Dollbaby: A Novel (32 page)

Fannie knew her life would be over if Norwood ever found out that a colored man had raped her. He would never forgive her for what had happened. She would be tainted forever in his eyes.

Queenie’s small eyes quivered as she patted Fannie on the shoulder. “Now, don’t you worry, Queenie gone take care of everything. You understand?”

Fannie closed her eyes. She could hear Queenie on the phone in the hall.

“Crow, get on over here,” Queenie said. “Don’t need no lip. I’ll explain when you get here. Just get here as soon as you can. Understand?”

She came back into the room and put her hands on her hips. “You sure as hell done shot him dead.” She closed the windows and turned the music down. “No one will know what happened to him, lessen you say anything. Muddy always did have a habit of wandering away from that nuthouse across the lake. Them folks will just think he wandered off somewhere for good. Understand what I’m saying, Miss Fannie? Crow coming over now. We gone take care of him.”

Queenie scuttled about, trying to clean up the mess. She ran up and down the stairs more times than Fannie could count, bringing up
towels to sop up the blood. Crow came into the room just as she was finishing up.

Crow took off his straw hat and scratched his head. “God Almighty.”

“We worry about God later,” Queenie snapped. “We got to get Muddy out of here before somebody sees him.”

“How? He must weigh close to three hundred pounds,” Crow said, scratching his head again.

“We gone roll him up in this here blanket and drag him down the steps. Then we gone put him in the trunk of the car and take him away where no one will find him. Soon as it get dark, we bring him down.”

“See you got it all figured out,” he said.

“Just do what I say,” she fussed.

Crow shook his head and went down the stairs. Fannie could hear a car being backed into the driveway. Queenie rolled the body up in a blanket. When Crow came back into the room, they dragged the body down the stairs, Muddy’s head making a loud thump each time it hit one of the steps. When they got him downstairs, Fannie could hear them arguing about what to do next.

“I don’t think we gone be able to lift him in the car—he too heavy,” Crow said.

“What else we gone do? Can’t leave him here. We got to try. If that don’t work, we come up with something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Now come on, go out the back way.”

Fannie heard the back door open and close. Then the house became quiet.

Fannie wasn’t sure how long she lay there, listening to the creaking of the windows and the whoosh of the ceiling fan overhead. After a while, when the light in the room had dimmed and darkness set in, she got up and looked out the back window. Crow and Queenie were trying to lift the bundle into the trunk of the car, but no matter how
much they tried, it kept falling back to the ground. They bickered about what to do for a few minutes.

Then Crow went into the garage and came back out with a wheelbarrow. Queenie tipped it forward as he rolled the body onto it. Then they disappeared around the corner, pushing the wheelbarrow up the alley toward the front of the house.

Fannie went across the hall into the spare bedroom that overlooked the front yard. Queenie had turned out all the lights in the house. There was no moon, and the front yard was so dark she had trouble seeing below. Even on a clear night, it was hard to see down into the yard, much of it obscured by the oak tree and the thick bamboo that lined the alley on the side of the house.

Fannie was peering into the shadows when Crow emerged, pushing the wheelbarrow, as Queenie walked beside him, carrying a shovel. They stopped beside a large hollow in the oak tree where the boys used to play castle when they were young, the massive size of the trunk obscuring their hideout from the street. Queenie handed Crow the shovel, and he began to dig. He must have shoveled dirt away from the roots of the tree for a good half hour. When he seemed satisfied, he pushed the wheelbarrow closer and tipped it into the hollow. The body tumbled into the ground. Queenie pulled the wheelbarrow away as Crow shoveled dirt back around the base of the tree. When he finished, Queenie jumped up and down on the ground, making sure the dirt was packed in. She nodded to Crow as she rubbed her hands together, and then they disappeared down the alley.

A little while later, Queenie came back upstairs to Fannie’s bed. “Let’s get you a nice bath, get you out of them clothes.”

Fannie slipped off her dress and handed it to Queenie. There was blood on her slip.

