Dollbaby: A Novel (25 page)

Winnie looked from Ibby to Fannie, then back to Ibby. “Why, probably whatever my mother wants me to wear, I’m sure.”

“I told you,” Fannie said.

“Miss Fannie’s always right.” Doll picked up the pattern book and left the room.

“Please, Fannie, let me buy a new dress,” Ibby said. “Just this once.”

“Now, if you girls will excuse me, I have some things to attend to,” Fannie said, making her way toward the hall.

When the girls got to Winnie’s car, Ibby asked, “Why didn’t you tell the truth, Winnie? You’re not wearing a long dress to your party, are you?”

Winnie opened the car door and looked over at Ibby. “Why, Miss Ibby Bell. That
was
the truth. If Mama had her way, I’d be wearing her old debutante dress from the nineteen-forties. There was an old trunk up in the attic with all her old party dresses. I made sure that trunk disappeared. Now I get to pick out my own dress at D. H. Holmes. You just have to be smart about these things.”

Ibby got into the car, thinking hard about what Winnie had just told her.

Winnie patted her on the knee. “It’ll be fine. Just you wait and see. I’m sure Doll will make you a right pretty dress.”

Ibby spent most of the afternoon watching Winnie wiggle into every dress at D. H. Holmes before she finally settled on five, all of which were to be sent to her house on approval.

“Mama’s probably going to be disappointed I didn’t bring home at least one formal gown,” Winnie explained on the way to the car. “I’ll just tell her they didn’t have my size.” She got into the driver’s seat and checked her watch. “Oh Lord, I told Mama I’d be back by three. It’s almost four.”

Ibby leaned in the window. “You go ahead. I need to run an errand.”

Winnie looked puzzled. “Why didn’t you say something before? I wouldn’t have dillydallied so long. Besides, it looks like rain. Don’t you want a ride home?”

“I can take the bus. Don’t worry about me.”

Winnie gave out an exasperated sigh. “Alrighty. I’ll see you at my party, if not before.” She waved a hand out the window and disappeared down Canal Street.

All afternoon Ibby had been thinking of something other than shopping. The building on Ursulines Street where the photo of Vidrine had been taken was only a few blocks away, in the French Quarter. And even though Birdelia had tried on several occasions to convince Ibby that Mr. Rainold had been mistaken, she couldn’t get the image of the woman in the photograph out of her mind.

Ibby hurried down Royal Street with the photo in her hand. The image was blurry, as if the woman had been fleeing from the photographer. Her head was turned to the side, leaving only a small portion of her face exposed to the camera, but something about the manic expression in the eyes reminded Ibby of her mother. Could it be her? And if it was, what exactly was Ibby going to say to her if she did find her?

Why did you leave me? Don’t you love me?

Deep down, Ibby wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that last question.

She passed a woman sitting huddled on a corner, her head covered by a scarf so that her face was concealed; the only thing showing was a bony hand holding out a tin cup. Ibby reached into her pocket and dropped a quarter. The woman let out a muffled thank-you but didn’t look up. Ibby bent down, trying to see her face. The woman flinched and pulled the scarf down, but not before Ibby saw that the woman was toothless and gray-haired. Ibby dropped another coin into the cup and walked off.

Birdelia had been right. Ever since Mr. Rainold told her that her mother might be in town, she’d been eyeing every stranger. She just couldn’t help herself.

Ibby noticed a woman coming out of a building up the street. She had her back to Ibby as she locked her door. She started off toward the back of the Quarter, in the direction Ibby was going. She had the same color hair as her mother and was about the same height. The woman glanced her way, then hurried on down the street. Ibby tried to catch up with her.

“Mama?” Ibby called out.

The woman kept going, then turned onto a side street.

“Vidrine, is that you?” Ibby yelled.

By the time Ibby reached the corner, there was no trace of her.

“Vidrine!” Ibby screamed in frustration.

What am I doing?
Ibby thought as she stared down the empty sidewalk.
My mother isn’t here. Why did Mr. Rainold lead me on like that? Why did he get my hopes up?
She was about to turn back when she noticed the tiles embedded in the sidewalk at the next corner—Rue Ursulines, the street where Mr. Rainold said the photo had been taken. Ibby crossed the street, toward a trio of musicians playing on the corner. The sky rumbled overhead as one of the young men, with wire-rimmed glasses, held out his hat, asking for a contribution. Ibby waved him off.

She didn’t have to travel down Ursulines very far to find the building she was looking for. It was the second one on the left, a typical French Quarter town house with heavily shuttered windows and peeling plaster walls. She went over to the green door on the far side and rang the bell. When no one answered, she rang the bell again.

“You looking for somebody?” one of the musicians on the corner called out as he flipped his long hair behind his back.

“Is this the building owned by a woman named Avi?”

“Why you want to know?” he asked as he came over to where she was standing.

