“She’s just sitting in her chair, listening,” Doll said.
Fannie spoke to him in a stern voice. “Vidrine left Ibby here and never came back. She hasn’t once corresponded with her daughter in four years. Can’t we do something?”
Emile Rainold peered over his glasses. “The only way to gain legal custody is to petition the court and ask it to declare Vidrine an unfit mother by proving she poses a threat to Ibby.”
“Well, she did abandon Ibby,” Fannie said.
“That’s not the issue. The issue is whether Vidrine poses a threat. She hasn’t been around her daughter in years. The only way to claim she might be a threat is to say she left her daughter with someone who might be a threat.”
“You mean me?” Fannie balked.
“I’m just telling you the way the courts might see it, should you try to pursue it.” Mr. Rainold tapped his pipe in the ashtray and filled it with more tobacco. “The court wouldn’t view leaving Ibby with her grandmother as abandonment, in light of the fact that you agreed to take her for an unspecified amount of time. We just had no idea it would be indefinitely.”
“Why don’t we file a petition anyway and see what happens?” Fannie asked.
“The problem is, I have to know where Vidrine is living in order to serve the papers.”
Mr. Rainold’s empty coffee cup clicked against the saucer.
“Mama,” Doll whispered. “Mr. Rainold needs more coffee.”
She grabbed the silver coffeepot and brushed past Doll into the dining room.
“It appears Vidrine has gone peripatetic,” Mr. Rainold said.
“Yeah, pathetic,” Queenie said as she refilled his cup.
Mr. Rainold grinned. “Perhaps pathetic is right, Queenie, but what I said was peripatetic. It means Vidrine doesn’t appear to have a permanent address.”
Queenie turned to go, stopping just short of the kitchen door. “That’s what I said. Pathetic.”
Fannie crossed her arms and sat back. “So what you’re telling me is that Vidrine could walk in that door any minute and take Ibby away.”
“I’m afraid so. The law remains on the side of the mother.”
“So if I died tomorrow and left this house to Ibby, it would fall into the hands of her legal guardian until she’s eighteen, and as of right now, that’s Vidrine.”
“Yes, Fannie, that’s true, but . . .” He tapped his pencil on the table as if he were about to make a point.
“Then I better not die anytime soon.”
He puffed on his pipe. “Not for at least two years, Fannie.”
Doll stifled a laugh and whispered to her mother, “Mr. Rainold’s trying to make a joke, but Fannie’s not laughing.”
Mr. Rainold looked over at Ibby. “There’s something your grandmother and I were discussing before you got here, something I think you should know.”
“Please, Emile. Is this really necessary?” Fannie asked.
“I feel I have an obligation to tell her,” he said to Fannie before turning his attention back to Ibby. “One of my detectives thinks he may have spotted your mother recently.”
Ibby’s hand flew to her mouth. Her elbow accidentally hit a pedestal, sending a vase crashing to the floor.
“Lawd,” Doll whispered.
“What was that?” Queenie asked.
“That ugly old Chinese vase,” Doll said. “Done broke into a thousand pieces when Mr. Rainold told Ibby about her mama.”
“Don’t matter,” Queenie said. “Miss Fannie always hated that vase. It came with the house.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have said anything, Emile,” Fannie said.
“Ibby, I want you to take a look at this.” Mr. Rainold slid a photograph across the table. “One of my detectives took it a few days ago. We’re not a hundred percent positive it’s your mother. Could be someone who just looks like her.”
“You mean my mother is here, in New Orleans?” she asked.
Mr. Rainold said, “That photo was taken on Ursulines Street in the French Quarter, in front of a building owned by a middle-aged woman named Maude Hopper, who calls herself Avi. She’s well known around the French Quarter, a flamboyant nutcase who runs a sort of free-wheeling boardinghouse for transients.”
Ibby was studying the photo hard. Doll could see her hands were shaking.
