Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

“That’s right,” Miss Honey said, passing the rice dressing. “When God calls, you’d better answer.”

“I guess that makes you First Lady of the church,” Charley said.

Violet waved away the praise. “No sense getting bigheaded,” she said, though she sat up a little straighter. “But look who’s talking. You’re a big land owner now.”

“I wouldn’t say all that.”

“Now who’s being modest? Eight hundred acres is nothing to sneeze at.”

“More like eight hundred problems.” In the last week, after Frasier and Denton, after Landry and NeNee Desonier’s granddaughter, Charley had cursed her father’s name more than once for pressing this so-called gift into her hands. Yesterday, at the shop, she’d almost torn up the maps and photographs, shredded the legal documents, and turned her back on the whole enterprise.

“Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful,” Violet said. “If more black folks around here took a page out of your book, we wouldn’t be in such a fix. We got all these smart, talented young men around here wasting away in the Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas?”

“Prison,” Miss Honey said. “That’s what they call it.”

“Call it anything they want, it’s still the same.” Violet shook her head. “All those young men. Stop ’em on the street, half will admit they’ve done time. Some have the nerve to be proud of it.”

“Violet,” Miss Honey said, her voice tightening. “You should watch dipping your finger into that Kool-Aid when you don’t know the flavor. People go to prison for all sorts of reasons.”

“I’m not saying they aren’t good people, Mother. I’m just saying something’s wrong when doing time is normal.” She turned to Charley. “What do you think?”

Charley looked from Violet to Miss Honey. In the past week, she’d seen the way Miss Honey marched around town — calling to people she knew, asking why they hadn’t been to church, reprimanding children she thought looked idle, telling them to tuck in their shirts, go home and put lotion on their ashy knees — and understood that Miss Honey considered Saint Josephine to be her own personal domain. Why, just yesterday she flagged down the mayor as he rolled through town in his red Cadillac Seville, and scolded him for not cutting the weeds by the playground. “Is something burning?” Charley said, and started to get up from the table. “I think I smell smoke.”

“I still say something’s happened to us black folks,” Violet continued. “You may not want to hear it, Mother, but we both know I’m telling the truth. Just look at Ralph Angel.” She paused. “No offense, Charley, I don’t mean to speak ill of your brother.”

At the mention of Ralph Angel’s name, Charley felt emotions pass through her like shadows across a hillside as clouds drifted over. Even now, her foot stung from the time he aimed a stone at an egret at the water’s edge, which it missed, hitting her so sharply, tears rushed to her eyes. At the time, she had thought it was an accident, but the way he always misbehaved with her made her wonder how much of an accident it really was. She remembered the look of hurt and bitter disappointment that darkened her father’s face when, a few years later, he discovered Ralph Angel had continued to cash the tuition checks he sent, even though he’d dropped out of school.

“Stop right there, Violet,” Miss Honey said. “I won’t have you talking about Ralph Angel outside his name. Besides, he never went to jail.”

“That’s about the only thing he hasn’t done,” Violet said under her breath.

Charley was about to ask what else Ralph Angel had done, when Miss Honey cleared her throat, glancing at Micah.

“I know what that look means,” Micah said. “It means you’re about to talk about grown-up stuff and I have to leave the room.”

“Every time he comes around, there’s trouble.” Violet turned to Charley. “The last time he was in town, three years ago, he and Mother got into an argument and he pushed her down.”

“It was an accident,” Miss Honey said.

“You broke your arm, Mother.”

“He got overexcited. He’s been that way since he was little.”

Violet sighed, wearily. “When the doctor asked Mother what happened, she said she tripped over the laundry basket. I don’t know why she always makes excuses for him.”

“Can we go back, please?” Charley said. “He broke your arm ?”

“Mother found some drug paraphernalia in the deep freezer,” Violet said. “When she asked Ralph Angel about it, if he knew where it came from, he flew into a rage. ‘Get out of my business,’ he said. Mother grabbed his elbow, told him to calm down, think about Blue, the example he was setting. Well, that did it. Ralph Angel said, ‘Don’t tell me how to raise my kid,’ and when she blocked the door, he pushed her down and she broke her arm. She waited two hours before she called me. And of course, I called Uncle Brother and John. By the time we got back from the hospital, Ralph Angel and Blue were gone.”

Charley look at Miss Honey. “Is that how it happened?”

“I’m not talking about it,” Miss Honey said. “All I know is, whatever problems Ralph Angel’s got, he comes by them honest. Just look at his mother. Smart as a whip, but her head was never right.”

“Where is Ralph Angel now?” Charley said. After the college tuition incident, his father had never mentioned his whereabouts, never mentioned him at all, come to think of it. And there’d been no mention of Ralph Angel in her father’s will either, a fact that Charley had not thought of at the time, since they’d been out of touch for so many years, but that made her feel uneasy now. Had he really pushed Miss Honey down? Broken her arm? She had inherited a whole sugarcane farm while, at least to her knowledge, he had inherited nothing. What would he think about that?

“Last I heard, he was in Phoenix,” Violet said, leaning closer. “Still drinking and messing with that pipe. But what do I know? Mother keeps up with him.”

“Like I said, he comes by his troubles honest. We all got our cross to bear, Violet. Don’t forget that. Last time I talked to Ralph Angel, he sounded better. Said he’d cleaned himself up.”

“Well, good for him. Let him stay out there.”

Miss Honey pointed an accusatory finger. “I’m booking you, Violet. Shame on you for bad-mouthing your own family.”

“Fine, Mother. Whatever you say.”

“Good grief,” Charley said. “You two are at each other’s throats over someone who isn’t even here. Let me get us something to drink.” She reached for the pitcher, even though every glass was still brimming with ice water. If Ernest had left any cash, she might offer to share it. Maybe she’d buy him a car. But there was only a farm, and only just barely.

Violet and Miss Honey retreated to their corners, and for a while they ate in silence. Then Violet took Charley’s hand again and said, “The Rev and I are hosting an open house when we finish all the renovations. I hope you’ll come.”

“That reminds me,” Miss Honey said. “We’re having a family reunion in honor of Charley coming home.”

“How thoughtful,” Charley said. “Maybe after grinding. I need to work seven days a week till then.”

“Awesome,” Micah said. “I’ll bake cookies.”

“Next Saturday,” Miss Honey said. “I’ve already called some of the family. Violet, I want you to help get the word out to the rest. Tell them eleven o’clock.” She pointed to the baker’s rack crammed with cookbooks. “Micah, you can bake all the cookies you want.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Charley said. “But the bills are stacking up, and I still haven’t found a manager.”