Queenie shook her head. “Why Muddy done that to you?”

Fannie closed her eyes. She’d been trying not to think about that part.

“Don’t you worry no more about Muddy,” Queenie said. “You hear me? We done took care of it.”

The next day, Queenie scrubbed and scrubbed the floor in the bedroom trying to get rid of the stain on the floor. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t get rid of it. The blood had embedded itself into the grain of the wood.

“What are we going to do?” Fannie asked. “Norwood should be back by dinnertime. He’ll notice that stain.”

“We gone cover it up. I’ll fetch the Oriental rug from the library downstairs and bring it up here.”

“Won’t he wonder why we’ve done that?” Fannie asked.

“I never knew a man that paid no mind to decorating, lessen it’s something that gets in his way,” Queenie said.

That evening Queenie prepared Norwood’s favorite dinner, and Fannie did her best to act as if nothing had happened. Norwood appeared at the front door around six looking tan and fit from all the time he’d spent on the river. Fannie greeted him with a big kiss on the mouth.

“Been gone a week, and you act like I been gone a year,” he said.

“Just missed you, that’s all.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house.

“Crow plant some new flowers around the base of that old oak?” Norwood nodded toward the front yard. “Never known him to do that before. Looks nice.”

Fannie steered his attention away from the tree. “Queenie made your favorite dinner, crawfish étouffée and stuffed mirliton. It’s on the table waiting.”

Queenie came down the hall to greet Norwood. “Welcome home, Mr. Norwood.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Thank you, Queenie. Something going on?”

“What you mean, Mr. Norwood?” she said, following him into the dining room.

“You all fussing over me like I been away at the war or something,” he said as he took a seat at the table.

Fannie sat across from him. “Queenie, bring Norwood a tall glass so he can pour himself a drink.”

Norwood picked up the whiskey bottle and looked at the label. “Mount Vernon? You know that’s my favorite. What’s the occasion? You pregnant again?”

Fannie felt the blood drain from her face. “No, of course not. Why would you say something like that?”

“My favorite dinner? The whiskey? You’ve never acted this way when I’ve come back from the river before.”

Fannie shrugged. “Just missed you, that’s all, darling.”

After dinner, Norwood retired to the library, where he liked to read the newspaper and have a few drinks before bedtime. Fannie remained at the dinner table smoking a cigarette and reading a
LIFE
magazine as Queenie cleared the plates.

“Fannie, where’s the carpet that used to be in here?” Norwood called out from the library.

Queenie and Fannie exchanged sharp glances before Norwood appeared in the dining room.

“Why, Mr. Norwood, I moved it up to your bedroom,” Queenie said. “Fannie always say that bare floor up there was hard on her feet.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged and went back to the library.

“I thought you said he wouldn’t notice,” Fannie said in a hushed voice.

A little while later Norwood yelled from upstairs. “Fannie, would you come here a moment?”

She looked at Queenie, her eyes wide with fear.

“Go on, Miss Fannie. It’ll be okay. Just don’t say nothing,” Queenie said.

“What if he notices the bruises on my legs?” Fannie asked. “Why do you think I got him that whiskey? I hoped he’d get drunk and fall asleep in the library tonight.”

“Fannie?” Norwood called from the top of the stairs. “Where’s the pistol that’s usually in the drawer by the side of the bed?”

“What’d you do with it?” Fannie whispered.

“Got rid of it. Didn’t think he’d notice. That pistol ain’t been touched in years.”

Fannie pushed herself away from the table. Her hands were beginning to shake.

“Stay calm, Miss Fannie.”

When Fannie reached the bedroom, Norwood was standing by the side of the bed, rifling around in the drawer. The corner of the Oriental rug was askew, leaving a portion of the bloodstain visible. Fannie rushed forward and tried to kick the carpet back into place.

“I got rid of that old thing years ago,” she said. “It made me nervous sitting in the drawer, loaded like it was. Could have hurt somebody.”

Norwood gave her a peculiar look. “Every time I leave for a stint up the river, I check to see if that pistol is there. It was in the drawer when I left on Monday,” he said. “Fannie, what’s going on?”