“It’s obvious I’ve upset you, Ibby. I’m sorry. I only mentioned it in case Vidrine shows up unannounced. As I said, we’re not even sure if the woman in the photo is Vidrine.” He looked at his watch. “Oh gosh, look at the time. I’m sorry to have to rush off, but I’m late for another appointment.”
Fannie saw Mr. Rainold to the door.
Doll turned toward her mother. “You don’t think Miss Vidrine’s planning on showing up here, do you, Mama?”
“It’ll break Miss Fannie’s heart if Miss Vidrine comes back and take Miss Ibby away.” Queenie put her face in her hands, then looked over at Doll. “She come back here, she asking for trouble.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Emile Rainold left, Fannie came back into the dining room and grabbed Ibby’s hand.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re going for a ride.”
When they got in the car, Fannie tied a scarf around her hair and backed out of the driveway, sending oyster-shell gravel flying in all directions. She turned onto St. Charles Avenue, puffing furiously on a cigarette. Ibby looked over at Fannie, wondering where they were going in such a hurry.
Fannie had kept her hair dyed a soft auburn ever since that day they went to Antoine’s for Ibby’s twelfth birthday, and she’d made a concerted effort to keep up her appearance, wearing smartly tailored dresses that Doll made for her. Today she had on rouge and lipstick. Ibby could tell she was thinking hard about something.
It wasn’t until they got to the river bend, where St. Charles Avenue meets Carrollton, that Fannie finally spoke: “I know you’re probably a little unnerved, hearing your mother might be in town.”
The truth was, Ibby wasn’t sure how she felt about her mother, but she didn’t want to upset Fannie by giving a wrong answer. “I don’t know.”
“Do you like living with me?”
Fannie’s question made Ibby pause. “Of course I do, but . . . wouldn’t I have to go with my mother if she said I had to?”
Fannie flicked her cigarette out onto the street. After a while, she handed Ibby an envelope. “Here. This came for you today.”
Ibby noticed the envelope had been opened.
“I know I had no right to open it, but I was afraid after what Mr. Rainold told me this morning that it might have been from your mother. It’s not.”
Ibby slid the card from the envelope, admiring the blue linen paper with the white embossed lettering. “Oh. It’s an invitation to Winnie Waguespack’s sweet sixteen party. She told me about it on the ride home from school today.”
“You have a birthday coming up, too. That invitation gave me an idea. I’m going to throw you your own sweet sixteen party.”
“A party? For me?”
“Yes, dear. I’ve already arranged for T-Bone to start painting the house.”
T-Bone had just gotten back from Vietnam a few weeks ago and was looking for work. Ibby hadn’t seen him since that day at the True Love Baptist Church all those years ago. She wondered what he looked like now.
“Ibby darling, did you hear what I just said? We need to make a list,” Fannie went on. “I will invite your classmates, of course. And Sister Gertrude.”
Ibby’s head shot around. “Sister Gertrude? Why on earth would we invite Sister Gertrude? She’ll ruin the whole party. No one will come if they know she’s invited.”
“Don’t be silly,” Fannie said.
“It’s true, Fannie. Everyone hates Sister Gertrude.” Ibby crossed her arms and let out a harrumph.
/> “Now, dear, Sister Gertrude was one of the first people I met when I came to New Orleans. She went out of her way to be nice to me when I didn’t know anybody. It would be rude of me not to invite her.”
“How exactly do you know Sister Gertrude anyway?”
“She taught me how to dance.”
Ibby balked. “Sister Gertrude knows how to dance?”
“She’s quite good at it, or at least she used to be. A lot of things about Sister Gertrude might surprise you. She wasn’t always a nun, you know.” Fannie glanced her way. “Now, how about boys? Do you know any boys?”
“Not really,” Ibby said.
Fannie tapped the steering wheel with her thumb. “That just won’t do.”
“Well, you did send me to an all-girls school. How am I supposed to meet boys?”
“How indeed.” Fannie appeared to be thinking on it. “We’ll have to come up with a list. Winnie Waguespack has a couple of brothers, doesn’t she? I’ll get Doll to see if she can borrow the De La Salle school directory without Winnie’s mother knowing about it.”
