lot.”
Oletta nodded. “He sure did. But I don’t think none of them books would be anything you’d like. Later this afternoon I’ll walk you down to the public library. I’m sure they got lots of books for children.” She looked at me and winked. “Even real smart ones like you.”
From behind me a woman spoke—had it been a color, her voice would have been a velvety shade of purple. “No need to go to the library.”
I looked over my shoulder and sucked in my breath. It was like the universe had cracked wide open. Poised in the doorway, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip and the other resting on the doorjamb, was the reigning empress of some strange, exotic land. Though she’d long since passed the zenith of youth, unmistakable remnants of a mysterious beauty oozed from the pores of her porcelain-white skin. Swirling around her ankles, as light as smoke and the color of midnight, was a silk caftan splashed with bits of silver glitter. Her wavy red hair was pinned high on top of her head like the plumage of an alien bird.
“I have a library in my house that doesn’t get a lick of attention except for an occasional dusting,” she said from the reddest lips I’d ever seen. “You’re welcome to come have a look and borrow anything you’d like.” She smiled a slow, catlike smile. “I take it you must be Cecelia.”
Oletta grinned. “How you doin’, Miz Goodpepper? This here child is Cecelia Rose Honeycutt, Miz Tootie’s grandniece. And Cecelia, this is Miz Thelma Rae Goodpepper, she lives next door.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cecelia,” she said, floating toward me in a pair of silver lamé slippers. She extended her hand, and perched on her right pointer finger was a deep green ring the size of a walnut.
I didn’t know if I should kiss her ring or curtsy. Finally I took hold of her outstretched hand and managed to push out the words “Thank you.”
Her blue eyes twinkled. “And like I said, please come over and go through my library. I have thousands of books, and I’m sure you’d find several to your liking.”
She flashed a sideways glance at Oletta. “I was sitting in my garden, having a cup of coffee, when the most heavenly ambrosia floated through the air. And I said to myself, ‘Thelma Rae, Oletta’s making her fabulous cinnamon rolls.’”
Oletta pointed to the rolls with pride. “Your nose was right. I got a dozen of ’em right there on the rack. When they cool, I’ll ice ’em up real nice.”
Miz Goodpepper closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her breast, and inhaled deeply. “Oletta, you are the culinary goddess of Savannah. I know it’s shameful how I come over here sniffing the air like a dog, begging for your baked goods. But I’d love to have one or two if you’ve got them to spare.”
Oletta beamed like neon. “You know I always make extra for you. I’ll send Cecelia over with ’em after I make the icing.”
“You’re such a treasure,” she said with a breathy exhale. “You know, I kick myself every day—I should have snapped you away from Tootie years ago.” She lifted her slender fingers to her lips and blew Oletta a big, lip-smacking kiss, turned, and disappeared, leaving a swirl of spicy perfume in her wake.
It was at that very moment when I first felt the powerful undertow of beauty.
Later in the day, Oletta placed three thickly iced cinnamon rolls on a paper plate. “These should make Miz Goodpepper happy. I gave her the biggest ones.”
“She looks like . . . well, like she’s from a foreign country or something,” I said, dipping my finger into the icing bowl.
“Miz Goodpepper’s lived in Savannah all her life, but she does dress a little strange at times, I’ll grant you that,” she said, smoothing tinfoil over the top of the plate and pinching down the edges. “Take these over to her, will you? There’s a path at the side of the garden that leads into her backyard.”
My heart made a flip-flop. What it was I
Oletta nodded. “He sure did. But I don’t think none of them books would be anything you’d like. Later this afternoon I’ll walk you down to the public library. I’m sure they got lots of books for children.” She looked at me and winked. “Even real smart ones like you.”
From behind me a woman spoke—had it been a color, her voice would have been a velvety shade of purple. “No need to go to the library.”
I looked over my shoulder and sucked in my breath. It was like the universe had cracked wide open. Poised in the doorway, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip and the other resting on the doorjamb, was the reigning empress of some strange, exotic land. Though she’d long since passed the zenith of youth, unmistakable remnants of a mysterious beauty oozed from the pores of her porcelain-white skin. Swirling around her ankles, as light as smoke and the color of midnight, was a silk caftan splashed with bits of silver glitter. Her wavy red hair was pinned high on top of her head like the plumage of an alien bird.
“I have a library in my house that doesn’t get a lick of attention except for an occasional dusting,” she said from the reddest lips I’d ever seen. “You’re welcome to come have a look and borrow anything you’d like.” She smiled a slow, catlike smile. “I take it you must be Cecelia.”
Oletta grinned. “How you doin’, Miz Goodpepper? This here child is Cecelia Rose Honeycutt, Miz Tootie’s grandniece. And Cecelia, this is Miz Thelma Rae Goodpepper, she lives next door.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cecelia,” she said, floating toward me in a pair of silver lamé slippers. She extended her hand, and perched on her right pointer finger was a deep green ring the size of a walnut.
I didn’t know if I should kiss her ring or curtsy. Finally I took hold of her outstretched hand and managed to push out the words “Thank you.”
Her blue eyes twinkled. “And like I said, please come over and go through my library. I have thousands of books, and I’m sure you’d find several to your liking.”
She flashed a sideways glance at Oletta. “I was sitting in my garden, having a cup of coffee, when the most heavenly ambrosia floated through the air. And I said to myself, ‘Thelma Rae, Oletta’s making her fabulous cinnamon rolls.’”
Oletta pointed to the rolls with pride. “Your nose was right. I got a dozen of ’em right there on the rack. When they cool, I’ll ice ’em up real nice.”
Miz Goodpepper closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her breast, and inhaled deeply. “Oletta, you are the culinary goddess of Savannah. I know it’s shameful how I come over here sniffing the air like a dog, begging for your baked goods. But I’d love to have one or two if you’ve got them to spare.”
Oletta beamed like neon. “You know I always make extra for you. I’ll send Cecelia over with ’em after I make the icing.”
“You’re such a treasure,” she said with a breathy exhale. “You know, I kick myself every day—I should have snapped you away from Tootie years ago.” She lifted her slender fingers to her lips and blew Oletta a big, lip-smacking kiss, turned, and disappeared, leaving a swirl of spicy perfume in her wake.
It was at that very moment when I first felt the powerful undertow of beauty.
Later in the day, Oletta placed three thickly iced cinnamon rolls on a paper plate. “These should make Miz Goodpepper happy. I gave her the biggest ones.”
“She looks like . . . well, like she’s from a foreign country or something,” I said, dipping my finger into the icing bowl.
“Miz Goodpepper’s lived in Savannah all her life, but she does dress a little strange at times, I’ll grant you that,” she said, smoothing tinfoil over the top of the plate and pinching down the edges. “Take these over to her, will you? There’s a path at the side of the garden that leads into her backyard.”
My heart made a flip-flop. What it was I
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