“She’ll be living in Martin, didn’t you tell me that?” Mama Carla asks.
“Yes, Martin is the ‘it dorm’ this year. All her friends will be living there, too.”
“Good for her,” Mama Carla says. “When does she move in?”
“Next week with the other freshmen. But we’re paying a little extra for her to move in a day early. Gage wants to avoid the masses.”
All our Alpha Delt girls are required to move into the House a week before incoming freshmen. It’s called Spirit Week and it’s their time to attend pre-Rush workshops to familiarize themselves with all the girls who’ll be rushing in the fall.
I’ve had enough so I say my good-byes. As I’m walking off it seems Miss Lilith has something else she wants to tell me, a postscript to our initial conversation. “Pearl. May I ask you a personal favor?”
Whipping back around, I smile at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you please look after her? She’s never been away from home.”
“Of course I will. That’s my job.”
“Don’t misunderstand me. Annie Laurie is well traveled. Her father and I made sure of that. She went to summer camp in North Carolina practically every summer of her life, but she’s never been totally on her own. I wouldn’t want her to be in need of something and not be able to get it.”
“Miss Pearl has been taking care of these girls for twenty-five years. You don’t need to worry a bit,” Mama Carla is quick to say.
“Yes, I’ve heard.” Her eyes meet mine. “And I trust you implicitly. You’ll be her third mother. Between Rosetta and me, Annie Laurie Whitmore has had it made. You don’t even want to know how rotten she’s become.” She places a hand aside her mouth. “She’s my only.”
I was an only. My mother’s pride and joy. But I decide to keep that to myself.
“How long has Rosetta been taking care of your family?” Mama Carla asks.
“Ten years. At least.”
“She’s a part of your family, huh?”
“Absolutely. That woman is captain of our ship. We couldn’t exist without Rosetta.”
Mama Carla turns to me and smiles, gently touching me on the shoulder. “And we couldn’t exist without you.”
The beeping sound of a phone interrupts our conversation. Miss Lilith yanks hers from her back pocket. “Oops. I better scoot. We have our first Recruitment meeting tonight. So many last-minute recs have come in and I need to give them the once-over. If I have anything to do with it, we’ll have our best pledge class in years. No trash will slip through the cracks on my watch. Only top-notch, A-list girls. See y’all.”
The second she turns around Mama Carla rolls her eyes.
“I thought she gave up her seat on the Rush Board,” I say. “Since when does the House Corp President get involved in Rush?”
“Lilith Whitmore is involving herself in every single facet of Alpha Delta Beta. Something tells me we all better watch out.”
THREE
MISS PEARL
The smell of catfish frying wafts from the kitchen into the dining room, setting my taste buds on fire. After busting through the swinging door, I clap my hands together and shimmy on into the kitchen, put a little dance move I learned at the club the other night into my step. Welcome back dinner is always something special.
Aunt Fee sees me and gets to laughing. “What’s got you doing the happy dance?” She’s Aunt Fee to me but everybody else calls her Miss Ophelia. She’s our head cook. Been serving up fine feasts to the Alpha Delt girls for the last thirty-two years.
“You know exactly why I’m dancing,” I say, then sing, “Celebrate good times, come on.”
Catfish is not only one of my favorites, it’s one of everybody’s favorites around here. Most of the fish comes from Indianola, down in the Delta—pond raised and divine.It tastes delicious on its own, but you put Miss Ophelia’s cornmeal buttermilk coating on it,woo-whee,you’ve got yourself something fine. Put hushpuppies with it—hush your mouth. I like mine with a little chow-chow on the side.
“Got a hundred thirty pounds; forty-four of ’em already fried,” Aunt Feesays. She’s standing in front of the stove with a pair of long tongs in her hand, moving filets from the deep-fryer to a large cookie sheet lined with paper towels.
“Makin’ enough hushpuppies for me?” Mr. Marvelle—our House Man—yells from inside the pantry.
