“Sure. See, the fortune-teller—I went back and had my other palm read, since we’ve got to rent the room agin—said my lover was goin’ to work in Vicksburg, so I don’t know who she could mean, unless she meant Fred. And Fred ain’t workin’ here—that much is so.”

“Is he going to work in Vicksburg?’ asked Mrs. Fletcher. “And—”

“Sure. Lady Evangeline said so. Said the future is going to be brighter than the present. He don’t want to go, but I ain’t gonna put up with nothin’ like that. Lays around the house an’ bulls—did bull—with that good-for-nothin’ Mr. Pike. He says if he goes who’ll cook, but I says I never get to eat anyway—not meals. Billy Boy, take Mrs. Grover that Screen Secrets and leg it.”

Mrs. Fletcher heard stamping feet go out the door.

“Is that that Mrs. Pike’s little boy here again?” she asked, sitting up gingerly.

“Yeah, that’s still him.” Leota stuck out her tongue.

Mrs. Fletcher could hardly believe her eyes. “Well! How’s Mrs. Pike, your attractive new friend with the sharp eyes who spreads it around town that perfect strangers are pregnant?” she asked in a sweetened tone.

“Oh, Mizziz Pike.” Leota combed Mrs. Fletcher’s hair with heavy strokes.

“You act like you’re tired,” said Mrs. Fletcher.

“Tired? Feel like it’s four o’clock in the afternoon already,” said Leota. “I ain’t told you the awful luck we had, me and Fred? It’s the worst thing you ever heard of. Maybe you think Mrs. Pike’s got sharp eyes. Shoot, there’s a limit! Well, you know, we rented out our room to this Mr. and Mrs. Pike from New Orleans when Sal an’ Joe Fentress got mad at us ’cause they drank up some home-brew we had in the closet—Sal an’ Joe did. So, a week ago Sat’day Mr. and Mrs. Pike moved in. Well, I kinda fixed up the room, you know—put a sofa pillow on the couch and picked some ragged robbins and put in a vase, but they never did say they appreciated it. Anyway, then I put some old magazines on the table.”

“I think that was lovely,” said Mrs. Fletcher.