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.”
Chapter Fourteen
D oll looked up when her mother came back in the kitchen.
“Miss Honey gone?” Doll asked.
Queenie chuckled. “Yes, thank the Lawd. Never seen her like that before, falling all over herself.”
“Good thing she didn’t mention the eye in front of Miss Fannie. Miss Ibby looks like a prizefighter who done lost the fight. We gone have to come up with some story, like maybe she tripped and fell in the backyard.”
“I know. I been thinking on it,” Queenie said.
Doll picked up a pecan from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen table and inspected it. “Maybe I’ll make me a pecan pie to take to the Fourth of July party out by the lake.”
Queenie crossed her arms. “What you mean, a party out by the lake? We got the church picnic that day. The Reverend Jeremiah, he gone be expecting you to help serve.”
“The party ain’t until later on. But there’s no way I’m gone miss it. It’s the last day Lincoln Beach gone be open.”
“Why they close the beach so early this year? Thought they waited until end of the summer.”
“They closing Lincoln Beach for good, now that Pontchartrain Beach, where the white folks swim, is integrated. The city says they isno use having two public beaches no more, so what they do? They close the Negro beach.”
Queenie sat down at the table and leaned on her elbow. “You see what I’m telling you? If the government would have left well enough alone, they wouldn’t be closing the Negro beach. And by the way, did you see the front page of the paper today? There’s a big picture of your friend Lola Mae sprawled all over the floor at that sit-in on Canal Street. Could have been you.”
“But it wasn’t, Mama. You made sure of that.”
Queenie held up the paper and pointed at the photo. “Really? Take a closer look.”
Doll stared at the photo showing Lola Mae on the ground, a policeman standing beside her, and a bunch of wide-eyed Negroes looking on from their stools at the lunch counter.
“Look at the shoulder and the side of the head at the edge of the photo. Now, who you suppose that is?” Queenie narrowed her eyes.
“What you going on about? I don’t see nothin’.” But just then, Doll did see. In the corner of the photograph was her profile. There was no mistaking it.
“Don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s you sitting there on that stool. Why’d you lie to me?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I felt like it was something I needed to do.”
“You need to start thinking more about Birdelia,” Queenie said, “and less about yourself.”
“And why you think I gone down there—for fun? I’m doing it
for
Birdelia and everyone like her,” Doll said. “You just don’t seem to understand that.”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t gone do no good if she don’t have a mama around to take care of her no more. You got to be more careful. And don’t you dare lie to me again like that.” Queenie wagged her finger at Doll and threw the paper onto the kitchen table. “I’m telling you, ever since President Johnson said he might sign that new civil rights lawinto place, it got people mighty jittery. Don’t want no trouble.” Queenie got up from the table and peeked into the dining room.
“Mama, come sit back down. Last time I looked, Miss Fannie was already in front of the TV, waiting for the game to come on.”
“It don’t start for another hour—why she just sitting there? Gone miss my stories,” Queenie fretted. “And where’s Miss Ibby?”
“She’s sitting right next to Fannie. I told her to sit with the bad eye toward the hall, but I don’t think you need to worry about Miss Fannie noticing Miss Ibby’s eye. She too busy watching the pregame show.”
The screened
“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.”
Chapter Fourteen
D oll looked up when her mother came back in the kitchen.
“Miss Honey gone?” Doll asked.
Queenie chuckled. “Yes, thank the Lawd. Never seen her like that before, falling all over herself.”
“Good thing she didn’t mention the eye in front of Miss Fannie. Miss Ibby looks like a prizefighter who done lost the fight. We gone have to come up with some story, like maybe she tripped and fell in the backyard.”
“I know. I been thinking on it,” Queenie said.
Doll picked up a pecan from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen table and inspected it. “Maybe I’ll make me a pecan pie to take to the Fourth of July party out by the lake.”
Queenie crossed her arms. “What you mean, a party out by the lake? We got the church picnic that day. The Reverend Jeremiah, he gone be expecting you to help serve.”
“The party ain’t until later on. But there’s no way I’m gone miss it. It’s the last day Lincoln Beach gone be open.”
“Why they close the beach so early this year? Thought they waited until end of the summer.”
“They closing Lincoln Beach for good, now that Pontchartrain Beach, where the white folks swim, is integrated. The city says they isno use having two public beaches no more, so what they do? They close the Negro beach.”
Queenie sat down at the table and leaned on her elbow. “You see what I’m telling you? If the government would have left well enough alone, they wouldn’t be closing the Negro beach. And by the way, did you see the front page of the paper today? There’s a big picture of your friend Lola Mae sprawled all over the floor at that sit-in on Canal Street. Could have been you.”
“But it wasn’t, Mama. You made sure of that.”
Queenie held up the paper and pointed at the photo. “Really? Take a closer look.”
Doll stared at the photo showing Lola Mae on the ground, a policeman standing beside her, and a bunch of wide-eyed Negroes looking on from their stools at the lunch counter.
“Look at the shoulder and the side of the head at the edge of the photo. Now, who you suppose that is?” Queenie narrowed her eyes.
“What you going on about? I don’t see nothin’.” But just then, Doll did see. In the corner of the photograph was her profile. There was no mistaking it.
“Don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s you sitting there on that stool. Why’d you lie to me?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I felt like it was something I needed to do.”
“You need to start thinking more about Birdelia,” Queenie said, “and less about yourself.”
“And why you think I gone down there—for fun? I’m doing it
for
Birdelia and everyone like her,” Doll said. “You just don’t seem to understand that.”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t gone do no good if she don’t have a mama around to take care of her no more. You got to be more careful. And don’t you dare lie to me again like that.” Queenie wagged her finger at Doll and threw the paper onto the kitchen table. “I’m telling you, ever since President Johnson said he might sign that new civil rights lawinto place, it got people mighty jittery. Don’t want no trouble.” Queenie got up from the table and peeked into the dining room.
“Mama, come sit back down. Last time I looked, Miss Fannie was already in front of the TV, waiting for the game to come on.”
“It don’t start for another hour—why she just sitting there? Gone miss my stories,” Queenie fretted. “And where’s Miss Ibby?”
“She’s sitting right next to Fannie. I told her to sit with the bad eye toward the hall, but I don’t think you need to worry about Miss Fannie noticing Miss Ibby’s eye. She too busy watching the pregame show.”
The screened
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