Ibby held out the picture of her mother and showed it to him. “Have you seen this woman?”

He took it from her, then shook his head and handed it back.

“Are you sure?”

“Who is she?” the man asked.

Ibby didn’t want to sound desperate. “A friend.”

The man called to his buddies. “Dudes, come on over here and take a look at this.”

One of the other fellows, with a long beard, came over. “Yeah, man?”

He took the picture from Ibby and showed them. “You seen this chick?”

The two men shook their heads. “No, man,” the bearded one said. “Not one of us.”

“Do you live here?” Ibby pointed to the building.

The bearded man put his hands into his jeans pocket, and gave her a funny grin. She could tell he was high on something.

“Can I take a look around?” Ibby took the photo back from the man with the glasses.

He shrugged. “You can go in. The door’s not locked. But no one’s there.”

Ibby pushed the heavy green door open and walked cautiously down a dark and dank carriageway.

“Hello—anybody home?” she called out.

When no one answered, Ibby went to the end of the carriageway. It opened onto a brick courtyard where several iron tables and chairs were haphazardly scattered about. Someone had been here recently because there were empty plates and cups left on some of the tables. At the far end of the courtyard, along a brick wall that must have been twenty feet high, a fountain of a lion spewed water. The smell of stale incense lingered in the air. On the upper galleries, sheets and clothing hung from the railings. The place had an eerie feeling. It looked as if everyone had left in a hurry.

“Hello! I’m looking for Vidrine Crump!” she hollered.

The man in the wire-rimmed glasses appeared behind her.

“You scared me,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alone with the stranger, she became nervous and fled down the carriageway and back onto the street. It had begun to rain, a hard rain
coming down in sheets. She stood underneath the gallery to the building, wondering what she should do, when water began dripping onto her head from a hole on the flooring above.

The man in the wire-rimmed glasses came out and stood next to her. “Why are you looking for that woman?”

She wiped the rain from her face. “She’s my mother.”

“Is she lost?” he asked.

She glanced at him sideways, unsure how to answer. “No,
I
am.” Then she trudged off down the street, muttering to herself as rain pounded her face, “This was a stupid idea.”

By the time she got to the stop on Canal Street, one of the buses was just leaving. Drenched and filled with disappointment, she decided to walk home. As she made her way down Tchoupitoulas Street near the edge of the river, she took the picture of her mother from her purse. She stared at it for a moment, then tore it up and tossed it into the gutter. She wiped the rain from her face as she watched the pieces float away like a shattered memory, until they eventually disappeared down the storm drain.

D
oll was in the kitchen with Queenie when the doorbell rang.

Queenie looked up from the sink. “You expecting somebody?”

“No, Mama. Probably just Omar the Pie Man, or maybe one of them other street vendors who come by every week trying to sell us something. I’ll go see.”

When Doll answered the door, she found a woman sitting on the front steps, her back toward the door. Doll stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind her. “Can I help you?”

A warm breeze passed across the lawn. The woman wrapped a tattered shawl around her shoulders as if she were chilly.

Doll tapped her on the back. “You need something?”

The woman glanced up. Doll could tell from the haggard face and bulging eyes that she was sick.

“Fannie here?”

The voice was weak and raspy, but there was something familiar about it. Doll couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“You know Miss Fannie?” Doll asked.

“You might say that.”

The woman’s loose linen dress was faded, and her toes had worn holes
clear through the top of her sneakers. For the life of her, Doll couldn’t figure out who this woman was, or how she would know Fannie.

“You want something to drink?” Doll asked, thinking perhaps the woman was a vagabond.

She shook her head. “Ibby here?”

Doll took a step back. There was only one person who would ask such a question. She tried to think of a quick answer. “Why no, she ain’t here. Miss Fannie . . . she done . . . sent Ibby off to camp for the summer.”

Vidrine began to cough, a deep wet cough that lasted for several seconds. She peered up at Doll. “That’s good. I don’t want her to see me like this.”

Doll went down the steps. The woman was so thin, her head looked as if it might topple off her spindly neck. Her hair was sparse and wispy, and several of her teeth were missing. She looked nothing like the Vidrine Doll had once known.

“I’m dying, Doll,” Vidrine said flatly. “I don’t have much longer to live.”

“What you want? Money?” Doll knew Miss Vidrine must be mighty desperate if she was asking Miss Fannie for money.

Vidrine buried her face in the crook of her arm.

“You wait right here,” Doll said.

“Listen.” Vidrine reached up and grabbed Doll’s arm. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way. I meant to come back for Ibby. You’ve got to believe me. But then I got sick. I just need enough to get by for a few more months, that’s all. Just a few more months.”

The way Miss Vidrine was looking at her, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. “Where you living?”

Vidrine began to shake. “Wherever I can find a bed.”

“You homeless? That why Mr. Rainold ain’t been able to find you?”

