propped the screened door open with her foot.

“Ibby and Annabelle, they got into a fight. I’ll let her tell you about it.” Ernestine nodded at Ibby.

Queenie grabbed Ibby’s chin as she came up the back steps. “God Almighty. What happened to you? You got one doozy of a black eye.”

“Her knee, it’s kind of scraped up, too.” Ernestine looked up at Doll from the bottom of the steps. “Miss Honey says Miss Ibby ain’t welcome at their house no more for beating up her Annabelle.” She leaned closer to Doll and Queenie. “Been a long time coming, far as I’m concerned. Looked like a catfight in the backyard until I got the garden hose and sprayed ’em down. Just sorry Miss Ibby here got hurt.”

“Thank you kindly for bringing her home,” Queenie said as she closed the screened door.

Ernestine turned to go.

A second later Queenie opened the door and called after her. “If that be the case, might want to let Miss Honey know that Miss Fannie won’t be able to help her out no more when Mr. Henry come around, if you know what I mean.” Queenie smiled real big.

Ernestine’s shoulders heaved with laughter. “I understand. Certainly do. I’ll be sure and pass that on to Miss Honey.”

Queenie pointed to a bush at the bottom of the steps next to where Ibby was standing. “Child, reach down and pick me a leaf off that bush.”

Ibby picked a leaf and handed it to Queenie. Queenie crushed the leaf in her hands and handed it back to her.

“Here, press this up against your eye. Geranium leaf will calm it down a bit.” She turned to Doll. “Where’s Miss Fannie at?”

“She’s taking a nap, resting up before the big game on the TV this afternoon,” Doll answered.

“Good. Give me some time to think about how to handle this. Miss Ibby, come on over here and sit on this stool so I can get a better look.” Queenie scoured the kitchen. “One around here somewhere. Just saw it.”

“If you looking for that spiderweb, saw one out on the porch,” Doll said. “Noticed it when Mr. Henry came by earlier.”

Doll climbed onto the picnic table and removed a large web from the corner. She came back into the kitchen and handed it to Queenie, who gently folded it over several times and placed it on top of Ibby’s skinned-up knee.

“No need to buy no gauze when we got spiderwebs do just as good.” Queenie winked at Ibby. “Just hold it in place a spell. It’ll get that knee to quit bleeding.” She motioned toward the refrigerator. “Now, Doll, go fetch me one of them tallow candles, the ones I keep in the icebox in case Miss Fannie hurts herself.”

Doll handed the candle to Queenie, who placed it against Ibby’s eye, which was now a splotchy mess of purple and red where Annabelle had punched her.

Queenie’s forehead crinkled up. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“Is it true?” Ibby asked.

“Is what true?” Queenie asked.

“That my grandma was a stripper on Bourbon Street?” Ibby said with eyes so wide they looked as if they might pop.

Doll shook her head. What had that devil child been telling Miss Ibby?

“Now, tell me, Miss Ibby, how on earth something like that ever come up?” Queenie asked.

“Annabelle said her mama told her that the lady who lived in the haunted house down the street was nothing but trash, a stripper from Bourbon Street.”

“Miss Annabelle said that?” Queenie asked.

Ibby nodded. “I got mad, so I pushed the swing and it accidentally hit her in the head. She started screaming bloody murder.”

“Bet she did,” Doll said. “She’s one big drama queen.”

“Then Annabelle came over and raised her fist at me, said she was gonna beat me up until I saw stars coming out of my eyes.”

Doll pulled up a stool next to Ibby and handed Queenie another cold candle.

“Bet that’s not the first time Miss Annabelle been in a fight.” Queenie changed out the candle and held the new one up against Ibby’s eye.

“Then what happened?” Doll prodded, wondering how much Miss Annabelle had told Miss Ibby.

“Annabelle punched me, so I kicked her. Next thing I know she’s pushed me down on the driveway, so I yanked her down by the ankle. We were rolling around on the ground when Ernestine came out and turned the hose on us.” Ibby’s words were coming out so fast she could barely catch her breath.

“Calm down, Miss Ibby. We ain’t going nowhere,” Queenie said.

Ibby began to hiccup.

Queenie patted her on the back. “Take a deep breath.”

“Then what?” Doll asked.

“Well . . . when Annabelle’s mother comes outside to see what was going on, Annabelle leaps up and tells her mama it’s my fault, that I called her names. So her mama tells Ernestine to bring me home. Says I’m not welcome there anymore. Tells me not to come back.”

“I knew it weren’t a good idea when Miss Fannie suggested it,” Queenie mumbled.

“What we gone do?” Doll asked. “Miss Fannie gone notice that eye for sure.”

Queenie took the candle away and inspected Ibby’s eye. “Just gone be one a those times we pretend there’s nothing wrong, ’less she asks. Miss Ibby, you run on upstairs and change out of them wet clothes. Don’t say nothing about your run-in with Miss Annabelle when you come back down for lunch, and whatever you do, child, don’t let on what Miss Annabelle say about your grandma, you hear me?”

