moon, distorted on the whites of his rolled-back eyes, rounded as the eyes rolled down and was centered at last in his pupils.
The Love swelled in him unbearably tight and he could not gasp it out. He walked toward the chicken house, hurrying now, the ground cold under his feet, the hatchet bumping cold against his leg, running now before he burst...
* * *
Francis, scrubbing himself at the chicken-yard pump, had never felt such sweet and easy peace. He felt his way cautiously into it and found that the peace was endless and all around him.
What Grandmother kindly had not cut off was still there like a prize when he washed the blood off his belly and legs. His mind was clear and calm.
He should do something about the nightshirt. Better hide it under the sacks in the smokehouse.
* * *
Discovery of the dead chicken puzzled Grandmother. She said it didn't look like a fox job.
A month later Queen Mother found another one when she went to gather eggs. This time the head had been wrung off.
Grandmother said at the dinner table that she was convinced it was done for spite by some "sorry help I ran off." She said she had called the sheriff about it.
Francis sat silent at his place, opening and closing his hand on the memory of an eye blinking against his palm. Sometimes in bed he held himself to be sure he hadn't been cut. Sometimes when he held himself he thought he felt a blink.
* * *
Grandmother was changing rapidly. She was increasingly contentious and could not keep household help. Though she was short of housekeepers, it was the kitchen where she took personal charge, directing Queen Mother Bailey to the detriment of the food. Queen Mother, who had worked for the Dolarhydes all her life, was the only constant on the staff.
Red-faced in the kitchen heat, Grandmother moved restlessly from one task to the next, often leaving dishes half-made, never to be served. She made casseroles of leftovers while vegetables wilted in the pantry.
At the same time, she became fanatical about waste. She reduced the soap and bleach in the wash until the sheets were dingy gray.
In the month of November she hired five different black women to help in the house. They would not stay.
Grandmother was furious the evening the last one left. She went through the house yelling. She came into the kitchen and saw that Queen Mother Bailey had left a teaspoonful of flour on the board after rolling out some dough.
In the steam and heat of the kitchen a half-hour before dinner she walked up to Queen Mother and slapped her face.
Queen Mother dropped her ladle, shocked. Tears sprang into her eyes. Grandmother drew back her hand again. A big pink palm pushed her away.
"Don't you ever do that. You're not yourself, Mrs. Dolarhyde, but don't you ever do that."
Screaming insults, Grandmother with her bare hand shoved over a kettle of soup to slop and hiss down through the stove. She went to her room and slammed the door. Francis heard her cursing in her room and objects thrown against the walls. She didn't come out again all evening.
Queen Mother cleaned up the soup and fed the old people. She got her few things together in a basket and put on her old sweater and stocking cap. She looked for Francis but couldn't find him.
She was in the wagon when she saw the boy sitting in the corner of the porch. He watched her climb down heavily and come back to him.
"Possum, I'm going now. I won't be back here. Sironia at the feed store, she'll call your mama for me. You need me before your mama get here, you come to my house."
He twisted away from the touch on his cheek.
Mr. Bailey clucked to the mules. Francis watched the wagon lantern move away. He had watched it before, with a sad and empty feeling since he understood that Queen Mother betrayed him. Now he didn't care. He was glad. A feeble kerosene wagon light fading down the road. It was nothing to the moon.
He wondered how it feels to kill a mule.
* * *
Marian Dolarhyde Vogt did not come when Queen Mother Bailey called her.
She came two weeks later after a call from the sheriff inSt Charles. She arrived in midafternoon, driving herself in a prewar Packard. She wore gloves and a hat.
A deputy sheriff met her at the end of the lane and stooped to the car