Vidrine covered her face with her hands.

“You stay right here. Don’t move. You hear me? Don’t move.”

Doll ran inside, down the hall, and into Fannie’s bedroom, where she closed the door and locked it. She paced up and down trying to decide what to do. Should she ask Vidrine in? Should she let her stay until Miss Ibby came back? What would Miss Fannie do if she found Vidrine sitting in the house when she returned? Doll tussled with these questions for several minutes, then put her hand on her hip and looked up at the ceiling.

“Please forgive me, Lawd, but I don’t see no other way. You know something better, you better tell me right now. Show me the way.” She waited for a sign, anything, to let her know she was doing the right thing. “So unless you got something to say, this is the way it’s gone be.” When all she heard was the whirring of the overhead fan, she said, “Well, all right then.”

She opened the door to one of the massive armoires. The two upper shelves were filled with shoeboxes, but she’d learned long ago that these boxes didn’t contain shoes. Like many who had lived through the Depression, Fannie didn’t trust banks, preferring instead to stuff her mattress, cut holes in the floor, and hide cash wherever it suited her, sometimes even in places she’d forgotten about. These shoeboxes were just one of her many hiding places.

Doll took down a shoebox and counted out ten hundred-dollar bills, wondering how much Vidrine would need to live out the rest of her days in some semblance of comfort. She counted out another five hundred just for good measure, then stuffed the wad of cash into the pocket of her apron and headed back into the hall.

Queenie saw her coming out of Fannie’s bedroom. “Doll, what you doing in Miss Fannie’s room?”

Doll waved her off. “Just getting some cash to pay Omar the Pie Man.” She hurried toward the door. When she got outside, Vidrine was gone. Doll panicked, then heard rustling in the azalea bushes below the front steps.

“Miss Vidrine, that you?” Doll hurried down the steps.

She found two eyes peeping out from the bushes.

“I fell off the steps,” Vidrine whispered.

“You about scared the living daylights out of me.” Doll helped Vidrine up, brushed her off, and tried to hand her the money.

Vidrine stared at it but didn’t take it. “Does Fannie know?”

“No, and let’s keep it that way,” Doll said. “Now go on, take it.”

Vidrine stashed the cash under her clothing. “How is my baby girl?”

Her eyes were so pitiful, it almost made Doll want to cry. “Miss Ibby has turned into a fine young lady. You’d be right proud of her.”

“Fannie taking good care of her?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Vidrine,” Doll said. “I can promise you that. She’s taking real good care of Miss Ibby. Real good care.”

Vidrine dropped her head. “When the time comes, tell Ibby I loved her. Will you do that for me?”

“When the time comes, I’ll tell her.” Doll’s words caught in her throat.

Vidrine pulled her wedding ring off her finger. “Here. Give her this. It’s all I have. Tell her I’m sorry.” She pushed herself up and started down the brick walkway toward the street.

Doll put the ring into the pocket of her uniform. “Peace be with you, you hear?”

Vidrine shuffled down the sidewalk like an old woman. As she disappeared around the corner, Doll wondered when was the last time she’d eaten.

“Vidrine, wait!” Doll cried out, wishing she’d made a basket of food for Vidrine to take along with her.

But Vidrine just kept walking as if she didn’t hear.

For a brief second, Doll wondered if she’d done the right thing.
It’s what Miss Vidrine wanted,
she reassured herself as a crack of thunder rattled the air.

“Too late for that, Lawd.” She shook her head. “Now, I know I said a lot of nasty things about Miss Vidrine over the years, and I’m sorry for that. Sure am. But what’s done is done.”

She went up to her sewing room, closed the door, and sat down behind her sewing machine. She picked up the doll she was making Ibby for her birthday and looked it in the eyes: “I sure hope I done the right thing.” When she felt for the ring in her pocket, it wasn’t there. “Lawd, what I done with it?” She emptied her pockets. “Well, I’ll be,” Doll said as she stuck her finger through a hole in one of her pockets.

She ran down the stairs and out the front door and began searching the front steps for the ring.

“Got to be out here somewhere.” Doll squinted, the rain blurring her vision. She scrambled around on her hands and knees for several minutes and was about to give up when she saw the ring sticking up sideways through a crack in one of the bricks. “Thank you, Jesus.” She stuffed the ring in her bra for safekeeping and was about to get up when Queenie appeared at the front door.

“What in the devil’s name is going on? Why you crawling around out in the rain like that?”

Doll scrambled to her feet and brushed off her wet uniform. “I slipped on the steps.”

“Uh-huh. Where the pies? Didn’t you say you were buying pies from Omar?” She pointed down the street. “And lookey there. Here come Miss Ibby. She all wet, too.”

Ibby stopped at the gate. “Doll, why are you standing there in the rain?”

“Well, Miss Ibby,” Doll said, “I could ask you the same thing.”