Chapter 5 #2
Its fur lay in stiff clumps along its sides and chest. I would have guessed that it had been in the water recently, but it looked greasy rather than wet. Was it sick?
Rabies? While you do sometimes see raccoons out in the daytime, an unhealthy animal out during the day set off alarm bells.
There was no way that it could make the jump from the sweet gum to the balcony, but I eased myself to the edge of my chair anyway, ready to dodge back if it made any threatening moves.
It didn’t. In fact, it didn’t move at all. It just clung to the tree and stared at me.
At least it looked like it was staring. I couldn’t see the shine of its eyes, so for all I knew, it was taking a nap in my direction.
Or maybe it doesn’t have eyes. Maybe they’re gone. Or maybe it never had any and it’s just got blank fur growing over the sockets …
That was not a thought that I enjoyed having. I could see it all too clearly, a skull like one of the ones in the studio, but with smooth bone where the orbits should be.
Stop that.
I wasn’t usually this fanciful. It was probably just left over from dealing with Halder and the dreadful botfly, and from hearing Jackson’s stories about bloodless bodies in the woods and God knew what else.
It was ridiculous, scaring myself with things like that when rabies was scary enough already.
I knew it was ridiculous. Rabies drove you foaming mad until you died in agony.
I wouldn’t be able to see foam at this distance. All I could make out was a pale blob on one side of its face, which might have been a scar or a patch of sunlight or a piece of bark stuck to its fur.
I was almost certain it couldn’t make the jump from the tree to the balcony.
“Right,” I said. “I’m just … going inside for a moment.” (Yes, it was very silly. I knew that even at the time. The raccoon certainly wasn’t going to be impressed with my bravado. It was purely childhood logic at work: as long as I didn’t run, it wouldn’t be able to chase me.)
I stood up, nonchalantly gathered up my paints, balanced the half-finished fly atop them, and retreated at a decorous pace into the studio. When I closed the door, I could see the raccoon still facing in my direction. It hadn’t moved at all and I still couldn’t make out its eyes.
The next morning, when I came down to breakfast, there was a stranger at the table.
She had the round, slightly jowly face that can be any age between forty and seventy, and I couldn’t tell what race she was.
Generally around here that means people assume you’re Black, but I found myself reluctant to make that assumption either.
“Hezekiah Kersey,” she said, waving the edge of a shawl at me.
She was bundled up in shawls as if it were January instead of the first week of May.
The shawls were all bright colors, red and green and purple, so she glowed like an orchid in the dimness of the kitchen.
I would have to use color straight out of the tube to paint the fabric, and layer the shadows carefully so as not to dim their richness.
“But you can call me Ma Kersey. Ev’rybody else does, whether I birthed ’em or not.
” She aimed a swat in Jackson’s general direction as she said it, which he ducked, laughing.
“You’re not old enough to have birthed me, Ma.”
“Flatterer.” She had two gold teeth that showed when she smiled.
“Sonia Wilson.” I extended a hand and she took it. Her grip was solid but brief, not trying to prove anything, maybe not thinking that anything needed proving.
“I hear you’ve come to draw up more pictures for the doctor’s book.”
I didn’t bother to ask where she’d heard that.
Plenty of people gossip, but a certain sort of person can snatch gossip right out of the air, like a flycatcher bird grabbing an insect on the wing, and neither the gossip nor the insect knows what hit it.
“I am. Lots of paintings of flies at the moment.” I tried to sound rueful and amused, even though I was still feeling a little unsettled from the Cuterebra yesterday.
It had taken a very long time to finally die, and no matter how much I told myself that some of the ether in the killing jar must have evaporated, I didn’t quite believe it.
“Mmm.” She leaned back in her nest of shawls and studied me with dark, sharp eyes.
Mrs. Kent slid a poached egg and hotcakes and bacon onto Ma Kersey’s plate, and there was real maple syrup on the table. Mrs. Kent clearly thought highly of this guest. I used the syrup very sparingly, aware that I did not rank nearly so high, but the taste was like winter sunlight on my tongue.
“You cook just as good as your mama did,” Ma Kersey told Mrs. Kent, who ducked her head, looking both pleased and slightly annoyed, as if she didn’t want that to mean something. I ran the last bite of hotcake around my plate, trying to mop up any remaining molecules of syrup.
