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“Lenora was at the party,” I said. “She’s still as well dressed as ever.”
“Did she look ravishing?” There was a slightly caustic edge to the question.
“She may still be the ‘Best Dressed,’ ” I said, “but I was wondering why the ‘Most Popular Girl’ at Eudora High wasn’t there.”
“It’s simple, Ben. She and her husband were not invited to attend.”
I was surprised to hear this. I knew that Eudora “society,” such as it was, was a small, intimate group. Surely Elizabeth would be included.
“I think you know my husband is Richard Nottingham, the state senator,” Elizabeth said. “Richard is known to be the political kingmaker.”
“I did know that,” I said.
“Well, then, put it together. L. J. Stringer never sits down to dinner with anyone more important than himself. Some people say that Richard will be the next governor,” she said.
“And what do you think, Elizabeth?”
“He certainly wants to be governor. But I… I don’t want to leave Eudora.”
We had reached Jenkins’s store now. “Thank you for walking with me, Ben. And for our talk. Now I have boot laces to buy.”
To my disappointment, she didn’t invite me in with her. But Elizabeth leaned in and lightly kissed my cheek, then disappeared into the store—the same one where my mother had collapsed when I was just a boy.
Chapter 41
MY MOTHER USED TO SAY, “When you’re truly in love, you see the face you love in your coffee cup, in the washstand mirror, in the shine on your shoes.” I remembered those words as I sat at my regular table at the Slide Inn, sipping a cup of strong and delicious chicory coffee.
Miss Fanny brought my breakfast of fried eggs, creamy salty grits, a slice of cured ham, and buttermilk biscuits, but I only had eyes for my coffee cup, and Mama’s words haunted me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Elizabeth. Yes, Mama. I see her face in the surface of my coffee.
Elizabeth.
If I were not feeling so lonely and abandoned by my wife, would I be having these feelings? Probably not. But I was feeling lonely and abandoned, and worse—aroused.
Elizabeth.
My reverie was broken by Fanny’s exclamation as she looked past me and out the window.
“That boy is like to drive me crazy, late as he is. Look at him, running up here like his shirttail’s on fire!”
A gangly colored boy of about sixteen was headed for the café in a big, sweaty, arm-pumping hurry—such a hurry, in fact, that he almost dashed in the front door without thinking.
Then he saw Fanny and me staring at him. He remembered his place, ducked his head, and went around back.
Miss Fanny went to meet him. Through the window to the kitchen I saw the two of them in serious conversation, the boy gesticulating wildly.
I waited until Miss Fanny came back out front, then lifted my finger for more coffee. She brought the tin pot over to me.
“What’s the trouble?” I said.
“Big trouble,” she said quietly. “Seems like there was another hangin’ party last night.”
I kept my voice low. “You mean… a lynching?”
“Two of ’em,” she said.
Chapter 42
I TOOK ANOTHER SIP of coffee and noticed that my hand was shaking some. Then I folded my napkin and headed back through the kitchen as if I intended to visit the privy. On the way I detoured to the side of the room where the boy stood over a sinkful of dirty dishes.
