Eventually they all went to their rooms, to their private fantasies & preoccupations. Hilda was in the kitchen working the fat off her goose, fiddling with the chestnut stuffing, wondering how she would handle the house when it was really empty again. It would be empty, not even Indigo would be home come January.

“Yes, Alfred. I think I’m doing right by ’em. Sassafrass is in that fine school with rich white children. Cypress is studying classical ballet with Effie in New York City. Imagine that? I’m sending Indigo out to Difuskie with Aunt Haydee. Miz Fitzhugh’s promised me a tutor for her. She doesn’t want the child involved in all this violence ’bout the white & the colored going to school together, the integration. I know you know what I mean, ’less up there’s segregated too.

“No, Alfred I’m not blaspheming. I just can’t imagine another world. I’m trying to, though. I want the girls to live the good life. Like what we planned. Nice husbands. Big houses. Children. Trips to Paris & London. Going to the opera. Knowing nice people for friends. Remember we used to say we were the nicest, most interesting folks we’d ever met? Well, I don’t want it to be that way for our girls. You know, I’m sort of scared of being here by myself. I can always talk to you, though. Can’t I?

“I’ma tell Miz Fitzhugh that if she wants Indigo in Difuskie that tutor will have to be a violin teacher. Oh, Alfred, you wouldn’t believe what she can do on that fiddle. If you could only see how Cypress dances. Sassafrass’ weavings. I wish you were here sometimes, so we could tell the world to look at what all we, Hilda Effania & Alfred, brought to this world.”

Once her Christmas supper was organized in the oven, the frigerator, the sideboard, Hilda Effania slept in her new negligée, Alfred’s WWII portrait close to her bosom.

Chapter 4

My Littlest Angel, Indigo,

I’ve been making preserves to send to my girls, some canned tomatoes & pickles too. You know, I have to stay busy, even though the Lord knows I would be a mighty big somebody if I ever ate all that I sat up cooking. Meanwhile, I miss you all so much. There’s times in a mother’s life that are simply trying times. I’ve prayed & thought a whole lot ’bout my life & yours. Wouldn’t I look simple, keeping a house full of grown women, aching to be part of the world, from being part of the world, just so I wouldn’t be quite so lonely. That’s enough of that. You all have your ’mends to make with the world & so do I. That’s the Lord’s way.