Free Filter House by Nisi Shawl Page B

it’s wine, wine, wine
    that makes you feel so fine
    in the corps (in the corps), in the corps (in the corps);
    Well, it’s wine, wine, wine
    that makes you feel so fine
    in the good old actor’s co-o-orps!”
    Anniette loved it. The boy’s voice went down real low when he sang in the core, in the core. Then it swooped all around like a circus band on the last word. Very satisfying. Too bad it was bad. It would be a wonderful song to sing real loud while marching around. She learned all the verses.

    In the library she pulled all the books from the shelves one by one, then put them back. Nothing moved or turned or revolved. Nothing lurked behind the red leather couch except dust and old chew toys left from Turk’s last sojourn. The Raineses didn’t bring him up much anymore. She asked Gransie why as she ate her bologna sandwich in the kitchen.
    “Gettin old,” Gransie said. “Same as me, he just doesn’t want to move around much anymore. Eat your salad; it’s good for you.”
    Anniette pulled a pickled bean from the crystal bowl next to her plate. One was enough, she decided, as the vinegar bit its way up through her sinuses, bringing tears to her eyes. A sip of Kool-Aid, a bite of bologna and mayonnaise, and she was all better.
    “Gransie, can I have a stool?”
    “A stool? What you want a stool for?”
    How much to explain? “I want to reach up on the walls, in the morning room. Up where that pledge sticks out.”
    “The pledge? You mean the ledge, don’t you? Where they keep the keys?” She nodded. “What on earth do you want up there?”
    Anniette paused. Should she tell? There was no other way to get what she wanted. “I want to find a secret passageway,” she said.
    Gransie snorted, pushed herself away from the table, and rose ponderously. “Child, however do you manage to fill your head with such nonsense? Must be all those books you read.”
    Anniette lowered her eyes in shame. It was a silly idea. She was a silly girl to have had it.
    Metal legs scraped lightly on the linoleum. She looked up. Gransie was pulling the white enameled step-stool from its place next to the fridge. “That room could use some dustin anyway, I guess.” She reached into a drawer for an apron. “Now don’t you go touchin any Miz Raines’s things, Anniette. She forgave you over that leopard, but if you ever break a real expensive piece, I don’t know what’ll happen. Some of those things are real nice. Worth more than I make in a month.” She tied the apron on Anniette, folding it up at the middle so it wasn’t too long.
    “Now.” Anniette stood still for inspection. “Go get me a head-scarf,” said Gransie.
    She shot up the stairs and almost collided with Miss Margaret, talking and laughing on the telephone. “Sorry,” said Anniette. Miss Margaret patted her on the head to show that it was all right and went on talking.
    “Honestly, Roger,” she said to the receiver. “You really should come up. What does it take to convince you? It’s the most frightful old place—you’d love it. It was actually a stop on the Underground Railroad. Just a moment, dear. Anniette, is there something you wanted?”
    Anniette realized she had no reason to be standing there besides her utter amazement. She shook her head and continued slowly down the hall to her room.
    “Oh, that was just our maid’s little granddaughter. The cutest thing. Yes, Nancy’s been with us practically forever, like family really….” Anniette heard Margaret’s voice trailing off behind her as she walked away. But there was nothing more about the Underground Railroad. She tried to remember all about it, what she knew from school. It was how they got colored people out of the South, away from Slavery. White people helped the colored. They had to; it must have been a lot of work to build so many tunnels and lay all that track.
    She rummaged in her drawer for several minutes before she remembered what she was supposed to be looking for. A scarf.