She became flustered when she noticed the bloodstain was still visible. She burst into tears.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “What is it, honey? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

She didn’t know what to do. He pulled her over to the bed. He put his arm around her shoulder. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t take her eyes off the bloodstain on the floor. She felt panic welling up inside her.

“Fannie?” he said, pointing at the floor. “What is that?”

She began to shake uncontrollably. She tried to get up and run from the room, but he caught her. He put his arm around her waist, then pulled the edge of the rug back.

“It looks like blood. Did you hurt yourself?”

She tried to push him away, but he was holding her so tightly she thought she might pass out.

“Fannie,” he said in a stern voice, “tell me what happened.”

Queenie appeared in the doorway. “Weren’t her fault, Mr. Norwood. Muddy come around when I weren’t here. Miss Fannie used the gun on him. He gone for good. Don’t need to worry yourself about him no more.”

He held Fannie by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Did he take advantage of you, Fannie?”

Her head wobbled. When she didn’t answer, he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

“Answer me, baby. Did he rape you?” He shook her and began to weep.

Fannie couldn’t look at him.

He glanced over at Queenie, looking for an answer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Norwood,” was all Queenie could say.

He pushed Fannie down onto the bed and ran out of the room.

Queenie bounded down the stairs after him. “Mr. Norwood, Mr. Norwood! Don’t go!” she pleaded.

The whole house shook from the force of the front door slamming. Fannie could hear him backing the car out of the driveway. The bottom edge of the bumper hit the street and scraped as he put the car in gear and took off down the street, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

Fannie waited all the next day for him, and the next. On the fourth day, there was a knock at the door.

Queenie came up to her room. “Miss Fannie, I’m sorry to disturb you, but they is a Coast Guard officer at the front door with your friend Kennedy. They say they need to talk to you.”

Fannie wiped a tear from her eye with a handkerchief. “Ask them what they want,” she said through a sniffle.

“The Coast Guard man, he say he needs to talk to you . . . in person.” Queenie came over to the bed to help her up.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, the man asked Fannie to come into the front parlor and have a seat on the couch. He sat down next to her as Kennedy stood close by. Fannie noticed Kennedy was avoiding her eyes.

“Mrs. Bell, your husband, Norwood, has gone missing.”

“I’m aware of that,” Fannie said. “He left a couple of days ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“No, ma’am, what I’m trying to tell you is that one of the crew on the
Pelican II
said Mr. Norwood spent the last couple of days on the tug. The crew said he seemed upset, had been drinking. Captain Bell was a steady fella, from what I understand.”

“I can vouch for that,” Kennedy chimed in.

“What I’m trying to say, ma’am, is that it would take a lot to upset him. I’m told by his crew that he wasn’t a big drinker, but they said he’d been drinking for days on end, ever since he got on the boat. Any idea what it was about?”

Fannie toyed with the handkerchief in her hands. “Why no, I have no idea.”

“They said he slipped and fell off the boat yesterday afternoon while he was feeding the pelicans. He wasn’t wearing a life vest. The wake from a passing ship evidently threw him off balance. The boys say they never saw him resurface.”

Fannie kept her gaze on the floor, but her hands were shaking. “I see.”

Kennedy added, “The Coast Guard has been scouring the river all night looking for your husband. At this point, Fannie dear, I’m not keeping my hopes up.”

The look on his face confirmed her worst fears.

“I didn’t mean to be so blunt, ma’am,” the Coast Guard officer went on. “It’s just that I suspect if we ever do find your husband . . .”

“I know what you’re trying to say,” she said, wringing the handkerchief.

“I’m sorry.” The man got up to leave.

Kennedy came over to her. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thank you, Kennedy.” She tried to smile. “I can always count on you.”

Queenie showed them to the door.

Several weeks later, when news reached them that the Coast Guard had called off the search, Queenie moved all the furniture from Fannie’s bedroom down to the library.

Fannie never set foot in that room again.