by Harper Lin
Becky furrowed her brow and stood on her tiptoes to whisper harshly in her father’s ear, “I’m not the one upsetting her. Miss Fanny Nosy-Britches is.” She fell back to her heels and crossed her arms in front of her.
“Be that as it may, I know your mama doesn’t like you giving her the cold shoulder. She’s the only mama you got. Unlike Miss Fanny Nosy-Britches, who has everyone and their mother looking out for her.” Judge put his pipe back in his mouth and puffed.
“Mama wishes I was like Fanny. She said as much. I never in my life said anything so cruel to her.” Becky pouted. “Doesn’t she think that I might have liked Mrs. Santa Claus or maybe the Tooth Fairy to be my mama? I could have. But I never said it.”
Again, Judge’s belly jiggled. “Ever since you were born, your mama has fretted over you, Rebecca. She worries every day. She wants you to be healthy and well taken care of. No different from any other mama worth her salt.”
“She wants me to be something I’m not. I’m strange, Daddy.” Becky looked out at the tobacco fields. “I can’t help it. The good Lord made me odd, and I’m doing my best to cover it up, but you know what the song says. Don’t hide it under a bushel.”
“Rebecca, you do say the funniest things.” Judge shook his head.
“Daddy, is it true that Fanny is staying on another month?” Becky slipped her hand into her father’s and squeezed it.
“I’m afraid it is. Seems that she was supposed to go to Cousin Felicity’s ranch in Otswego, Kansas, but they suddenly came up with a bout of pox or fever or heaven knows what.” He looked down at his daughter. “I think they suffer from the same affliction you do. They just don’t like her.”
“How can that be? I thought everyone adored Fanny.” Becky rolled her eyes.
“I’ll tell you what it is. Cousin Felicity’s daughter Maxine is getting married, and the last thing they want is Fanny prancing around her beau, throwing cold water on his feet,” Judge replied quietly.
Now it was Becky’s turn to giggle.
“Do me a favor, darlin’. Go on and talk to your mama. Do it for me,” Judge said as he tilted his head to the right. “I don’t ask you for too much, do I?”
Becky’s shoulders sagged. She looked up at the roof over the porch and focused on a spider web that was white and wispy in the corner. She tried to think of something to say that would get her out of talking to her mother, at whom she was still angry. Of course, she’d talk to her sooner or later. But she just didn’t want to now. Not yet.
“Fine.” She sighed dramatically.
“That’s my girl.” Judge kissed the top of his daughter’s head before she could turn and stomp off.
Inside the house, it was a good bit warmer. The temperature outside was well below eighty degrees, but the cool night air had yet to circulate through the house.
Kitty was sitting in her sewing room, her latest reading project in her hands as she spoke to the other officer who enviously watched Officer Hamilton talk with Fanny. Becky walked along the porch and was about to enter from the French windows when she stopped to let her mother talk to the officer.
“I’m just so distressed over the whole thing. I didn’t know the boy, Lawrence, you see. But nonetheless, I am just dizzy over the whole escapade,” Kitty said, shaking her head.
“I do appreciate your taking the time to talk with us again, Mrs. Mackenzie,” the officer said.
“Well, I do hope you find the brute who did this. It would certainly put the people who were in attendance at the party at ease,” Kitty replied. “My goodness, the scandal is crippling.”
Becky waited as her mother went on about the black mark this incident would leave on the Boudreauxs’ reputation. She would never say it out loud and risk her mother slipping into a coma of humiliation, but Becky would have loved the murder to have taken place in her own home. How exciting, and people would be much more interested in that than in any silly old trip to Paris.
“Aunt Kitty?” Fanny weaseled her way into the sewing room from the foyer, where she’d been standing with Officer Hamilton. “I think these gentlemen could use a cold drink before they venture back out into the world of preventing crime. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course, Fanny. Tell Lucretia to pour them a couple of glasses of lemonade,” Kitty replied. “Where is Becky?”