“How are you going to manage that?”
“Her maid Bertha comes to the house every morning to place Myrtis Waguespack’s bets. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Ibby fingered the dashboard. It was full of fancy new features, such as automatic temperature control and an eight-track tape player. “What made you go out and buy a new car?”
Fannie gave out a sigh. “When I got off the train from Mamou all those years ago, just a starry-eyed young girl with no money in her pocket, the first thing that caught my eye was a beautiful red Packard convertible. I promised myself that one day I’d buy myself a big red convertible just like that one. When I woke up this morning, I knew this was the day.”
“Why today?”
Fannie shrugged. “I don’t know. I probably should have done it a long time ago.”
“Will I ever get to drive it?”
“All in due time, dear,” Fannie said, flicking her cigarette out of the car.
They were passing through Mid-City, where the Victorian houses and Arts and Crafts bungalows soon gave way to dozens of cemeteries.
“They call these cemeteries ‘cities of the dead’ because the raised tombs resemble miniature houses from a distance.” Fannie turned in to one of the cemeteries lined by an old iron fence. “When the Spanish first settled in the city soon after the French, they found that when they buried the dead, the water table pushed the bodies back up from the graves. Burying the dead above ground seemed the only way. Look at that one there, with the pillars. Isn’t it lovely?”
They meandered through the cemetery on a narrow lane and eventually parked in front of a small gray marble tomb with a domed top, the entrance flanked by two columns. On either side of the steps leading up to the tomb were copper vases that had faded to a pleasing green patina. Ibby noticed there were fresh flowers in the urns, white lilies, Fannie’s favorite. Above the entrance to the tomb, Ibby could make out two names—Balfour and Norwood. Queenie had told her never to ask Fannie about her grandfather Norwood. And the last time Balfour’s name was mentioned, the day hadn’t ended so well.
Fannie wandered over to a stone bench nestled beneath an oak tree.
“Come sit by me.” Fannie undid her scarf. “Isn’t it nice here? I planted this tree when Balfour died. It must be almost thirty years old now.”
Ibby waited to see if Fannie’s hand would shake at the mention of Balfour’s name, the way it often did when she was thinking about someone she loved who’d died, but Fannie seemed calm, almost at peace in the cemetery.
“Do you come here often?” Ibby asked.
“Whenever I can,” Fannie said. “See those pelicans circling overhead? They’re always here when I come. I often wonder if they followed Norwood from the river.” She was quiet as she watched the birds glide across the sky. “He was a tugboat captain, you know.”
“No, Fannie. You’ve never told me much about Grandfather Norwood.”
“He knew the river like the back of his hand.” She looked away, as if gathering the strength to talk. “Your grandfather had names for all the pelicans on the Mississippi River. Oh, how he loved those pelicans. Sometimes I used to think he loved those pelicans more than he loved me.”
A few days after they were married, Norwood took Fannie down to the river, to see his tugboat. They stood on the pier, admiring it together.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” He waved his hand at the boat, the Pelican II.
Fannie had seen the tugs only from a distance, on the river, where they were mere specks behind the massive barges they pushed. She’d never been on one and was surprised at how big it was and how low it sat in the river, only three or four feet above the water.
“Over a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. The wheelhouse sits way up high like that so you can navigate the river. You feel like you’re in a crow’s nest when you’re up there. Come on. I’ll take you for a ride.” He jumped into the boat and dangled his hands over the side. “Give me your hand, and I’ll pull you up.”
He lifted her up as the breeze from the river tousled her hair. The wake from a passing ocean liner jostled Fannie. She reached behind her, looking for something to hold on to.
“Be careful, honey.” He grabbed her elbow to steady her. “I’d sure hate to lose my bride the first week we were married.”
She followed him across the deck to the wheelhouse, then up the steep metal steps. He held open the wheelhouse door for her as she stepped inside.
