Getting Rid of Mabel

by Keziah Frost

  -41-

  Hope and Queen sat in the breakfast nook having tea and buttered toast. The bay window looked out on Hope’s small yard which adjoined other small yards, where children and dogs played. Queen didn’t look at the frolicking with longing, but instead sat with a very straight back, nibbling at the edges of her toast, and blowing on her tea to cool it off before taking a sip. She seemed to be enjoying the tea quite a bit. She had put four teaspoons of sugar in her cup.

  Hope had been about to stop Queen from putting in so much sugar, but the child had been talking at the time, and Hope did not want to stop the flow of conversation once it had finally started.

  “I wish I could see my sisters. Tamika, she’s six. Maya, she’s five. You should see them. Ooh! Cute! And very well-behaved.”

  Hope had the fleeting impression she was talking to an adult who just happened to be small. She didn’t talk like Hope’s idea of a nine-year-old. Was it the foster care system that had caused her to grow up fast in some ways, and to seem so old for her age?

  “Where are your sisters?”

  “They got adopted by the foster family I had before this last one. I’m glad for my little sisters, I really, really am. I wish that family would have adopted me so we could be all together forever, but it didn’t work out for me.”

  Hope, worrying she might be treading on thin ice, decided to ask anyway.

  “Why? Why didn’t it work out for you?”

  Queen seemed not to be bothered. “I am too difficult,” she said, simply.

  “Difficult in what way?”

  Queen looked Hope up and down, as if deciding how much more to say.

  “Maybe I’m not that well-behaved. Let’s put it that way.” Queen dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Anyway, I’m glad my sisters got a family. I never wanted to be the reason they didn’t get one. Every time we’d get thrown out of a placement, it was because of me. They never did anything wrong. So now, they have the family they deserve.”

  Hope felt tears welling in her eyes, and she willed them back down. She took a breath and spoke.

  “You deserve a family, too, Queen, don’t you think so? I mean, don’t you think every child does?”

  Hope wondered about Queen’s self-esteem. Wasn’t that important for children to have? Or, wait, were the articles online now saying that parents had gone overboard with self-esteem? This child had plenty of poise and self-determination, but maybe self-esteem was not the same thing. She thought she should try talking with Queen the way she had seen foster parents talk to kids in the educational videos at Children and Family Services.

  “You know, Queen, you are very special; it’s just that your mother is unable to take care of you.”

  Queen’s eyes went dim with boredom. “That’s what they keep telling me.” She sighed. “In those exact words.”

  Hope felt a little silly. But she persisted. “Yes, but it means that it wasn’t because of you, or anything you did wrong, you know. You are very….” Hope hesitated, and Queen watched her trying to think.

  “You are very valuable, and you are good. That’s all.”

  “Huh.” Queen pursed her lips and stirred her tea. “I just got here. What makes you think you know me?”

  -42-

  When one project is not working out, take a break, and turn your mind to another. Carlotta was on her way to Hope’s house to meet the little girl and change her name. While she was at it, she’d observe Hope and correct her early parenting mistakes. It was up to Carlotta to get things off to a good start. This day was shaping up to be a promising one.

  Carlotta had the satisfaction of two missed calls from Lorraine, one from Birdie, one from Norbert, and one from Margaret. Her friends must at last be missing her and wanting to know what she had been up to. Let the Club wait. They had abandoned Carlotta for Mabel. Now let them wait for Carlotta to get back to them.

  It was early September, a late afternoon, and Gibbons Corner was overcast and chilly, with a hint of rain in the air. She had recovered from her disappointment on the failed attempt to get rid of Mabel by taking her for a ride to the Center for Deeper Understanding. “Tomorrow is another day” was her motto. One of her mottos.

  “Aunty!” cried Hope from her doorway, and came running down the walk to take Carlotta’s elbow.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  Carlotta smiled and her heart filled with pleasure. Her guidance was needed. She was in command.

  Hope ushered Carlotta into her house and reached out to take her raincoat.

