Free Gathering of Waters by Bernice L. McFadden

woman had fallen into a trance. “Doll?”
    “Hmmm,” Doll sounded, turning her gaze back onto Melinda. “I’m sorry, I drift off sometimes.” Her hand fell back down to her side. “Miss Melinda, I’m gonna have to be going now. I got to deliver some johnnycakes to Ms. Fern and Mrs. Sawyer.”
    “Okay,” Melinda mumbled. “Caress, get my purse—”
    Doll shook her hand at Melinda. “Not a dime, Miss Melinda. Your recovery is all the payment I need.”
    “What about the johnnycakes?”
    “On me.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Of course!” Doll beamed as she slipped the handle of the basket onto her wrist. “Now don’t forget, you leave them nylons on until nightfall, okay?”
    Melinda nodded in agreement.
    Doll swept out of the room like a gale.
    Sleep carried Melinda off to memories of easier times. When she awoke, the drapes were closed, night had fallen over the land, and the bedroom smelled god-awful. For a moment Melinda couldn’t determine where the stench was coming from, and then she remembered the onions.
    When she peeled the nylons off her feet, the onion slithers were black as tar. Disgusted, Melinda climbed out of the bed and tossed the foul-smelling nylons into the dying fire. At that moment she became keenly aware of three things as she stood watching them burn away to smoke: 1) the bedroom already reeked, so throwing the onions into the flames probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do; 2) she felt 50 percent better than she had before Doll’s remedy; and 3) the crimson vase was gone.

Chapter Fourteen
    C ole Payne leaned forward and gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror. He ran his tongue over his teeth, skinned back his lips, and examined his mouth. He dipped his hand into the jar of pomade and smoothed the clump of greasy, waxy substance over his mane of dark hair. After that, he headed to the bedroom to check on Melinda, who had felt well enough to get out of bed and sit in a chair. When he entered the room she was reading.
    “How are you, darling?”
    Melinda smiled. “Good.” Her eyes lit on his hair and his crisp white shirt. She could smell cologne.
    “Are you going someplace?”
    Cole shook his head. “No, why?”
    “You look like—well, nothing. You look very handsome today.”
    Cole crossed the room and pecked her on the cheek. “I do it all for you, sweetheart.”
    That was a lie. The extra care he’d taken with himself on that day, and on all of the Tuesdays that would follow, was for Doll Hilson. You see, Tuesday was the day she delivered her basket of johnnycakes.
    Cole stationed himself on the veranda and watched the street for Doll. When he spotted her, he became as excited as a schoolboy on Christmas day.
    “Morning, Mr. Payne,” Doll greeted with a soft smile.
    “Morning, Doll.” Cole’s response was outrageously loud and cheerful.
    As soon as she disappeared around the side of the house, Cole snatched open the French doors, sprinted across the parlor, down the hall, and slammed into the kitchen just as Caress was opening the back door.
    Both Doll and Caress were startled by his sudden and rowdy arrival, and the women exchanged perplexed glances.
    Cole glanced stupidly around the kitchen before his eyes fell on the pot of coffee simmering on the burner. “I believe I will have some more coffee,” he said.
    Caress nodded, reached up and removed a cup and saucer from the cabinet, and then ambled over to the stove.
    “So, how is your husband doing?”
    Doll’s eyes popped with surprise. Cole Payne had never said more than two words to her.
    “ My husband?” Doll spouted with astonishment.
    Cole laughed. “Well, Caress is a widow, so I must be talking about your husband.”
    Caress set the cup and saucer down before Cole and filled the cup with coffee.
    “He’s fine, thank you. I will let him know that you asked about him.”
    Caress spooned three heaps of sugar into Cole’s coffee and added a dab of milk.
    “Doll, would you like a cup of coffee?”
    Cole