“Miss Hamer gets like that every so often,” Bessie said in a comforting tone. “Of course, the folks who live on her block are used to it, but I wondered if maybe it bothered you, you being new and all. Next time she starts screaming up a storm, I’ll run across the street and give you a hand.”

Miss Jamison began, “We don’t want—” She bit her lip. “Thank you, but I think we can manage.”

Bessie went on. “And how’s Miss Lake? Is she feeling some better, too?” To Beulah, who was still wielding the comb, she said, in an explanatory tone, “Miss Lake is Miss Jamison’s friend, who came with her from Chicago.”

“Oh, really?” Beulah said. She smiled. “Why, how nice, Miz Jamison. You tell your friend that we’re here to help, whenever she needs a trim or a set. All she has to do is ring us up. Or just come on over. We can almost always fit her in.”

“Actually, DessaRae is kind of worried about her,” Bessie went on. “Says she keeps to her room and won’t come out, even for meals.” She looked back at Miss Jamison. “Is there something we can do to make her feel more at home? Or if she’s sick and needs a doctor, I’m sure Doc Roberts would be glad to—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” cried Miss Jamison piteously. “This is none of your beeswax! Why is everybody in this one-horse burg so damned nosy?”

Beulah leaned forward and put her hand on Miss Jamison’s shoulder. “We don’t mean a thing on God’s little green earth by it, Miz Jamison, really we don’t. We’re just friendly, is all.”

Bettina, who had said nothing all this while, added, “This is the South, y’know, Miz Jamison. Down here, we may not have much to share, but we do care ’bout one another.” She grinned. “That’s partly ’cause we’re all related. Turns out I’m Beulah’s second cousin twice removed, and we didn’t even know it.”

That was the cue Bessie had been waiting for. “Which reminds me,” she said brightly. “I was thinking last night, Miss Jamison—I met your mother when she visited Miss Hamer, years ago. I was trying to remember her name, but my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. I’m sure I have it somewhere in my genealogical records, though. I’ve got family trees for every family in town.” This wasn’t exactly true (she was missing three or four), but she thought it might give Miss Jamison—if that’s who she really was—something to think about.

“My mother?” Miss Jamison said hesitantly, looking startled. “You met her?”

“Oh, I’m sure I did. What was her name?”