  “Oh, my dear,” said Carlotta, peering into Hope’s face. “It’s not working out, is it?”

  “Aunty,” said Hope in an angry whisper. “Why would you say that?”

  Carlotta had always been constitutionally incapable of whispering. It was as if she were possessed of the conviction that her voice was meant to be heard by all. Whenever she tried to whisper, she succeeded in whispering only the first word or two of her sentence. From there, the rest of her pronouncement came out loud and clear.

  “Hope, I can read you like a book.”

  Hope shot a glance into the mirror that hung next to the door.

  “Are you in over your head? If you are, you can tell me. You know I will support you in whatever you decide. But if you’re feeling like you’ve made a mistake, you can just call Child and Family Services. You can have them pick her up.”

  “Of course I’m not going to have them pick her up!” Hope continued to whisper. “She’s done nothing to deserve that!”

  “I’m sure she hasn’t, yet. I’m sure she’s minding her p’s and q’s while she sizes you up. But think about it. What do you know about raising an African American child? Oh, don’t give me that shocked look. Answer the question. What do you know?”

  “What do I need to know?” Hope knitted her brows at Carlotta.

  “That’s just it! You don’t even know what you don’t know. Just to begin with, what about her hair? Don’t you need to know how to braid it or something?”

  Hope let out a groan and cast her eyes at the ceiling.

  “It’s called YouTube tutorials, Aunty.”

  A floorboard creaked in the hallway that led to the bedrooms, and both women stopped talking. They didn’t need to speak aloud their realization that the child had been standing and listening to them. For how long?

  “Well come on in, Aunty. It’s silly to stand whispering by the closet.”

  “I wasn’t whispering,” asserted Carlotta truthfully, and she seated herself on the couch by the window.

  The child called Queen came slowly into the living room, reading a book as she walked. She was very small. She didn’t look like much of a “behavior problem.”

  “Aunt Carlotta, I want you to meet Queen Serafina Jones,” said Hope. “And Queen, I want you to meet my Aunt Carlotta.”

  “Hello, dear,” said Carlotta.

  The child settled herself with dignity on the love seat, her feet dangling above the floor, and simply looked, unspeaking, at Carlotta. Maybe her intelligence was not all it should be. My, but her eyes were large, behind those magnified lenses of hers.

  Carlotta spoke slowly and clearly. “You are reading a book. What is it about?” She smiled brightly to let the child know she was being friendly.

  Queen held up the book to show its title. The Tale of Despereaux. On the cover were some rodents. Carlotta had a horror of rodents. She thought she would have to buy this little girl some suitable books. That is, if she would be staying for any length of time.

  “That’s quite a thick book for such a young girl,” flattered Carlotta. “Do you understand it?”

  Queen glanced at her open book, as if she longed to get back to her reading, and did not answer her elder. Carlotta made a mental note to instruct the little girl on the rules of polite discourse, at her earliest opportunity. Because it did seem that, against advice, Hope was planning to keep the girl.

  Hope brought Carlotta a cup of herbal tea and they settled in
for a nice visit, discussing the predicted storm for this evening, the booming business at the Good Fortune Café, the gratitude Hope felt toward her teenage assistant Liam for taking on increased hours at the shop while Hope got the child settled in, and circling back to Queen, who sat with her eyebrows in a V-shape, apparently absorbed in her reading.

  Carlotta made a new attempt to draw the child out.

  “Queen,” began Carlotta, and the little girl looked up. “is an interesting name. But your middle name, Serafina! Now that is a truly beautiful name. I think I will call you Serafina—may I?”

  The child put the book aside and sat up straight. Her voice was clear and strong.

  “No. You may not.”

  “You don’t like your middle name? But it’s such a pretty one.”

  “Aunty,” said Hope. “Her name is settled. It’s Queen.”

  “Queenie, then,” amended Carlotta. “That’s a little better, isn’t it? Queenie? I’ll just shorten it to Queenie.”

  “Queenie is not shorter,” observed Queen, as if patiently pointing out the obvious to a slow-witted child. “And it is also not my name.”