Ma Kersey leaned back in her chair with her coffee cup balanced atop her belly. I thought she was a big woman, but it was hard to tell under all the shawls. She caught my eye and grinned, gold teeth flashing. “Lumbee,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I’m Lumbee. You had that look on you, trying to figure out who my people are. There’s your answer. Came from over Robeson way, followed a fellow here.” She took a sip of her coffee and added meditatively, “He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I said automatically.
“That makes one of us. Sweet as sugar for six months and mean as a snake for the next six years.” She held out her coffee cup into the air next to her with the absolute certainty that someone would fill it.
Jackson hurried to do so. “But you,” Ma Kersey said, “you’re from out by Wilmington, I hear. ”
Again, I didn’t bother wondering where she’d heard it. “That’s right.”
“Like it out here, do you?” Her eyes bored into me like surgical instruments, pulling out bits and holding them up to the light. “Or are you missing home?”
I had a distinct impression that there was a right and a wrong answer to this question, without knowing what they were.
Who is this woman? I sipped my own coffee to buy some time while I formulated an answer.
“I’m missing it less than I expected. I traveled a lot when my father was alive, so I’m used to being in new places.
” That didn’t sound enthusiastic enough, so I added, “It’s so incredibly green here. It feels so alive.”
“That it is,” said Ma Kersey, “that it is. Alive and all of a piece. You shoot a rabbit on one side of the county and the grass on the other side knows about it by nightfall.”
Completely unscientific, but something about the way she said it gave me pause. Alive and all of a piece. Huh. But it was the mention of rabbits that really caught me. “That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask…” I said.
Ma Kersey raised her eyebrows. “Well, go on, child, ask away.”
“When I came in on the train, there was a sign saying ‘Home of the World-Famous Chatham Rabbit.’ Why are the rabbits here world-famous?”
“Ha!” Ma Kersey slapped a shawl-covered knee. “You haven’t made your rabbit pie for the girl yet, Rose?”
Mrs. Kent pulled a face. “No, ’cause the boy who usually sells ’em to me started selling ’em in town instead. I pay more money, but I only want two or three, not thirty. They pot ’em up and ship ’em on to Raleigh now.”
Ma Kersey nudged Jackson. “And what’re you doing, young man, letting your wife’s larder sit empty?”
“Fixing up the fences to keep the rabbits out,” Jackson said plaintively. “Doesn’t do much good to catch ’em after they’ve eaten all the veggies up first.”
The old woman gave Jackson a stern look, though I could see the edge of a gold tooth showing as she did. Jackson hung his head. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “I’ll go catch some rabbits directly.”
“Good man.” Ma Kersey nodded and turned back to me.
“Got a lot of rabbits out here,” she said.
“Used to eat it four, five meals a week sometimes. Big ones too. After the war, a lot of fields stood empty, and there’s nothing a rabbit loves more.
Out in Raleigh they say the best rabbit comes from Chatham County.
With the railroad come through, I hear they even ship ’em clear up to New York!
” She shook her head. “Suppose if you’re in the city, it seems fancy. ”
Mrs. Kent moved to refill her coffee, but Ma Kersey put her hand over the cup.
“Nah, time I was moving on. Just came by to drop off that stuff and get a look at the new girl.” She looked me up and down again.
I was suddenly glad that I was wearing one of the dresses that I’d altered, even if the fabric was a good decade old.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ma Kersey,” I said, rising when she did.
“Likewise, I’m sure.” Despite the twinkle in her eyes, I suspected that she hadn’t made up her mind about me.
That was a trifle worrying. Women like Hezekiah Kersey are good to have on your side.
The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
Oh god, what if she tells everyone I’m a snob and turns people I haven’t even met yet against me?
I stamped down my anxiety. “I hope I’ll see you again,” I said, which was the truth.
“Oh, I’m sure you will.” She swatted at Jackson again, then took his arm and let him escort her out of the kitchen. I waited until I heard the door close before glancing back to Mrs. Kent.
“Whew.” The housekeeper leaned against the wall, dabbing at her forehead with her apron. She caught my look and said, “Don’t let her scare you, now. That was by way of a courtesy call. She mostly came so she can tell everybody that I didn’t forget how to cook.”
And you were scared that she might think otherwise, I thought, though I wasn’t fool enough to say it out loud. “She’s a bit … intimidating.”