Ibby jumped down from the stool. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

After Ibby left the kitchen, Doll looked over at her mother. “So, Mama, just how long you think you can keep putting off Miss Ibby? Sooner or later she gone find out the truth about Miss Fannie.”

Queenie glanced out the back window. She had on one of her thinking faces. She turned back around. “Rule Number Six.”

“Since when we get a Rule Number Six?” Doll asked.

“Since just now.”

“So what’s Rule Number Six?”

“Whatever you do, you got to keep Miss Ibby away from Miss Annabelle.”

I
bby inched sideways into her chair, trying to keep her eye turned away from Fannie, as she took her seat at the table for lunch.

“What’s all this?” Fannie asked as Queenie placed a platter on the table.

“Thought Miss Ibby might like to try something different while she’s here.” Queenie put a bottle of hot sauce on the table. “Know how you like gazpacho during tomato season. And on the platter we got oysters three ways—on the half shell, oysters Rockefeller, and oysters Bienville. On the small plate is some cornbread, already buttered, just the way you like it.”

Fannie leaned over and whispered to Ibby, “She’s trying to impress you. She never makes all this just for me.”

“Oh, and there ain’t no hereafter today, Miss Fannie, just so you know.” Queenie gave Ibby a brief smile before she went back into the kitchen.

It was one of those keep-your-mouth-shut kind of smiles.

Ibby reached for a piece of cornbread. “What’s hereafter?”

Fannie stuck a spoon into the soup. “That’s what Queenie calls dessert. Doesn’t look like we’re going to need it today anyway.”

Ibby followed Fannie’s lead and tried the soup. It was cold and had floating chunks of onion and green pepper. She put the spoon down,
hoping the oysters might taste better, but from the looks of them, she wasn’t so sure.

“I can tell by that look on your face that you’ve never had oysters.” Fannie picked up a three-pronged fork. “Use this oyster fork, and kind of jab at the oysters. They’re small this time of year, so just swallow them whole.”

The oysters were gray and blobby, and the thought of eating one made Ibby get that salty taste in her mouth, the kind you get when you’re about to throw up. Fannie was watching her with interest so she dropped a raw oyster into her mouth. When Fannie wasn’t looking, she spat it into her napkin.

“What have you been up to this morning?” Fannie asked. “Did you have a nice visit with Annabelle Friedrichs?”

Before Ibby could answer, Queenie burst through the door.

“Miss Fannie, I just wanted to remind you that Miss Ibby’s birthday is this coming Saturday. You made reservations at Antoine’s for lunch.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, ma’am. Eleven-thirty. Crow is coming by to wash the car on account he gone drive you to Antoine’s, then you gone come back here and have cake.”

“I see.”

“Yes, ma’am, then Doll and me, we most likely gonna take the rest of the day off, considering Saturday is the Fourth of July and all. That is, if that be all right by you,” Queenie added.

To everyone’s surprise, the doorbell rang.

Queenie shuffled into the hall. When she opened the door, a woman with a red bouffant hairdo burst through.

“Miss Fannie here?”

The screechy voice gave her away. Ibby stiffened as Honey Friedrichs pushed her way past Queenie and into the dining room. She stood at the end of the table holding a plate of cookies in one hand while attempting to adjust her close-fitting blue shift with the other,
leaving Queenie standing by the front door with her mouth gaping open.

“Soooo nice to see you, Fannie. It’s been a while. I can see I’m interrupting your lunch so I won’t keep you. I have to rush out to a Junior League meeting, but not before I brought by this tray of cookies that Ernestine made especially for Ibby, to welcome her to the neighborhood.” Honey placed the tray on the table, then stood back with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot nervously.

Ibby noticed that Honey Friedrichs didn’t look the same as she had this morning when she came out into the backyard wearing black trousers with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Now her hair was so heavily teased and lacquered that it didn’t move when she spoke.

“Annabelle and Ibby had so much fun playing together this morning, didn’t you, dear?” Honey put on a thick smile, waiting for Ibby to agree. “Didn’t you, dear?” She widened her eyes at Ibby.

Miss Honey was trying so hard not to let her smile slip that the sides of her mouth began to quiver. Ibby was afraid if she didn’t answer soon, Miss Honey would burst and the truth about this morning would come spilling out.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ibby replied, trying hard to sound as if she meant it.

“Well, good, that’s all I wanted to say. I don’t want to keep you from your lunch. Ibby is certainly welcome to come over and play with my little Annabelle anytime she likes. We’re all good, right?” Miss Honey looked from one person to another, waiting for an answer. “Well, I’ll be off then. Don’t want to miss the baseball game I bet on this afternoon. Go, Cardinals!” She raised her hand in the air as if she were leading a cheer, then turned and trotted out the front door as fast as she’d come.

Queenie shut the door behind her and straightened her uniform.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?” Fannie asked.

“Beats me,” Queenie said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Fannie studied the plate of cookies on the table in front of her. “Well, lookey here. It appears we got our hereafter after all.”