“I know what that look means,” Micah said. “It means you’re about to talk about grown-up stuff and I have to leave the room.”
“Every time he comes around, there’s trouble.” Violet turned to Charley. “The last time he was in town, three years ago, he and Mother got into an argument and he pushed her down.”
“It was an accident,” Miss Honey said.
“You broke your arm, Mother.”
“He got overexcited. He’s been that way since he was little.”
Violet sighed, wearily. “When the doctor asked Mother what happened, she said she tripped over the laundry basket. I don’t know why she always makes excuses for him.”
“Can we go back, please?” Charley said. “He broke your arm?”
“Mother found some drug paraphernalia in the deep freezer,” Violet said. “When she asked Ralph Angel about it, if he knew where it came from, he flew into a rage. ‘Get out of my business,’ he said. Mother grabbed his elbow, told him to calm down, think about Blue, the example he was setting. Well, that did it. Ralph Angel said, ‘Don’t tell me how to raise my kid,’ and when she blocked the door, he pushed her down and she broke her arm. She waited two hours before she called me. And of course, I called Uncle Brother and John. By the time we got back from the hospital, Ralph Angel and Blue were gone.”
Charley look at Miss Honey. “Is that how it happened?”
“I’m not talking about it,” Miss Honey said. “All I know is, whatever problems Ralph Angel’s got, he comes by them honest. Just look at his mother. Smart as a whip, but her head was never right.”
“Where is Ralph Angel now?” Charley said. After the college tuition incident, his father had never mentioned his whereabouts, never mentioned him at all, come to think of it. And there’d been no mention of Ralph Angel in her father’s will either, a fact that Charley had not thought of at the time, since they’d been out of touch for so many years, but that made her feel uneasy now. Had he really pushed Miss Honey down? Broken her arm? She had inherited a whole sugarcane farm while, at least to her knowledge, he had inherited nothing. What would he think about that?
“Last I heard, he was in Phoenix,” Violet said, leaning closer. “Still drinking and messing with that pipe. But what do I know? Mother keeps up with him.”
“Like I said, he comes by his troubles honest. We all got our cross to bear, Violet. Don’t forget that. Last time I talked to Ralph Angel, he sounded better. Said he’d cleaned himself up.”
“Well, good for him. Let him stay out there.”
Miss Honey pointed an accusatory finger. “I’m booking you, Violet. Shame on you for bad-mouthing your own family.”
“Fine, Mother. Whatever you say.”
“Good grief,” Charley said. “You two are at each other’s throats over someone who isn’t even here. Let me get us something to drink.” She reached for the pitcher, even though every glass was still brimming with ice water. If Ernest had left any cash, she might offer to share it. Maybe she’d buy him a car. But there was only a farm, and only just barely.
Violet and Miss Honey retreated to their corners, and for a while they ate in silence. Then Violet took Charley’s hand again and said, “The Rev and I are hosting an open house when we finish all the renovations. I hope you’ll come.”
“That reminds me,” Miss Honey said. “We’re having a family reunion in honor of Charley coming home.”
“How thoughtful,” Charley said. “Maybe after grinding. I need to work seven days a week till then.”
“Awesome,” Micah said. “I’ll bake cookies.”
“Next Saturday,” Miss Honey said. “I’ve already called some of the family. Violet, I want you to help get the word out to the rest. Tell them eleven o’clock.” She pointed to the baker’s rack crammed with cookbooks. “Micah, you can bake all the cookies you want.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Charley said. “But the bills are stacking up, and I still haven’t found a manager.”
But Miss Honey had already pushed back from the table and started clearing the dishes. “Farm’s waited this long, it can wait a few more days. Violet can start making calls right now. Micah, look in my purse and hand my address book to your aunt. And Violet, be sure to call Aunt Rose from Opelousas.”
“Mother, did you hear what Charley said? She’s got a lot to do right now.”
Charley cast Violet an appreciative look.
“Besides,” Violet continued, “I can’t rearrange my schedule on such short notice. We’ve got choir practice next Saturday. The All-State competition is the end of this month.”
“There, you see?” Charley said, trying to sound gentle and ministerial. “Later this summer would be better for everyone.”
“‘Can’t rearrange your schedule on such short notice,’” Miss Honey muttered. She squirted dish soap in the sink, turned on the faucet. “Well, Violet, I guess you’re a white lady now.”
Violet sighed and let her fork dangle between her fingers. “For heaven’s sake, Mother.”
“Here I’m trying to plan something for Charley and you come telling me what I can and can’t do?” Miss Honey plunged her hands into the soapy water.
“I drove all the way over here to visit Charley,” Violet said. “Let’s have a pleasant afternoon.”
“Listen here, Violet. You’re going to call the family like I told you, and you’re going to cancel your practice.”
“Mother,” Violet said, quietly. “I may be your child, and I don’t mean any disrespect. But there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me cancel that practice.” She folded her napkin primly. “I’d love to get the family together, but not next Saturday. No, ma’am.”
Miss Honey turned the faucet off, and lather dropped from her arms as she waved toward the door. “If that’s the way you’re going to act, then get out of my house. I’m tired of looking at you.”
“Mother, give Charley some time. Let her work things out on her farm before you go piling more on her plate.”
Miss Honey slapped the counter and they all jumped. “Okay, Miss First Lady. It’s a shame your prizewinning choir is more important than your family, but we’re having a reunion next Saturday and you’re going to help.”
Violet pushed away from the table.
“Wait.” Charley leaped to her feet. “This is crazy. Violet, you just got here.” She grabbed Violet’s hand. “Let’s take a walk.”
“No,” Violet said. “Charley, I’m glad you’re back. You look real good.” Charley tried to follow but Violet raised her hand. “I’ll let myself out.”
At the front door, Charley said, “Don’t go.”
Violet pulled her close. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine. You can handle it.” The sound of clanging pots rang from the kitchen and Violet looked over Charley’s shoulder, her expression filled with anguish. Then she touched the nape of Charley’s neck. “I really do love your hair. I wish I had the guts to do it.”
• • •
Charley wasn’t the praying kind. She believed what her father always said: that God helps those who help themselves; that most people are too quick to slough off their responsibility like a pair of dirty gym socks, lay their problems at God’s doorstep. And until recently, Charley believed she was doing everything she could to make the farm a success. But now she was beginning to think she needed a little help. She slid out of bed and dropped to her knees as the morning sun filtered through the curtains. Please, God. Let this farming thing break my way. She cradled her face in her hands and waited for the words. The floor was unwelcoming. The rug smelled of dust and feet, and a faint trace of Murphy’s Oil Soap. Please, God. Give me a sign. A flash of light. A burning bush. Jacob’s ladder. I’m not picky. I just need to know you’re there. She strained for an answer, held herself still as she could, but heard only an empty silence, felt air so heavy it was a presence all its own.