  This stalled debate was interrupted by the doorbell.

  “Oh! That’s your Club!” said Hope.

  “The Club? What are they doing here?”

  “They called this morning and asked if they could stop by to meet Queen. I knew you were coming, so I thought, the more the merrier. And I made sandwiches!”

  And into the little living room filed Lorraine, Norbert, Birdie, Margaret and Mabel.

  They were all carrying wrapped gifts.

  -43-

  Lorraine, the retired school teacher, grabbed the spot next to Queen on the loveseat, and immediately began to involve the child in a discussion about her book. Carlotta felt the sting of jealousy as she caught pieces of their literary conversation through the din of confusion the Club brought in with them.

  “I like Despereaux,” confided Queen to Lorraine. “He’s in love with music and Princess Pea.”

  Meanwhile, Margaret was zestfully telling Hope all about their thrilling time at the Escape Room, and Birdie added that it had blown her mind. Carlotta reflected in bitter silence that Birdie’s mind had been blown for years. Norbert asked Carlotta if she would come with them should they decide to try the escape room again.

  Of all the ways to waste one’s time.

  “I’d love to,” began Carlotta, “but lately I’ve been so….”

  “Let’s do presents!” crowed Mabel.

  Carlotta felt the mortification of having come empty-handed, while all her friends had brought gifts for the little girl. It had never occurred to her to buy a present. She had brought with her only her intention to change the child’s name.

  Hope exclaimed that they all shouldn’t have, while Queen’s eyes gleamed with cautious interest.

  Margaret extended her gift first, and as Queen unwrapped it and Hope continued to repeat that this was so unexpected, Margaret asserted, “How can you approach a little girl without a doll?”

  Queen held in her arms a beautifully dressed African American doll. Queen plucked at the sparkly material of the doll’s dress, and seemed unable to take her eyes from it.

  “You’re not too old for dolls, are you? You’re still just the right age, aren’t you?” fretted Margaret.

  “I’m not too old,” said Queen. “Thank you.”

  Mabel commented, “Margaret, how do you find such beautiful things? You have unpeckable taste.”

  Margaret laughed with pleasure. “Impeccable taste?” she corrected with subtlety. “Why, thank you! Yes, I do love to see a beautiful doll, even at my age.”

  Birdie extended her gift: watercolor paints and a block of watercolor paper.

  Queen’s fingers ran across the squares of color that showed through the top of the plastic box.

  “I love painting. Thank you.”

  So far, the child’s manners did not need correcting, reflected Carlotta. If anyone’s manners were not what they should be, they were Carlotta’s. Why hadn’t her friends told her they would all be bringing gifts today? With irritation, she thought of all the missed calls she had not returned. They could have texted, at least, that they had conspired behind her back to bring welcome gifts. It was all their fault.

  Lorraine gave Queen a copy of The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. An old-fashioned classic. Would a modern child be able to understand such a book?

  Lorraine summarized, “It’s about a ten-year-old girl who lived a long time ago. Her parents are dead, and she goes to live in a big old house with an old uncle that she never sees. There’s a hidden garden, a boy who can talk to animals, and someone is crying every night in one of the rooms, and she goes to find out who it is.”

  Queen observed Lorraine as she spoke, and then looked at the book in her hands, her interest clearly ignited.

  Queen asked, “So she snoops through the house?”

  “Well,” considered Lorraine, “I guess the mean housekeeper would say she was snooping. She’s really just finding out what she needs to know.”

  Queen nodded in approval. “I’ll love this book.”

  Mabel was next: a box containing five shades of nail polish.

  What is wrong with the woman? So inappropriate.

  Queen lit up with surprise and lifted each little bottle in turn.

  The last gift was offered by Norbert: a Swiss army knife.

  “Look!” said Norbert with enthusiasm, taking the tool back and demonstrating, “you have here a large blade and a small blade, a corkscrew, a can opener and a little screwdriver, a bottle opener, a hole punch, a key ring, tweezers—and a toothpick!” Norbert handed his gift back to Queen and sat back proudly. “I had one of those when I was about your age. It was my favorite thing.”