“This is my home away from home,” Norwood said as he plucked his captain’s hat from a shelf and placed it on Fannie’s head. He took her hand and pulled her over to the podium where the wheel was mounted. “You want to drive, honey?”
“Oh, no. I’m not even good at driving a car,” she said, fingering the pearls around her neck, the ones Norwood had given her as a wedding present. She took the captain’s hat and placed it on Norwood’s head. “You show me how.”
A few seconds later one of the deckhands appeared at the wheelhouse door.
“Captain Woody, I brought you them bucket of fish you asked me to. Left it up against the side of the wheelhouse in the front of the boat.”
Fannie smiled at Norwood. She’d never heard anyone call him Woody before.
“Listen, Chappy, I want to take my new bride out for a spin, show her the river. You got some time?”
“Sure, Cap,” he said.
“Once I get the boat out, think you could handle her while I go on deck for a few minutes?”
The young man’s eyes lit up.
“All right then.” Norwood pressed a button and moved a lever forward.
The engine revved, sending muddy water gurgling from beneath the boat. Norwood guided the boat out onto the river. After a few minutes, he gave a signal to Chappy to come over and take the wheel. “Bring her just beyond the bend at Algiers Point, then turn her around.”
Chappy took the wheel. “No problem, Cap.”
Norwood slipped a life jacket over Fannie’s head. “Here, put this on and tie it up tight.”
“Aren’t you going to put one on?” she asked as she slid the ropes through the metal fasteners on the life jacket.
He shook his head. “You don’t want to make me out to be a sissy in front of Chappy, do you? Now come on.”
She followed him down the steps. He motioned for her to go toward the bow. The boat was so low in the water that the waves were lapping over the edge. She hesitated.
“Hold on,” Norwood instructed, pointing to the small metal railing that ran the length of the wheelhouse.
Fannie held on with both hands, stepping sideways along the wheelhouse wall as he steadied her. When they got to the front, water was splashing over the sides of the boat. She was scared out of her wits but didn’t want to let on.
“Hold on to the back of my belt,” he said as he picked up the bucket of mullet Chappy had left for him.
She followed him out onto the bow, holding on tight. Norwood grabbed her arms and pulled them around his waist.
Between the roar of the engine and the sounds of the river raging by, he had to holler for her to hear. “Don’t let go!”
“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning her head against his back, glad now for the life jacket.
After a few moments, Norwood gave Chappy the sign to cut the engine. The boat leveled off, traveling close to the far bank of the river at a steady cruising pace. As the engine died down, Fannie was able to let go and stand on her own. She gazed at the river, how it seemed to swirl about instead of flowing by, crashing up against the side of the boat from all directions.
“The river is amazing, isn’t it?” he said as he came up beside her. “The Army Corps of Engineers has tried to tame her, but she’s got a mind of her own. She’s never at rest.”
A flock of brown pelicans swooped overhead and surrounded the boat. They were graceful, gliding through the air with outstretched wings, their heads held back on their shoulders and their bills resting on their necks. They flew so low, Fannie felt as if she could reach up and touch them. Norwood grabbed a fish from the bucket and held it up in the air as one of the birds snatched it and tipped it into its bill.
“That one there is Whitey,” he said. “Call him that on account he’s got white tips on the end of his wings. Got names for all the birds.” He held up another fish. “That one there is Sandy. She’s got tan streaks on her underbelly—looks like sand.”
She watched as the birds came in, one by one, as if in some pecking order. When he ran out of fish, a few of the birds nose-dived into the water looking for more, disappearing completely beneath the surface, while the others bobbed up and down like buoys.
“I always wished I could float like that,” Norwood said, pointing at one of the birds. “They got hollow bones that make it so they can float. You or me go in that water, that would be the last anyone would see of us.”
He pointed upriver. “The river doesn’t flow smooth. It snakes around, sometimes at one-eighty-degree angles, and when the water hits the bank at one of the bends, it roils, driving the current straight to the bottom of the river. The diving current creates holes, some hundreds of feet deep, and eddies that jump up from nowhere. Can swallow a person down.”
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