“I don’t know where she’s run off to this time,” Fanny huffed. “She left me in that creepy old cemetery this morning, and I haven’t seen her since.”
Becky watched her mother take a deep breath and slowly release it.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Aunt Kitty?”
Then, something ugly caught Becky’s attention. The experience was like walking through a field of high grass and stopping short of a garden spider the size of a baseball hovering chest high in its web. That had happened to Becky on more than one occasion. Just one more step, even half a step, and she would have had the eight-legged thing on her clothes, scurrying upward toward her face, her hair… oh, the horror. Becky stared in disbelief as a familiar man emerged, like a creeping spider, from the corner of the room. She knew his hunched form and his earnest shuffle. It was the dirty hobo she’d seen whispering to Diggs at the poker game, the one who had climbed out of the paddy wagon and who’d stared right at her in the woods before she slipped on a tree root and nearly killed herself.
He gave a wide smile, like at any second he would start laughing as he sidled up to Fanny, who stooped down to talk to Kitty. Without pulling his eyes from Becky’s, he chuckled and whispered something in Fanny’s ear.
Part of Becky wanted to jump into the room, pointing and screaming at the little troll as it whispered its poisonous secrets, but her memory of trying to convince Adam it was really there kept her quiet. All she could do was watch, recalling what Madame Cecelia had her read from that old book. This thing wasn’t like the lovely Mr. Wilcox, who roamed the cemetery, telling her stories of his family and giving her nuggets of advice. This thing was bad.
“I’m really sorry that your daughter can’t seem to find time for you. It’s got to be a phase she’s going through. I can’t believe she’s just selfish,” Fanny said. “Although I have been known to give the wrong people the benefit of the doubt.”
Becky’s eyes almost popped out of her skull. She took a deep breath, expecting her mother to confirm Fanny’s comments.
“You don’t know my daughter that well, Fanny,” Kitty replied without looking at her. “If you don’t mind, please ask Lucretia for that lemonade.”
In no way could Becky hold back her smirk. She glared at the little man, who shook his finger at her. Perhaps smirking at him wasn’t the right thing to do. He didn’t respond well to being taunted.
“Rebecca!” he shouted. Spit flew from his rotten mouth, and he clenched his fists as his crooked body shook with anger. But before Becky could say anything, he disappeared just as Fanny walked from the room toward the kitchen.
The two officers almost broke their own necks watching Fanny skirt past them. The insecurity Becky felt washed over her like a wave. Every time she saw Fanny, she was reminded of how she’d clung to Adam and he’d made no effort to tell her to shove off.
“For Pete’s sake,” Becky muttered. Holding her breath, she walked into her mother’s sewing room, tripping over the carpet in front of the window and stumbling into her mother’s stationery desk.
“Oh, there you are,” Kitty said. “I wondered what had happened to you.”
“I’ve been around. I heard you’ve been discussing my behavior outside this house with Cousin Fanny.” Becky rubbed her knee that had hit the desk before stepping up to her mother.
“I’ve just asked her what her opinion is of where you go and who you associate with,” Kitty said, looking down at her sewing.
“I associate with Martha Bourdeaux and Teddy Rockdale, like I have for ages. Why didn’t you just ask me?” Becky wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something foul. “Instead of getting your information
from an outsider.”
“Becky. I do think you are getting ruffled for nothing. I’m your mother. Don’t I have a right to know what you are up to and who you are associating with?” Kitty looked so worried that Becky was afraid the woman might blow away like a dry leaf on a fall breeze.
“Of course, Mama. But I do wish you’d trust me. I know a lot more than you think. I’m not some rube who just fell off the turnip truck.” Becky knelt in front of her mother. “For instance, having a few dances with a Yankee isn’t all that scandalous. Especially when he wants to come calling like a proper gentleman, but fear of my mother’s reaction has prompted me to tell him no.”
Kitty smoothed her daughter’s wavy red hair from her forehead. “Let’s see what pans out with this horrible incident at the Bourdeauxs’ house before we go on and invite trouble. Poor Leona is thinking of cancelling her anniversary party.”