  Carlotta looked meaningfully at Hope, and Hope nodded her agreement to Carlotta. Clearly, Hope would take charge of that weapon when Norbert was gone.

  Hope said, “Thank you, everyone. You didn’t have to do this. We’re very grateful.”

  Queen said quietly, “Thank you,” and settled into the loveseat, her doll cradled in one arm and her other treasures all around her. She went back to reading Despereaux.

  Mabel was wiping her chin, having finished her sandwich before anyone else had begun eating theirs. Stomach full, she launched into her next plan for the Club.

  “I was just thinking, it’s not hard to get on the local TV channel. Community television, you know. It’s for everyone in the community. You just need to have an idea for a show, and of course, everyone needs to take the class to learn how to operate the equipment. That’s a real quick affair, and you get certified. Then you come in with your idea, you book time on the schedule, and you’re on TV!”

  Carlotta watched Mabel wrap the Club in a new spell. They were all talking over one another, putting forth ideas for a program.

  While Carlotta watched Mabel, she could feel Queen watching her. What an unusual child. But Carlotta’s attention returned to the Club’s impromptu brainstorming session. Carlotta knew what Mabel was up to. She was going to finagle a way to make herself the star of the TV show. That’s what Carlotta would do, in her place. She watched to see how Mabel would work it.

  Margaret suggested, “How about a psychic show? The Norbert Show! Norbert could read people’s cards and make predictions for Gibbons Corner!”

  Norbert balked immediately. “Oh, no. I couldn’t read cards like that, on camera. No, I’m not your man.”

  Birdie said, “Then what about an interview show?”

  Mabel said, “OK. Who would we interview?”

  The Club ate their sandwiches and considered.

  “Each other?” suggested Margaret.

  “Or—hey!” said Norbert. “Interview the mayor! And the police chief.”

  “Sorry. Boring,” vetoed Lorraine.

  Mabel turned to Carlotta. “How about Oil Painting with Carlotta?”

  “Ooh! A painting show
!” cried Margaret.

  Carlotta envisioned herself—just for a moment—as the star of a TV show. Then she shook herself free of the enchantment. Mabel would be her director. That was out of the question.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m very busy these days.”

  No one asked Carlotta what was keeping her so busy.

  “I know!” exclaimed Lorraine. “A cooking show! Everyone loves cooking shows, don’t they?”

  “Yes! Margaret!” exclaimed Mabel. “She’s a fantastic cook! Margaret can cook, and the rest of us will operate the cameras, arrange the set, work the character generator, and all that stuff. There are plenty of off-camera roles to play. Then, at the end of the show, we’ll all come in and eat and rave about how delicious it is!”

  The Club took up the cry of: “Margaret! Margaret! Margaret!” until relenting and laughing, Margaret agreed to be the star of In the Kitchen with Margaret.

  Outside, there were rumblings of distant thunder. The room grew dark, and Hope turned on the lamps.

  Carlotta, a mass of dark reflections, felt herself being watched and turned to meet the owlish gaze of the little girl. Queen looked away from Carlotta, to take in the whole gathering.

  Hope took advantage of the lull in the conversation to bring attention back to her foster child.

  “Queen, you will be seeing a lot of all of these people after school and on weekends, while I am at the café. This week, I’m taking off every day after school just to help you get settled in. Starting next week, though, Aunt Carlotta will take care of you on weekends and pick you up after school Wednesday through Friday, and I bet she’ll take you visiting sometimes. I’m sure she’ll take you to the library, too.”

  Queen said, “No, thank you. She can just drop me off at the café with you. I’ll sit in the kitchen and read and paint.” She picked up the box of watercolors and gazed into it again.

  Hope said, “Yes, you stay in the kitchen at the café on Mondays. That will seem like a long stretch for you, just reading and painting until I can close up. You’ll see. You need to have different experiences, and get to know all your aunts and your uncle.”