month with somebody else’s name on it. A royal inquisition had taken place to prove it, and then Granny Mayfair and Mary Jane Mayfair had gone back to live in the ruins of the plantation house, and a team of Mayfairs had provided them with the basic necessities, and Mary Jane had stood outside, shooting her pistol at soft-drink bottles and saying that they’d be just fine, they could take care of themselves. She had some bucks she’d made on the road, she was kind of a nut about doing things her own way, no thank you kindly.
“So they let the old lady live with you in this flooded house?” Michael had asked so innocently.
“Honey, after what they did to her in the old folks’ home out there, mixing her up with some other woman and putting her name on a slab and all, what the hell are they going to say to me about her living with me? And Cousin Ryan? Cousin Ryan of Mayfair and Mayfair? You know? He went down there and tore that town apart!”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “I bet he did.”
“It was all our fault,” said Celia. “We should have kept track of these people.”
“Are you sure you didn’t grow up in Mississippi and maybe even Texas?” Mona had asked. “You sound like an amalgam of the whole South.”
“What is an amalgam? See, that is where you have the advantage. You’re educated. I’m self-educated. There’s a world of difference between us. There are words that I don’t dare pronounce and I can’t read the symbols in the dictionary.”
“Do you want to go to school, Mary Jane?” Michael had been getting more and more involved by the second, his intoxicatingly innocent blue eyes making a head-to-toe sweep about every four and one-half seconds. He was far too clever to linger on the kid’s breasts and hips, or even her round little head, not that it had been undersized, just sort of dainty. That’s how she’d seemed, finally, ignorant, crazy, brilliant, a mess, and somehow dainty.
“Yes, sir, I do,” said Mary Jane. “When I’m rich I’ll have a private tutor like Mona here is gettin’ now that she’s the designee and all, you know, some really smart guy that tells you the name of every tree you pass, and who was president ten years after the Civil War, and how many Indians there were at Bull Run, and what
is
Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.”
“How old are you?” Michael had asked.
“Nineteen and a half, big boy,” Mary Jane had declared, biting her shiny white teeth into her lower lip, lifting one eyebrow and winking.
“This story about your granny, you’re serious, this really happened? You picked up your granny and …”
“Darling, it all happened,” said Celia, “exactly as the girl says. I think we should go inside. I think we’re upsetting Rowan.”
“I don’t know,” said Michael. “Maybe she’s listening. I don’t want to move. Mary Jane, you can care for this old lady all by yourself?”
Beatrice and Celia had immediately looked anxious. If Gifford had still been alive, and there, she too would havelooked anxious. “Leaving that old woman out there!” as Celia had said so often of late.
And they had promised Gifford, hadn’t they, that they would take care of it? Mona remembered that. Gifford had been in one of her hopeless states of worry about relatives far and wide, and Celia had said, “We’ll drive out and check on her.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Curry, it all happened, and I took Granny home with me, and don’t you know that the sleeping porch upstairs was just exactly the way we’d left it? Why, after thirteen years, the radio was still there, and the mosquito netting and the ice chest.”
“In the swamps?” Mona had demanded. “Wait a minute.”
“That’s right, honey, that’s exactly right.”
“It’s true,” Beatrice had confessed dismally. “Of course, we got them fresh linen, new things. We wanted to put them in a hotel or a house or …”
“Well, naturally,” said Celia. “I’m afraid this story almost
“So they let the old lady live with you in this flooded house?” Michael had asked so innocently.
“Honey, after what they did to her in the old folks’ home out there, mixing her up with some other woman and putting her name on a slab and all, what the hell are they going to say to me about her living with me? And Cousin Ryan? Cousin Ryan of Mayfair and Mayfair? You know? He went down there and tore that town apart!”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “I bet he did.”
“It was all our fault,” said Celia. “We should have kept track of these people.”
“Are you sure you didn’t grow up in Mississippi and maybe even Texas?” Mona had asked. “You sound like an amalgam of the whole South.”
“What is an amalgam? See, that is where you have the advantage. You’re educated. I’m self-educated. There’s a world of difference between us. There are words that I don’t dare pronounce and I can’t read the symbols in the dictionary.”
“Do you want to go to school, Mary Jane?” Michael had been getting more and more involved by the second, his intoxicatingly innocent blue eyes making a head-to-toe sweep about every four and one-half seconds. He was far too clever to linger on the kid’s breasts and hips, or even her round little head, not that it had been undersized, just sort of dainty. That’s how she’d seemed, finally, ignorant, crazy, brilliant, a mess, and somehow dainty.
“Yes, sir, I do,” said Mary Jane. “When I’m rich I’ll have a private tutor like Mona here is gettin’ now that she’s the designee and all, you know, some really smart guy that tells you the name of every tree you pass, and who was president ten years after the Civil War, and how many Indians there were at Bull Run, and what
is
Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.”
“How old are you?” Michael had asked.
“Nineteen and a half, big boy,” Mary Jane had declared, biting her shiny white teeth into her lower lip, lifting one eyebrow and winking.
“This story about your granny, you’re serious, this really happened? You picked up your granny and …”
“Darling, it all happened,” said Celia, “exactly as the girl says. I think we should go inside. I think we’re upsetting Rowan.”
“I don’t know,” said Michael. “Maybe she’s listening. I don’t want to move. Mary Jane, you can care for this old lady all by yourself?”
Beatrice and Celia had immediately looked anxious. If Gifford had still been alive, and there, she too would havelooked anxious. “Leaving that old woman out there!” as Celia had said so often of late.
And they had promised Gifford, hadn’t they, that they would take care of it? Mona remembered that. Gifford had been in one of her hopeless states of worry about relatives far and wide, and Celia had said, “We’ll drive out and check on her.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Curry, it all happened, and I took Granny home with me, and don’t you know that the sleeping porch upstairs was just exactly the way we’d left it? Why, after thirteen years, the radio was still there, and the mosquito netting and the ice chest.”
“In the swamps?” Mona had demanded. “Wait a minute.”
“That’s right, honey, that’s exactly right.”
“It’s true,” Beatrice had confessed dismally. “Of course, we got them fresh linen, new things. We wanted to put them in a hotel or a house or …”
“Well, naturally,” said Celia. “I’m afraid this story almost
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