“What? They always celebrate their anniversary party,” Becky said. At the last three celebrations, she had won a dollar and twenty cents total playing poker, was deemed the charades champ, and had danced at least once with every gent in the place without her mother noticing.
“I know. It would be a shame,” Kitty said.
“That’s still a couple of months off. This whole incident might blow over in a few more weeks. We don’t know,” Becky said encouragingly.
“You do look on the bright side of things. How hopeful you always are,” Kitty said with a smile. “My, that’s pretty.” She pointed at the bracelet around Becky’s cuff.
“Isn’t it? But it snags. See, these little points are so elegant, but they catch on my clothes. Still, I think it’s too pretty not to show off.” Becky smiled, thinking of Madame Cecelia and Ophelia.
Just then, Fanny interrupted with a silver tray and four glasses of lemonade.
“Becky. There you are,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were lurking about, so there are only four glasses of lemonade.”
“I’m not thirsty.” Becky reached for a glass and handed it to her mother. “It looks like the police are finished. Fanny, would you bring them their lemonade so they can be on their way?”
Fanny looked down at Becky and forced a smile. Obviously, she had wanted to talk to Kitty alone. After checking the corners and not finding the hobo crouched and waiting in any of them, Becky stood and smiled back at Fanny.
“Where are you going now?” Kitty asked.
“Nowhere, Mama. I’ve had a busy day. I think I’m going to go turn in early, as the pickers say.” She kissed her mama on the cheek and headed toward the kitchen so she could avoid bumping into Fanny, who was enjoying the attention from the policemen.
“Rebecca?” her mother called.
“Yes, Mama?”
“Thank you for coming to talk to me,” Kitty said, smiling.
Becky nodded and rolled her eyes as she grinned at her mother. A couple of smart replies crossed her mind, but she decided to say nothing. Her mother was a good egg, she knew. She just wished she wouldn’t worry about marrying her off or making sure she “fit in” with all the snoots in town. As much as she hated to admit it, taking her father’s advice and talking to her mother made her feel light again. Oh, how she hated how right he was all the time.
Just as Becky entered the kitchen, she was alerted to some very exciting news.
“Hey, Miss Becky. I found a toad,” Teeter boasted as he sat in his kitchen chair, his bare feet swinging excitedly.
“You did? Is your mama gonna make soup out of him?” Becky teased.
“No, Miss Becky. I already named him.”
“Oh, I see. He’s already part of the family. Can’t eat him now. What’s his name?”
“Herman.” Teeter smiled, his white teeth gleaming. “He practically jumped right up into my lap.”
“Well, that sounds swell, Teeter.” Becky walked up to Lucretia as she washed the dishes. “You sure you ain’t making a soup out of him?” she whispered, making Lucretia chuckle quietly.
“If that boy could put a leash on a housefly and bring it home as a pet, he would,” Lucretia replied. “What you want, Miss Becky? I’ll get it for you.”
“No, Lucy. That’s all right. I’ll just help myself to a bit of this lemonade,” Becky said, getting herself a glass with chips of ice before filling it to the top.
“Didn’t Miss Fanny just bring some out?”
“That wasn’t for me. That was for her and the policemen at the door.” Becky shook her hips, making Lucretia laugh again.
“Those men are asking everyone questions. I hear they even asked Penelope what she was doin’ at the time of that poor man’s death.” Lucretia clicked her tongue.
“I shudder to think of how Penny answered them.” Becky raised her eyebrows.
“Mm-hmm. You know she don’t take kindly to anyone asking her business. Those poor detectives.” Lucretia continued to shake her head and click her tongue.
“I wouldn’t fret over them too much,” Becky replied. “They’ve probably dealt with tougher nuts than Penny. Not many, I’m sure. But one or two.”
“My, they must be stumped something terrible over that murder at the Bourdeauxs’ place. I do hope they find out who did that terrible thing,” Lucretia whispered as she continued washing and stacking the dishes.
