Chesapeake Tide by Jeanette Baker Page B

from door to windows to stairs and back to the door again was a reminder of her own age and its limitations. There was something about Verna Lee that drew the eye, something raw and primitive and vital. She shook away her woolgathering and remembered her errand. She had a message to deliver. “Mornin’, Verna Lee,” she called out.
    Verna Lee stopped singing and smiled. “Good morning, Grammy. I didn’t hear you come in.”
    â€œYou was singin’.”
    â€œYes.” She twisted a ringlet around her forefinger. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
    â€œHours ago.”
    â€œGood.” She crossed the room and kissed the old woman’s weathered cheek. “I didn’t want to make you any, anyway.”
    â€œI could use some coffee.”
    â€œWhy don’t you make some for the two of us? Put in some of that New Orleans chicory I brought back with me. It’ll take out the bitterness.”
    â€œMy coffee ain’t bitter.”
    â€œYou only think it isn’t. Sometimes it is.”
    Drusilla grumbled as she made her way to the kitchen. Verna Lee watched her grandmother with an anxious wrinkle between her brows. “Is your arthritis bothering you?” she called after her. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on living all by yourself. I have plenty of room.”
    â€œNo, it ain’t botherin’ me.”
    â€œWhy are you limping?”
    â€œI walked to the market yesterday and stopped by the Delacourtes on the way back.”
    Verna Lee’s lips tightened. “What for?”
    â€œI had sweet potatoes left to sell. Mr. Delacourte always buys ’em from me.”
    â€œDid he buy them this time?”
    â€œEvery last one.”
    â€œI hope they were a bad batch.”
    Drusilla finished measuring out the coffee and put the water on to boil. “Shame on you, Verna Lee. Mr. Delacourte’s been good to me. He even asked after you. He wants more of your sleepy tea.”
    Verna Lee returned to her counters. “He knows where to find it.”
    â€œThat’s what I told him.” She tilted her head. “Libba Jane’s comin’ home.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI just thought you’d want to know.”
    â€œLibba Jane Delacourte was always too curious for her own good. Sometimes, I thought—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
    â€œShe’s bringin’ her child with her, a girl.”
    Verna Lee’s hands moved in slow circles on the glass, “That’s nice. It will give Nola Ruth someone else to persecute.”
    Drusilla poured two cups of thick, chicory-rich coffee and walked back into the shop. “You’re in a sour mood today, child.” She handed her a cup. “Here. Maybe some coffee will help.”
    Relenting, Verna Lee pulled up a stool, accepted the peace offering and sat down, crossing her spectacular legs. “What’s she like?” she asked, despising herself for her interest.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œLibba’s daughter.”
    â€œDon’t know. I heard the news from Serena.”
    â€œI wonder why she’s coming home after all this time?” mused Verna Lee.
    â€œNola Ruth nearly died,” Drusilla reminded her.
    Verna Lee’s hand tightened around her cup. “That’s right. I remember now, not that Mrs. Delacourte and I run in the same social circles.”
    â€œShould you?” her grandmother asked pointedly.
    Verna Lee released her breath. “No. Of course not. I don’t know what’s the matter with me today.”
    â€œFull moon?” suggest Drusilla.
    â€œPossibly.” Verna Lee’s eyes had a dreamy quality. “I wonder if Libba Delacourte is as gorgeous as she was in high school.”
    â€œDon’t waste any time over it. You’ll see her soon enough.”
    â€œI doubt she’ll ever set foot in this shop.”
    â€œMaybe she will and maybe she