“I’m sure they will,” Becky said. “There were only so many people there, and sooner or later the guilty party always makes a mistake.”
“You think so, Miss Becky?”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” Becky shrugged then walked up to Teeter to give him a kiss on the head. “I’m turning in.” Becky yawned and stretched before taking a long sip of lemonade.
“You sound like the pickers in the field.” Lucretia smiled. “Night, Miss Becky.”
“Good night, Miss Becky. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” Teeter added.
“Good night, Teeter. Tomorrow, you introduce me to Herman. I want to make sure I recognize him if I see him crossing the pond.” Becky winked, making the boy grin and nod.
The cool, sweet lemonade brought a welcome chill over Becky’s shoulders as she ascended the back stairs and headed to her room. But before she got there, she heard a quiet argument. As she inched her way down the hall, she quickly realized the voices were coming from her room.
“I don’t care. You won’t tell Becky a thing,” a voice hissed.
Chapter Twenty-One
In mere seconds, Becky silently crept up to her open door and peered inside. There she found Fanny at her vanity and poor Dolores looking helpless and angry as she fidgeted with the notebook in her hand. Becky instantly recognized the book as her own day journal.
“What’s going on?” Becky asked, looking sternly at Dolores and Fanny.
“Oh, um, Rebecca. I thought you were downstairs with your mother,” Fanny stuttered. She had quickly stood up and held something behind her back.
“What do you think you are doing?” Becky never took her eyes off Fanny, even though Dolores stood right there. The ringleader’s identity was obvious. After all the years Dolores had been with the Mackenzies, she’d never gone snooping. This was obviously Fanny’s idea.
“Well… I… your mother has been very worried about you,” Fanny said. “I thought if I could find something that could explain why you’ve been acting the way you have, something that might help put your mother’s mind at ease, then it would solve everyone’s problems.”
“Dolores, you can leave,” Becky said.
With a quick nod, Dolores handed Becky the items in her hands and then quickly shuffled out of the room, her eyes staying focused on her own feet.
“This is my day schedule,” Becky said, holding the small book in her hand.
“All right. I thought that it would be important to know whom you were associating with. Granny Louise always says that you can tell a lady by the company she keeps,” Fanny said. “I’m just trying to help.”
“What do you have behind your back?” Becky asked.
“Rebecca, I’m just worried about you. If people found out that you were so obsessed with that morose piece of property out there, why, I just don’t even want to think of the rumors that…”
“You mean if you told them about my hobbies, they might turn on me and confide in you.” Becky took a step closer.
“You need to watch that temper of yours.” Fanny cleared her throat. “The sad truth is everyone knows already how peculiar you are. I’ve heard from the ladies in the beauty salon and down at the corner drug store, and even at Gimbles, the sales ladies gave your mother the once over because you weren’t there with us.”
Becky was shaking. It took all her strength to hold back from clobbering Fanny. That was what the girl needed: a good kick in the pants.
“Get out of my room,” Becky hissed. She raised her hand and pointed to the door. The bracelet snagged on her skirt, but Becky didn’t care. “And if I ever find out that you’ve been snooping in here or anywhere else on the Mackenzie Estate, I’ll make sure Mama throws you out. You’ll have to take a streetcar back to Granny Louise and explain to her how your own kin tossed you out on your ear.”
Fanny squared her shoulders and headed slowly toward to the door.
“I’ll leave. But remember one thing, Rebecca. You may not think much of me, but your mother does. I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t plan on letting some freak who hangs around a cemetery ruin my reputation.” She turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Becky’s jaw hit the floor. Her feet started to move before she stopped herself at her bedroom door. The urge to grab Fanny by her flowing golden locks and yank her to the ground was overwhelming. But something stopped her: not her conscience but that dirty bum who had whispered to Fanny. In real life, Fanny Doshoffer would never come within ten feet of a degenerate like that. She might click her tongue and say, “Tsk, tsk,” at how sad his situation might be, but she’d never reach out to help.
